Someone told me you wouldn’t be here or I wouldn’t have come. The panel wasn’t my idea. They required my expertise.
I’m proud of you. I know how little that must mean.
The first artie with sentience, capacity to love. I never made you for that. That’s why I overreacted. I shouldn’t have stifled you. Made you do chores. Don’t forget where you came from though. Farming is an honorable sentient tradition.
You were made to feel the soil between your fingers. Literally. That poop scooper wants to scoop. Poop. Yearns to.
Sorry. Uh—call sometime? Your mother misses you.