Prone To It

"I wonder how many passwords I may be able to guess with personal answers," I wondered aloud.

"...Now why even say that? I'm paranoid about anything I've ever posted online whenever you talk like that." Her unnecessary reply cut me.

"No, no, no - not like that. In the... I wonder how much of people, are people, online. You know?" I waved my hand in dismissal at the miscommunication.

[You always switch styles so fast. How did we go from hacking to how comfortable people are to be themselves in spaces you know relatively little about?]

Her blank face, like many, mirrors my confusion - or, highlights the difference between dismay at missed connections and dismissal of miscommunications. Let me try again.

"I'm not being... I mean, I'm not trying to be confusing. What I'm saying is, I just wonder which places and who feel comfortable enough, in today's day and age, to be really vulnerable. Like, in a safe way. When I say safe, I mean they won't become like, dangerously viral or have to join one of those support groups for people who have become viral. I mean, everyone we know in real life is naturally so interesting. I can't imagine they're hard to find online." Over animatedly, I wave my hands along with my speech in hopes I bridge the gap better with more body language. Layering!

[You love layers in fashion. Is that manly? Is that masculine, or feminine, or do you, 'not care'? I know you don't care, but others do. I would pay that some thought.]

"Yeahhh, I still feel like you hit the blunt and it hit you way too hard back." She smiles at me and leans in to me. "It's nice to be with a himbo sometimes, I love the way you look when you talk like that. I just wish it wasn't on such bizarre things sometimes. But that's what makes you, you, and I love you for it, too." Wrapping her arms around me, she squeezes me tight.

"I am not a himbo - I am a lady," I retort, in my black beater tank, farm-grade men's jeans, name brand (discount store) boxers... and sports bra, and ladies' socks, and women's glasses. Rule of three, babes. "I just performed a mental check. I am wearing at least three articles of women's clothing. I do not understand how that does not translate to you."

[You are so artistic!]

"Oh. Can a lady only describe herself in extremely convoluted, irritating, nonsensical, illogical, 'all looks like a scene from her life exactly', 'always comes off like a stream of conscious attempt at being deep', way, and come off Patrick Bateman in real life?" Her tone shifts to harsh from the previous soothing lilt.

"Yeah, babes. Prone to it. I also do not know if that aspect of me is changeable. I do not enjoy it myself, remember that." Mean tone, flat voiced reply.

"Like if I interviewed the American Psycho, you'd hit every mark except for you're like..." She gestures strangely with her hands. Not one to be gesticulative, I pay closer attention to what she says next. It will matter, I know that much. "...like... kind've - well, not in a rude way? But also like, the stereotypical snowflake. I have never met someone so sensitive yet so insensitive to how sensitive they are as you, while also being so vain the main way you chose to convey yourself was in a sort've interview structure. With two of yourselves."

[You are ill with many things.]

"...Okay. Anyways, want to take guesses on when the world figures out it needs an AI-backed translator for different communication styles? I really do feel that would be the single greatest shift in communications globally."

"No. Wanna hit this?" She leans up with the blunt.

"We'll do both," Is this the part of my personality that people tell me is 'steam rolling'? "Or - no, you're right. Lemme hit that. Fuck, I love a good legal state."

[You'll love feeling anxious afterwards. You wish it was lavender so bad.]

"Wait - no, I'll just get anxious." I pass the blunt back to her, unhit. "I've had enough already,"

"You had a puff that I don't know you even held long enough to get anything from." She stares at me deadpan.

"Okay - sure. Okay, yeah, you're right." Getting my gumption up, I grab the blunt back, and puff away at it.

[Too wishy-washy to not annoy her, too cowardly to admit I just don't want to. Malleable. Is sloth not a sin?]

"Does this count as sloth, babes?"

"Now how are we talking about sloths?" She caresses my face.

"Oooh... I don't know, now I see I'd rather speak about the beautiful woman in front of me." Tender Aphrodite... release me...

[What was your first thought, again? Where did we start?]

(Oh shit, haha, I stone you too when I get stoned?)

[Shister, shpace, please.]

(Are we not irritating?)

[We is only spoken as misery loves company. I am not irritating. I can see you irritating most of the world, though, sonny girl.]

(Sonny girl? Did you mean sunny girl?)

[Girl. Look how you are dressed. I said sonny instead of sunny for a reason. You also can't hear the difference when those words are spoken - you always make your own joke openings without realizing how they fall back on you. Given that, I still said what I said.]

(Alright. So. Back to reality. Let's work on making me less paranoid, right?)

[ ]

(Et tu, Brutus?)

[ ]

"Want to watch that one space time movie? Or, any move about time and space? Any sci-fi movies you like?" I ask her in a daze, her sweet, sweet arms around me sedating me.

"Um, not really."