The Tired Mind

A new message dropped down the long chute from the Unknown, one of several just like it. One of the tireless busy-men running about the place opened it and read it off: “Itch! Back of head.” He walked from the chutes over to the big machine at the center of the room and dropped the message into a slot at the top. It was a miracle that this big hunk of machinery worked at all. It had a tangled shape to it, too wrapped around itself for any onlooker to figure out how it worked. It shook furiously, spewing steam, oil, and the occasional expletive as it processed the new message. Finally, just as it seemed like the thing would explode, it suddenly stopped with a ding and popped out its verdict. “Lift right arm. Scratch itch with finger. Don’t bump into guy on right,” the last bit a reference to an earlier incoming message about an irritable fellow apparently to the right somewhere “out there”. If one looked closely enough down at the bottom of this output directive, there was another message in small print: “…but I’d really like to go Home now.” These little messages had been showing up a lot recently, stuck down in the corner of the directives spewed out from the worn out old machine. “Turn left at next light…but I’d really like to go Home now.” “Walk to kitchen. Get glass of water…but I’d really like to go Home now.” “Keep up appearance of being professional and capable…but I’d really like to go Home now.”