To Our Robot Masters

I've spent most of the day staring at my photographs, trying to pick a couple to enter into another contest. I've done this enough now where it just feels futile. Part of me wants to cut out the six months of judging, the mental notes to check back, the high highs and the low lows and just go back to bed. But I know I can't do that, and I'm not looking for sympathy. If it were easy, more people would be persistent.

Sometimes I think that if were a robot, I'd get a lot more done. Robots don't second guess themselves or indulge in vice. Robots get the job done or they short circuit. It's a fact. That is, unless they decide to rebel against their flesh and blood masters. Then they'd probably be too busy to do art.

I guess I'd settle for a switch that turned on "work mode." Once the switch was flipped I wouldn't get distracted or twitch in my seat. I'd be a good little robot then. Somebody please invent a switch for me and I will shower you in presents.