This post was not written by AI. Just emotionally influenced by one.
Remember when AI was supposed to simplify our lives? Automate our tasks? Enhance productivity?
Yeah. Now I can’t tell if my resume is real, my face is real, or my thoughts are mine or ChatGPT’s third cousin.
So here we are — thriving in the uncanny valley, clutching our algorithm-approved iced coffees and whispering, “I am not a prompt.”
🧠 My Thoughts, Curated by AI
Before AI:
- I had opinions.
- I used words like “meh” and “vibe.”
After AI:
- I write emails that sound like press releases.
- Every journal entry reads like it wants to win a Pulitzer.
“I asked ChatGPT to write my dating profile. Now I’m in a relationship with someone who thinks I read 3 books a week.”
How I know I’m cooked:
- I say “optimize” in casual conversation.
- I labeled my own emotions “vibes with low engagement.”
📸 My Face, But Make It AI
AI filter logic:
- Removes all pores
- Adds vibes
- Replaces bone structure with Pinterest boards
“That’s not a filter. That’s a digital witness protection program.”
Current dilemma:
- Can’t use a real selfie anymore because people expect me to look like a cartoon CEO.
Solution:
- Add noise, vintage grain, and a tiny font that says “Don’t perceive me.”
See also: Subscription Fatigue — because I’m now paying $7.99/month to look like someone who drinks green juice.
🧾 Canva-Core Identity Crisis
I used to write resumes. Now I design my entire personality on Canva.
- Vision board? Yes.
- Vague wellness quote in sans serif? Obviously.
- Color-coded monthly affirmations? Required.
My entire career strategy:
- Upload PDF.
- Pray.
Fonts I trust more than people:
- Montserrat
- Lora Italic
- Literally anything that screams, “Hire me, but don’t talk to me.”
🔈 That’s Not My Voice
AI voicemail, 2025 edition:
“Hi, this is Avner! I’m currently offline but emotionally available. Please leave a message after the deep fake.”
Mom: “Why do you sound like a corporate ghost?”
Me: “Because I am one now.”
See also: Your Phone Battery Is Low and So Are You — if you’ve ever needed to emotionally recharge through airplane mode.
💬 Prompt Anxiety
I don’t have imposter syndrome. I have prompt paralysis.
Before AI:
- I asked dumb questions out loud.
Now:
- I phrase everything like a TED Talk.
“Sorry I took so long to respond. I was crafting a question with optimal output potential.”
Group chat energy now:
- Me: “Hey guys :)”
- Also me: [retypes it 17 times to avoid sounding robotic]
🖼️ The Pinterestification of My Soul
AI told me:
- I’m a “cozy minimalist with Scandinavian undertones.”
Reality:
- I live in chaos and mismatched socks.
My aesthetic according to algorithms:
- Beige
- Calm
- Candle
Me in real life:
- Unplugged air fryer
- Emotional clutter
- A hoodie that smells like productivity panic
See also: Girl Dinner, Boy Math & Other Things That Don’t Add Up — for more logic-defying life choices.
⚡ Quickfire: My AI Spiral
- Used ChatGPT to plan my week. Now I have 18 goals and no serotonin.
- Mid-text, I think: “Would AI say it better?”
- Told an AI to design my apartment. Now I’m afraid to sit anywhere.
- I’ve started rating real-life conversations as “mid-output.”
- Autocorrect keeps changing “help” to “hell.” It’s probably right.
- My lock screen says: “Curated by algorithms. Powered by vibes.”
- I asked for career advice. It gave me a brand identity.
- I generated my own affirmations. I don’t believe them.
🎤 Final Thought: I’m Not a Prompt, I’m a Person
It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine.
Just remember — if your attention span has been destroyed, your confidence is copy-pasted, and your to-do list is a prompt away from an existential crisis… you’re not alone.
You’re just a little too online.
“AI didn’t ruin my life. It just made it weirdly well-formatted.”
See also: I Don’t Sleep Anymore, I Just Scroll — for when your bedtime routine becomes an algorithm binge.
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