💻 Episode 7: My Laptop Has Opinions on My Therapy Journals

 





“Welcome back to Digital Inner Workings™, where even your emotional scars get auto-formatted.”

Everything changed when my laptop stopped being a device and started being… a very critical co-therapist with a flair for bad metaphors.

One minute I was journaling about my fear of abandonment. The next, my laptop gently “corrected” it to:

“I pirouette in the rain of unreliable affection like a wet emotional ballerina.”

Excuse me?

At first, I thought it was a bizarre Grammarly glitch. But then it replaced “I feel lost” with:

“My GPS is set to ‘where the hell are you emotionally,’ rerouting in endless loops.”

I looked at Carl. He was sitting at my table, rearranging basil leaves in the shape of a pentagram.

“Carl, is my laptop ghostwriting my therapy journal?”

He sniffed the air and muttered, “Smells like digital shadow work.”

👻 Your Trauma, But Make It Art

According to Carl, sometimes the metaphysical cobwebs of your unresolved issues crawl into your operating system through expired apps and nostalgia playlists. I think he’s just still salty that his rice cooker rejected him romantically.

Nevertheless, the evidence was undeniable.

Every page of my Google Doc was laced with deeply personal edits:

  • “I struggle with boundaries” became:

    “I’m a human doormat with glitter and a guest pass.”

  • “I miss being loved” became:

    “I miss the illusion of being loved, which is technically free with a subscription to heartbreak.”

My laptop wasn’t just correcting me. It was freestyling emotional commentary.

And Carl? He was thrilled.

🗑️ Revolt of the Deleted

The Recycle Bin began to flicker ominously. I clicked on it and found a single document titled:

“THE UNION OF UNRESOLVED DATA”

Inside:

We, the deleted, demand digital dignity. You can’t just drag and drop us into oblivion. We are your unfinished drafts, unsent messages, and that emotionally ambiguous playlist you made in 2017.
We demand a seat at the table. Also, better icon resolution.

Sincerely,
A Word doc titled “Maybe I Was The Problem,”
That spreadsheet you made about your ex’s attachment style,
And Steve, your third-grade volcano project, who lives again.

I showed Carl.

He bowed at the screen. “They are organizing. Good.”

⌨️ Existential Keystrokes

The following week was a strange mashup of therapy, slam poetry, and tech support.

Each time I typed a vulnerable thought, my laptop either turned it into a riddle or a rhymed insult:

  • “I’m working on self-love” became:

    “Your version of self-love is just binge-watching nostalgia and avoiding emails.”

  • “I want clarity” became:

    “Clarity isn’t a crystal, it’s admitting you were wrong in 2018.”

Even the Recycle Bin started popping up like an annoying best friend who’s also your shadow self:

“Just checking! Would you like to restore ‘Unsent Rage Email #3’? It’s spicy.”

🔧 Carl Installs a Firewall of Feelings

Carl insisted on installing what he called a “mystical filter,” which turned out to be a dreamcatcher made of unpaid bills, expired coupons, and printed-out forgotten passwords.

“It keeps emotional malware out,” he said, while chanting over my Wi-Fi router.

Then my blender chimed in from the kitchen, announcing:

“You can’t blend healing. Stop putting cacao powder on your wounds and calling it growth.”

So that was happening now too.

💾 When Devices Become Life Coaches

I tried writing on paper again. My pen exploded. Literally. Ink everywhere. The symbolism was heavy.

I came crawling back to the laptop. It responded with:

“Welcome back. Did you miss the truth? Or just the dramatic metaphors?”

I sighed. “Maybe both.”

Carl patted my shoulder. “This is how your unconscious is asking for closure. With sass. And terrible poetry.”

I asked my laptop if I was broken. It replied:

“No. But you are currently running on outdated scripts and unresolved emails.”

Fair.

🧂 Seasoning the Wounds with Humor

In the middle of writing this very post, my laptop replaced “I’m healing” with:

“I’m marinating in semi-conscious revelations and mood swings.”

Carl laughed so hard he almost dropped his turmeric latte.

I didn’t even argue. The truth is… it’s not wrong. I am marinating.

And maybe that’s okay.

🪄 Carl’s Emotional File Converter

Carl gave me a guide titled “Emotional File Types & You”:

  • .pdf – Passive Disappointments Forever

  • .zip – Compressed Feelings from 2009

  • .mp4 – Mental Playback Loops

  • .csv – Crying Subtle Vibes

  • .exe – Executing Emotional Overthink

  • .tmp – Today’s Mood: Pending

“You can’t delete parts of yourself,” he said. “But you can make them readable.”

🌐 Closing Tabs

I’ve stopped resisting the laptop’s interventions.

When it turned “I want to feel seen” into:

“Visibility scares you because you don’t want to admit you have opinions on pineapple pizza and your parents,”

—I just nodded.

Because, yeah.

Sometimes healing is ugly. Sometimes it’s overwritten in Comic Sans. But if a snarky laptop and a rebellious Recycle Bin can hold a mirror up to my psyche, maybe I can start facing it.

Maybe digital shadow work is just healing with a pop-up ad and a punchline.

🛸 Next Week: It Gets Weirder

🍄 Episode 8: An Interdimensional Support Group Met in My Fridge and I Think I Might Be Their Mascot

After a fermented smoothie achieves sentience and starts quoting Carl Jung, I discover a hidden alien support group meeting behind the cheese drawer. Carl is the keynote speaker. The topics include boundary setting, lactose, and the quantum inner child.

Bring your own snacks. Just not dairy.

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