Trying to restore order to my messy room; feeling tired; avoiding arguments to no avail; still emotional over fictional deaths; forming some semblance of sanity in my writing (without much success).
“You were so badly made.”
Oh. Well, I suppose I was, yes. But that’s okay. Comforting, even.
“The dirty little creep, sticking his head out of the burrow, had said my human body had been badly made. And, of course, it had. It had not been engineered. It had simply grown evolutionally, through millennia, doing the best it could with the little that it had.”
That’s all there is to it. We’re just doing the best we can with the little that we have. That’s all.
(I’ve been reading Clifford D. Simak’s short stories. They’re quite good.)