'fizz pop' and brain warts.

I am a Power House of information. My mind is a colossal database of knowledge. A phenomenal machine. An astounding computer system capable of unprecedented technological feats. People come to me for answers.

            “How are you?” they ask.

            “I am good,” I answer.

I am a Power House of information.

People will drill me with questions upon seeing me. Some questions I alone know the answer to. I alone have access into this ultra-exclusive databank known as my mind. They will ask me, “What is your name?” “How old are you?” “How do I get to Wendy’s from here?”

These are Important Questions.

I have information people desire. People desire information I possess. They desire to know the contents of my mind. “Are you hungry?” “What are you reading?” “Why are you just sitting there?” they ask.

            “How are you?” they ask.

            “I am good,” I answer.

Sometimes, I am not really good. Why I answer that I am good, when I am not really good, I do not think I have time to go into.

Sometimes, I need to eat. Other people, also, need to eat. I eat with other people. But not always. While we eat, they ask me for information.

People listen to music. They read books. They watch sports games. They watch movies. Sometimes, they want to watch, or listen, with me. They desire my opinion concerning these things. And I give it to them.

People care that I exist. Some of them enjoy being with me. Some of them really enjoy being with me. Some of them really want me to keep existing, even though they do not see me that often. And they expect me to want them to keep existing as well. Which sometimes I do.

This is why people ask me how I am.

I am good, I answer.

“I am glad that you are alive,” they say. “I want you to keep being alive, and if you were not, I would not be happy,” they say.

Sometimes, I believe them.

“I am good,” I answer. Even though they did not ask.