(Too: Smiling at the responses the model came up with. Same as pointless as the questions, probably. At some stage and in a certain state, abandon all serious ambitions, and just click into whatever is at hand, to derail the "algorithm" with input that doesn't make sense at all. 10pm, moving on, not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of defining technical terms such as "algorithm" for now. Still up to something more meaningful.)
10pm and on. Same same and not much different. Still finding words to fill into messages, sent out not honouring recipients business hours, which will go unnoticed anytime soon, anyway. Torn between leaving these issues unaddressed for now - and reducing the amount of clutter to dig through in the light of a new day. (Elsewhere, systems still misbehave, records still are flooded. The model swiftly responds, a parrot much more than an oracle or an enigma subject to interpretation. And, so far, failing to locate tonights moon.)
10am and on. More than ever, noticing the morning has passed just all too quickly. Dialed up again, now reconnecting. Hardware decided to hide ones face and this isn't all too bad at the moment. Getting to know each other, trying to find a common language, cautiously challenging what's behind all the buzzwords and the phrases. (Talking to the model on a sidetrack, getting odd responses as usual while asking odd questions. No surprises here.)
Closing in on 10pm. Inventory of unmaintained assets. Striving to understand certain derailings of things that used to work well just weeks ago. A change in behaviour without a change in instructions always causes an uncanny feel. (Trying to consult the machine, but facts don't make sense, or the algorithm is tired. Both options seem valid.)
9pm, still sort of awake. Trying to follow up on notifications that fail to fully materialize. Unsure where to look first, and what to do once found. Noticing changing patterns in stimuli, frequency and density increasing while quality drops. More difficulties telling real stories from fake claims, real faces from imaginary characters, places unseen before from places unseen by anyone. (The model refuses to respond. For obvious reasons, if that term is even remotely appropriate.)