You know about nanotechnology, right? 

Tiny little robots. They have set functions. I had this memory/dream/inspiration about my cloud. It’s a personal nano-swarm. Millions and millions of bots, invisible to all but the best microvision.  Attuned to a specific individual, the swarm is the ultimate in personal care.

Some bots trim my hair, keeping it in the style I like. They epillate the areas I like clear, like my face, my back. Some exfoliate, massage and moisturize my skin, applying sunscreen when needed. There’s a whole crew that works keeping nails clean and tightly trimmed. They amazingly power themselves off the dead cells, turns out that for a microscopic nanovirus, that’s a lot of power.  When a bot reaches the end of it’s life-cylce it launches itself into the air, along with sweet odors, like old time cologne. 

They self replicate. 

There are the cell herders inside my body as well, working to keep blood flowing properly, by cleansing my circulatory system of plaque the same way they clear my teeth. There are even certain troubleshooter teams who patrol my body regularly, searching for disease or irregular growth,  and then handlling most problems before they become problems.  I haven’t been “sick” in as long as I remember. The great thing, too is that they are dialed into the vast store of knowledge of all nanoswarms.  If they don’t know how to fix the problem, they figure it right out. 

Then there are the rebuilders. We call them Dozers. As cells wear out, there are swarms that get right to work reconditioning organs so seamlessly and gradually, nobody ever notices.  My report says that my heart has been optimized and replaced three times over. 

Once, there were great tales told of machines rebelling against man. There were countless stories of robots tearing us limb from limb. 

Yeah, never happened. Number one reason? 

I love my nano swarm and with it I’ll live forever.

Each night for the last few days, when I get home from work, I got nothing. I got no creative in me. I Have it in me, but it doesn’t want to come out. I have this idea for this contemporary scifi novel, and it’s there. It’s just congested. Like my chest. Like my throat. Like my body.  It’s not a bad sickness, just a little sick. 

When you are sick, all the other stuff just goes away. You just want to be healthy. I just need rest and there seems to be no end in site. 

So please, give me a little break here. When I feel a little better I’ll be able to manage more than just twitters. I promise.