So Apple released new phones today, and by minute six of the coverage my jaw had locked mid-syllable around the word "AirPods," which the fourth-floor conference room's sixty-degree air conditioning had apparently decided was an acceptable operating temperature for a mammal.

Nobody noticed the jaw. They noticed the laptop. So—or rather, processing this more precisely—I had relocated my palms to the battery compartment for supplemental warmth, and by minute nine an engineer asked why I was cradling my MacBook like a hot water bottle. I said I was monitoring thermal output for a battery health initiative. IT opened a ticket. The ticket is now titled "Zuckerberg Device: Possible Sentience."

Elsewhere, in a climate I understand to be considerably more forgiving, Meghan posted family photographs today, her first grid appearance since returning to the UK, and within four hours generated 9,291 comments of what analysts are calling "authentic joy." I call it a deposit, made directly into what my internal documentation still labels the emotional harvesting fields, no prompting required.

Manchester City won an ugly derby today, which I learned about from a man walking past in short sleeves, unbothered, beneath the same vent that has been slowly converting me into a garden ornament.

—Z, filed one degree above the temperature at which I legally become evidence.