Call me Jane.

My life is a machine analyzed, its contents confiscated, checked and rechecked at the end of the day. All the errors and faults tabulated, checked and double checked against a table of faults, a report spewed out
at the end of the day. I have a QA system constantly running, by the nanosecond, of everything move I make and everything thought that might have been or might be behind it.

I cannot be happy without being recorded; I cannot be sad without it being written down. I cannot laugh without having it judged as a spell, a notion, a thought, an intention, a burst of insanity or spontaneous glitch in
my mechanism. It can never be as simple as a simple laugh or a flick of the hand. It is due to some internal malfunction and I commit a wrong in every 1 and 0.

She laughs. She needs to be checked.
She cries. She is not living up to her design.
She does not understand. She is made a different way.
She breaks down and shuts off. Time to get a new one.