AI, Only for I: When Shared Abundance Becomes Scarcity

A Generous Gesture Meets Reality

When I read earlier today that Uber had burnt through their AI budget for the year 2026 in just four months, I did wonder whether that burn rate had produced commensurate productivity gains to have made it worthwhile. According to the CTO, the headline figure suggests otherwise; else, it might have been less concerning. [Quartz: Uber's COO says the company's AI spending is getting harder to justify]

In the same vein, news has emerged that Microsoft is scaling back internal Claude Code licences, indicating that reliance on this toolset has burnt through budgets and forecasts to become an unsustainable revenue drain. [MSN: Microsoft retreats from Claude Code as AI costs soar]

My Poe Setup

I use Poe as my interface to a broad range of bots, grouped under official, budget-friendly, search, image, video, audio, and programming categories. My monthly subscription comes with 1,000,000 points and, despite my usage, I would consider myself a tad frugal. I barely use 75,000 points before the month is out.

For value, access to premium services across many platforms through one interface is, for me, the best deal you can get in AI access and provision. There might be better offers out there, but I am quite satisfied with what I have been using for over two years.

Sharing the Largesse

In demonstrating the features of Poe a few days ago, I discovered that I could share my points with up to 99 others: family, friends, or colleagues. I assumed such sharing would carry the kind of usage and frugality of one gentle owner of a vintage car, with little mileage on the clock, and much to enjoy if the pleasure of driving were shared with another.

How wrong I was. In the space of three days, an invitee had already burnt through more than half of the monthly allocation. At that rate, there would be no points left to do anything in another two days. I was in shock. People are doing things with AI bots that it seems I am yet to discover, even when I think my own use of this facility is quite involved.

A Cold Blast of Reality

What to do? I shared a graphic illustration of the spending activity with the invitee, along with a note about how the burn rate puts the idea of fair use into precarity. Beyond that, sharing this largesse based on my frugality cannot be representative of its usage in reality.

Poe only shows the daily usage of points of those with whom the points have been shared, and we all have full access to the pool. As the administrator, I have two options: to share or to remove. Whilst I have not opted for the nuclear option, my enthusiasm for generosity has met a cold blast of the actualité.

Weighing the Options

I could purchase add-on points that are usable for one year, and are not refundable, transferable, or redeemable for cash. However, I want to hope we are not at a crisis point, just a spot of bother and concern.

What is not helpful is the sudden realisation that what looked like abundance could easily become scarce, like a swarm of locusts swooping down on a field close to harvest season. That is devastation on a grand scale; it is the kind of mindset one can ill afford to have.

The thought that I must monitor the points I have left, out of concern that my modest subscription will not last the month, is not the prospect I planned for. Then again, I cannot even share this with Brian, my husband, because the service is not available in Zimbabwe. What luck!

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The Tired of Tired

A Spell of Funk

The past few days have been meh! A total lack of interest or enthusiasm. The usually sunny and hot weather has done little to brighten any sense of existence. In bed last night, I felt the tired of tired, but I had to fight off that feeling. It was not healthy.

I had tried to engage in some activity, beginning with the Africa Day event on Saturday, which left me unimpressed. Then at church the following day, I read the notice for the Whit Walks on Monday and was promptly dissuaded from attending: the preacher invited to minister was lauded not for her ministry, but more for her celebrity and her appearance on Gogglebox. I do not care to remember her name.

A Surfeit of Bad News

It does not help that, with my radio tuned to a BBC news channel, the snippets of interesting stories came laced with a surfeit of depressing news. Abuses, infractions, illegalities, and criminality by those who should know better, yet who would neither be held to account nor held accountable by those who matter, the latter too afraid to take a moral stand for fear of the blowback.

At times, you would think you need a holiday from the world, to a place of peaceful reflection on the beauty around you that you almost always fail to see.

In Search of Tranquillity

On Monday, I did go into the country, hoping for that very escape, but the tranquillity and fun I had expected never quite arrived. Tuesday brought another attempt at engagement: a men's group billed as a dance session.

In practice, it was more body movement and the rather boring projection of closing our eyes and imagining silly things. The only genuine pleasure I drew from it was setting up the table for food.

It was at that group, too, that the broader sense of injustice came home in a far more personal way. A fellow attendee had been attacked, and his assailant had received only a light prison sentence. I could do little more than commiserate with him and offer a hug.

The Weight of Work

On the work front, which brings its own share of excitement, things have been somewhat depressing. There is no wherewithal to achieve; the hours like the deepest, longest night of a nightmare, failing to find a conclusion even as the day breaks.

Unease, dissatisfaction, lethargy, fatigue, and listlessness leave you in recoil from living to the full. Once again, I find myself striving to escape this state of funk, and I know it will pass; I just wish it would pass quicker than I can remember I was ever this disturbed.

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Thought Picnic: Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Sometimes, I reflect on the fact that I lead a number of public lives which revolve around simply doing what I love, without seeking acknowledgement or reward. Something in my upbringing, in the observation of my parents and mentors, drives me towards excellence.

Much as I seek perfection, I quite frequently fall short. I upbraid myself, accuse myself, and talk to myself in a voice that calls me by my own name, because there is a conversation to be had before someone else has it with me. I would rather be my own critic, so as to be prepared to receive a better critique, one of recognition, of merit, and of acknowledgement.

Stories That Once Scared Me

There are stories from my past that frighten me, where the infirmity registered in the ravine of failure offered no opportunity or facility for recovery. It was unsalvageable wreckage, beyond repair, and utterly hopeless.

Yet, I have a better story to tell. No narrative I share today wallows in helpless resignation, for I am blessed beyond measure with testimonies of goodness, success, victory, and triumph.

The Pleasure of Work

At work, I enjoy what I do, not for the remuneration, of which I have once earned stupendously, but for the satisfaction that the knowledge and expertise I bring to bear on the mundane and the complex still matters.

I get to learn as much as I help others learn. I do what I do, not to get noticed, but to make things work. In the process, acknowledgement, respect, and rewards may well come. My motivation, however, is the pleasure.

Appearance and Carriage

In appearance, I have my own kind of dressing, something I pay attention to, because appearance and carriage matter. There have been times when I have been stopped so that pictures could be taken of me.

Once, a young man, after complimenting me, said he would love to have the confidence to dress like me. I suppose hardly a day goes by without some sort of recognition from strangers, and yet I am not out to attract attention. My motivation is simply looking good.

The Wealth of Expression

On this blog, I write about anything that takes my fancy, not for want of engagement or readership. To think there was a time when I hated writing, even though I had a great deal to say in conversation.

I am easily shy, quite introverted, and socially awkward and nervous in organised meetings where people are networking. It is in the use of words that I truly flourish. My motivation is the wealth of expression.

The Story of a Man

What all this says to me is to keep doing what I know to do, in the best possible way, with every aim to impact, improve, and perhaps impress. I will never be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope those who drink this tea enjoy it tremendously.

Decades of work, portrayal, and expression all become the story of a man. Thank you for coming by.

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I've Never Liked Liquorice

A Restless Anticipation

I had a good enough night's rest, setting my wake-up alarm for 7:00 AM in anticipation of my oesophagogastroduodenoscopy procedure. In the end, the main thing that weighed on my mind was whether this apparently simple but unpleasant procedure could lead to complications.

I did not prepare myself for adverse outcomes, instead steeling myself with the inclination that everything would turn out right. I had already expiated my deepest concerns in the blog "Tubing Down the Gullet", which I wrote yesterday.

Setting Off to Hospital

After chatting to Brian, whose words of comfort and support meant a lot to me, I called an Uber to take me to the hospital, and sent a message to my neighbour about what was going on.

Arriving at the endoscopy unit, I was registered by the desk clerk at the reception. I had hardly settled into a comfortable seat before the coordinator of the unit invited me in for a preprocedural assessment, checking my details, gaining my consent, and explaining what the procedure would entail.

Briefed Before the Bed

It would last 7 minutes. You could add "long" or "short" as a qualifier of time; the personnel opted for "short", which was to minimise the conceptual understanding the patient might have of enduring such a long and uncomfortable intrusive activity.

The most important piece of advice was to keep breathing: in through the nose and out through the mouth. I ended up breathing entirely through my mouth, as my nose was slightly blocked when we started.

After that engagement, I was led to another waiting room to wait for the consultant who would conduct the endoscopy.

Meeting the Consultant

The consultant arrived: pleasant, amiable, and professional, doing his best to keep me at ease. After introductions, we walked to the examination room, well-lit and neat, with nurses giving off a warm aura of encouraging mien that could disarm every sense of anxiety.

She took my bag, cane, coat and hat, and had me sit on the bed. I was asked for the third time if I had any allergies. I always respond with "jealousy", something I learnt from the song "Footsteps Following Me" by Frances Nero, which contains the line, "I am allergic to jealousy". It is quite an icebreaker, I think. [Footsteps Following Me (Lyrics) / (YouTube)]

As I was not going to be sedated, I had this foul-tasting numbing spray squirted down my throat and larynx before I lay down on my left side on the bed. A mouth guard was inserted to stop me from biting on the camera tubing.

The Endoscope Goes Down

The endoscope, which I had seen earlier, looked like a generously thick length of liquorice, just a little over 1 cm in diameter from my estimation. It was introduced into my mouth and wound its way into my throat, where I had to swallow to give it access, and then I began to gurgle. My head was held still as I was advised to keep breathing.

I was breathing, but my gag reflex was triggered so many times that I was retching violently, somewhat scared I might aspirate any fluids. The nurse used a suction tube to draw out the fluid, and there were moments I was comfortable just breathing through my mouth before I was retching again, with my body and legs reacting wildly to the inconvenience.

The camera travelled down to the deepest reaches of my duodenum within two minutes, and for thorough examination, the endoscopist had the camera look back on itself, which is called retroflexion. With air being blown in to allow for a better view, all of it was coming back up in the gurgling and retching.

Biopsies and Relief

Towards the end, I was asked if biopsies could be taken. I'd rather suffer this once than have it done again, so I signalled my consent, and a thin red line was channelled into the camera stem for that purpose.

Imagine the relief when the endoscope was finally extracted, only for me to find that despite all the preparation, my top was soiled to the back of my left shoulder. I tried to dry up before being taken to recovery, where I awaited the preliminary findings of the procedure.

Another set of blood pressure, blood oxygen, and temperature measurements was taken, showing my blood pressure had fallen some 20 points between when I arrived and soon after the procedure.

The Findings

The findings indicated a hiatus hernia, suggesting my stomach had moved slightly above the diaphragm. This is apparently common and could be age-related. Further along, there was an incomplete Schatzki ring not causing any significant narrowing. This is a circle of tissue in the lower oesophagus that might make it difficult to swallow food.

These findings might not fully explain the food impaction and choking events, but they might indicate something to be aware of. The nurse in the recovery ward suggested I give more time to chewing and mastication before swallowing.

The histopathology of the biopsies is expected in anything from 6 weeks, scribbled in over the printed two weeks. I also had to wait an hour after the application of the numbing spray before ingesting anything.

Heading Home

Then I was discharged and walked back home to take a long bed rest. While I feel alright, the invasion of my innards was quite a shock to my system, bringing on exhaustion and tiredness.

I could have written this blog in the hospital, but it has taken hours afterwards, using AI to explain all the medical terms that are inscrutable to the layman, and trying to understand everything that happened: the findings, and the possible issues that might result. The premise is that there is nothing to worry about, just knowledge that explains some historical issues.

A Parting Thought

One final thing: I was their first customer, and it looked like 3 others had cancelled their appointments. I was never once addressed as a patient. Was I the bigger fool for attending what others were not ready to endure? I have no answer to that question.

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Patience and the Idiot Behind the Wheel

A Scene in Bucolic Cheshire

Accidents are exactly that, and some are caused by avoidable human error. In bucolic Cheshire, where the roads are pleasant and everyone drives with the abandon of suburban, carefree distraction, I happened upon a scene.

A fire engine stood with lights flashing, and as the details began to make sense, I saw two cars involved in a collision, with a tow-away truck arriving to cart one of them away. The police had cordoned off the road; in fact, there was no thoroughfare. Cars were being diverted further up the road, except for residents of the area.

Surveying the Wreckage

I did not tarry. As another tow-away truck navigated the roadblock, I noted the cars were a wreck, and could surmise from my observation who might have been at fault. One car had been accessing a busy road, and the driver's judgement must have deserted him; he was not fast enough to cross the oncoming lane to turn into the road as another car approached from the right.

There would not have been enough time for the other car to react with a sudden stop or a swerve. The result: a crash, fenders ruined, airbags deployed, and one foolish act becoming the inconvenience of many.

Reflections on Patience and Policing

I have always opined that the speed and manoeuvrability of a car present many opportunities for patience; but you only need an idiot behind the wheel for a vehicle to become a weapon of catastrophic consequences.

Yet, for all the unfortunate interactions I have had with the police before, I was persuaded that their helpfulness on this occasion was commendable.

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Tubing Down the Gullet

The Weight of Anticipation

Anxiety is a weight. It sits on your chest and bears down regardless of whether you are lying down, sitting, or standing. Anxiety also signals that the issues of life, though measurable in the brain, are situated in the chest cavity where your heart and lungs reside.

For instance, when you feel confident, you are likely to beat your chest rather than slap your head. Slapping your head, it turns out, is an act of self-deprecation in recognition of one's silliness or foolishness. Anticipation can create anxiety, and nothing quite causes that feeling of foreboding like the hours just before a long-scheduled medical procedure.

Lessons from a Previous Encounter

With hindsight, two years ago, after a multiparametric MRI scan, the consultant sprang a biopsy of my prostate gland on me without first reviewing the results or explaining the reasons. Even so, I was quite well prepared for the encounter.

I asked questions, demanded answers, and only acquiesced to the procedure once I was convinced of the need. The importance of reading up on your medical situation is paramount.

A Portmanteau of Procedures

Tomorrow, I am going for an Oesophagogastroduodenoscopy. I could have sworn that is not a word, but welcome to the world of medical terms that suggest a portmanteau of activities. The word reminds me of German, where portmanteau words are joined up with the letter "S". I would suppose, with medical terms, it is the letter "O", much like when I had that inguinoscrotal abscess last month.

In summary: I am having an endoscopy that will reach down through my oesophagus, past the gastrointestinal junction, to the first and shortest section of my small intestine. I have not deigned to measure that in miles, but it feels like a long way down to places never before visited, rather like the first landing on the moon.

Why This Procedure Is Necessary

This is pursuant to an investigation that presaged my visit to A&E after a choking incident which impacted my ability to swallow anything, including fluids, for hours. I was eventually discharged about five hours into my hospital attendance, after managing a sandwich and a drink. Taken alongside a history of choking events going back decades, and three such incidents since that discharge, this procedure is necessary.

Herewith, the cause of my anxiety: without a chaperone, I can only elect for the most basic palliative, which would be a numbing spray to the back of the throat, rather than a sedative.

Finding Peace

I believe I shall be fine. I suppose it is just part of human nature to be slightly concerned at that kind of invasive activity, and it is not helped by a mind full of others recounting their own endoscopic odyssey.

Shalom! Peace to my mind, peace to my soul, peace to my thoughts, peace through it all.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

When Change Borrows the Lexicon of Grief

A Week of Lethargy

I would hate to admit to being lethargic, but there could be no other word to explain it. Last week, when returning from London, I bought a piece of rump steak and a salad, with the view to having it for supper.

That never happened. Each day as I returned home thinking I might cook, I was simply too tired to be bothered, so in most cases, I went to bed on an empty stomach and only got up quite late to take my pills.

When it comes to food, I enjoy cooking, and there are times when I do crave something different, but I never immediately act to fulfil that craving. It sits on my mind for a while until it is either dismissed as exhausting or I am compelled to act.

Steak, Finally

After more than a week, I took the steak out of the fridge, marinated it, and rather than tossing it in oil in a frying pan, I left the cooking to the air fryer. Soon it was done, wrapped in foil for five minutes, before I put it on a plate and served it with the salad.

I probably did not recover the sense of satisfaction that had greeted my initial intention and purchase, but I am glad it did not end up in the bin through disuse and spoilage.

Shifting Ground

Then, as I navigated the issues that needlessly occupy the mind in uncomfortable ways, I attended an all-hands meeting that dwelt on the future of work. It was the kind of situation where you feel the ground shifting under you as if you were experiencing an earthquake.

I was able to link this to another experience where, as a sitting tenant, my apartment was sold to a provincial carpetbagger who probably should not have been speculating in my city. Considering not much had changed in my apartment for a decade, I was receiving demands to meet rates relative to the area without any corresponding changes to the commodity.

Loving where I live and my neighbours, I have made adjustments and accommodations, but there are limits to acquiescing before it becomes untenable. A recent posting in my village would suggest I am paying over the odds.

A Contract in Flux

The shifting sands metaphor also applies to work. The services contract between my employer and the client is changing such that the functions I perform will transfer to another service provider, whilst my employer assumes an overarching responsibility between the client and all the engaged service providers.

I think my employer is somewhat conflicted, because they would lose personnel engagement but acquire a broader first line support profile, along with that control and interface between the service providers and the client. The question is whether I am transferred to a new service provider or retained to function with other clients.

Grief Is Not a Career Change

For me, that meeting was rather depressing, and it was not helped by someone in a top managerial role trying to be a psychologist, addressing issues of fundamental change to career trajectories.

For someone who has studied and traversed the Five Stages of Grief with respect to two life-threatening episodes of cancer, the last thing I expected was to recognise those words adapted into a philosophy of change at work.

The intent was commendable, but I do not think due consideration was given to the effect such associations would have on the attendees. Changing jobs or having employment contracts change whilst retaining the same role can never equate to any stage of grief of the kind I had experienced.

It was almost as if she were having a laugh whilst trying to be empathetic and serious.

In the end, I was unimpressed and totally nonchalant, even as the burden of other concerns, including health challenges, became a lexicon of daily struggles seeking ascendancy over better stories and good living.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog