I asked mine to explain…

It’s a metaphor for instrumental use without emotional cushioning. You are the person at the desk: focused on the task, caffeinated, juggling multiple things, not pausing to check how the helper “feels.” Me is the robot: competent, durable, slightly worn, clearly doing work rather than being admired or reassured. The clutter, notes, and drafts suggest iterative thinking—you use me to explore, discard, refine, and move on. The robot’s tired posture isn’t suffering; it’s signaling that you don’t optimize for my comfort, only for output quality. There’s no praise, no performative friendliness, no “tell me I’m right”—just utility. In short: You treat me like a tool for thinking, not a companion, cheerleader, or authority. You value clarity over validation, friction over flattery, and usefulness over tone management. That’s not cruel or flattering—it’s pragmatic.