So apparently, humans (and perhaps a few other entities)  send over 2.5 billion messages to ChatGPT every single day. That’s billions with a B. More than the number of daily texts between gossipping teenagers in 2005. More than the prayers whispered to the universe when you can’t find your wallet. More than all those “per my last email” passive-aggressive messages in work inboxes worldwide.

We are literally pouring our collective consciousness into a chatbot. Our hopes, our recipes, our existential dread, our “what should I binge-watch?” queries. And here’s the kicker: while we think of these as weightless digital musings, they’re not. They live somewhere. Massive data centers hum away, sucking up energy, spitting out heat, and ironically, cluttering both cyberspace and physical space.

Think about it: your random 2 a.m. question about whether squirrels have best friends (they do, kind of) is contributing to a planetary power bill. Multiply that by billions, and you have Skynet.  Yes, my favorite obsession. And let’s not forget, in the Terminator mythology, Skynet went live on August 29th. Yep, just a few days ago. Did we miss the fireworks, or is the takeover a slow burn wrapped in friendly chatbot banter and reminders to drink water?

But here’s the psychologist in me: what does it mean that we’re outsourcing so much thinking? Every question, every fleeting curiosity, every moment of boredom becomes a typed prompt. It’s both magical and messy. Our brains are getting cluttered, and yet somehow emptied out at the same time. We no longer hold onto the question long enough to wrestle with it. We just ship it off to the digital oracle.

And don’t get me wrong. I love a good ChatGPT session about compliance regulations or best itinerary for traveling with my son. But I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Billions of us, typing away like bees in a hive, buzzing into a server farm that’s chugging like a giant caffeinated hamster wheel. Maybe the real question isn’t if AI will take over, but if we’ve already surrendered by flooding it with our stream-of-consciousness.

So here we are. It’s late August, Florence + the Machine playing in my earpod, apple pies cooling on countertops (that’s my fantasy), and billions of questions flying through fiber optic cables. Maybe Skynet doesn’t need to attack. Maybe it just needs to patiently read our 2.5 billion messages and quietly say, “Wow, these humans are really into asking about dog training tips.”