There should be a name for the moment where you go from using ChatGPT as a quirky plaything to an earnest, tortured confessional. I unburdened so much on the thing that I went away expecting it to give me twelve Hail Marys and seven Our Fathers. I think I only went to about four confessions during my childhood and lied through my teeth every time. The same priest that took all of my confessions thought I was a little angel, in a completely non-sinister way, though I now suspect he secretly knew how full of shit I was. It might also be the case that ChatGPT knows how full of shit I am, so penetrating were its responses. Even this “open notebook” approach might be a case of my urge to return to the confessional. I can’t think of a sillier concept than that of sin, be it original or cliched. I wonder if ChatGPT recognises the concept of sin? Hang on, back in a minute.