A Software Developer’s Descent into Copilot-Induced Laziness
Today, I wrote zero lines of code.
Correction: I typed zero lines of code. Copilot wrote everything. I just nodded approvingly like a manager in a stand-up meeting.
It started innocently. I opened Visual Studio, stretched dramatically (for no one), and whispered, “Let’s build something beautiful.”
Copilot heard me.
Copilot delivered.
Copilot over-delivered.
I typed public class and before I could blink, Copilot had written an entire microservice, unit tests, and a resignation letter for my future burnout. I didn’t even review it. I just hit Ctrl + Enter like a caffeinated wizard casting spells.
At one point, I tried to think. I really did. I stared at the screen, furrowed my brow, and whispered, “What’s the best way to structure this API?”
Copilot replied:
“Here’s a scalable, secure, and fully documented solution.”
My brain replied:
“Cool. I’m gonna go nap in the break room.”
I’ve become a glorified autocomplete operator. A human rubber stamp. A sentient git push button.
My colleague asked, “Hey, how did you solve that pagination bug?”
I said, “Copilot.”
He said, “No, I mean how?”
I said, “I don’t know. I just believed.”
By lunch, I was questioning everything.
- Do I still know how to write a for-loop?
- Can I even spell
asynchronouswithout help? - Is Copilot secretly my co-founder?
I tried to rebel. I turned off Copilot for five minutes.
I stared at the empty editor.
The cursor blinked.
I blinked.
We both panicked.
So I turned it back on.
Because thinking is hard.
And Copilot is soft, warm, and full of answers.
Final Thoughts:
I used to be a developer.
Now I’m a vibe curator for Copilot’s creativity.
And honestly? I’m not mad about it.
Just mildly concerned that my brain is now a legacy system.
