I tried calling AJP on the phone while I was walking from the relatively secluded well-lit cement patch underneath a sky blue overhang which matches the wall (and which looks aesthetically pleasing according to my tastes (and I sometimes colloquially refer to it as “the Tiffany Blue Box” which “houses” a diamond of a human being: me!)) which is across the street from where I was last camping in the tent which got stolen within the past two weeks. While calling him (and standing and cheezily dancing near the parking garage next to the Ross corporate building), I started silently joking to myself about what an opportunist I am. I was going to bluntly ask the fellow if I could use his living room as a place to hang out tonight to get out of the bitter cold and to not have to deal with my parents. The phone rang four times before the answering machine recording started playing (and I called twice). I continuing walking down Arnold Road towards the East Dublin BART station parking garage and got some icky vibes from being near the “upper middle class” looking apartments (and those icky vibes came from me imagining that I look like a scary teenage male who might have a knife or a gun and, for that reason, I might not exactly be tolerated in those parts (and I choose to look that menacing because I like feeling like an alpha male who can survive in the streets by itself and not having to be such a “nice guy” (and I thought about how perhaps AJP does not want to be support transgendered people and does not like that I do not find fertile Latina/Hispanic women to be deserving of being treated like damsels in distress and princesses who deserve to be given a place to live so long as she adheres to a role of being intellectually inferior and infinitely patient and accommodating towards whatever man is giving her a place of refuge, food to eat, and protection from violence and abuse outside his domain))). When I tried calling AJP again while walking through those parts, his phone only rang twice each time (which made me think that AJP either turned off his phone or else blocked my number). After I got to “the power tower” (the colloquial name I gave to the East Dublin BART parking garage), I grabbed two of my blankets from my mom’s blue Toyota Matrix (which I refer to as “my” car even though my name is not on the title of that car and even though I do not pay for that car to remain insured such that it is legally drive-able). I grabbed the tattered sleeping bag (and the other one of its kind was stolen along with my tent because it was inside that tent) which has a lot of its polyester stuffing missing because it fell out of the holes (which makes that sleeping bag almost useless in terms of insulating me from the cold). I also grabbed the purple and red blanket from my grandmother’s house (i.e. the house my dad inherited from his electronics engineer of a father (i.e. Harold Beringer) and former pharmacy clerk and 1950’s homemaker grandmother (i.e. Kari Beringer)) which has marijuana-esque leaf prints on it and which makes me feel like a royal Nordic descendant when I enrobe myself in it (and I imagine my grandmother smiling on from heaven as I do my best to be a noble and hardworking person (and she seemed to believe in me as a STEM major while she was alive more than most people did but she is dead now and so is my paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother (i.e. Lina Ray))). I have one more white fluffy blanket in the car which is the best insulator I currently have, but it’s not what I would call aesthetically pleasing and it tends to get wet more easily than the purple and red blanket (and the green sleeping bag tends to get wet somewhat easily (and by getting wet, I mean getting wet just from the moisture in the cold air (and the air temperatures between 5PM and 7AM (especially between 4AM and sunrise) is when the air has been getting so painfully cold lately that there is a layer of frost over the new green grass, wood chips in the landscapes, and dirt))). I keep telling myself that I will not let myself suffer another night cycle of shivering in the cold and struggling to keep my extremities from going numb from the cold. Perhaps tonight is the night I finally get it right and bring the right blanket combination at the right time to the right place and not such that I am not able to get productive use of my laptop computer and alertness if I am too alert and not sufficiently tired to sleep (and not having a job nor scheduled commitments to go to during the day and night makes it relatively easy for me to eat as well and sleep as well and exercise as well and study as well as I want to (but that has not been without controversy, of course, as I have attempted to document as thoroughly as I think necessary in prior journal entries)). Anyway, once I got to the electrical outlet to charge my phone and laptop computer, I started browsing social media and found some items which I thought were worthy of taking screenshots of to share below. Then I called AJP again and the phone rang four times each time I called (which means that my number is not being blocked (what a relief!)). Anyway, the point of this journal entry (which is rather stream of consciousness style (and I really like this style of writing because it just lets me get the words out as quickly as possible and as naturally as I would if I were allowed to talk at length into a microphone like I was recording a podcast about my life)) is to suggest that AJP is covertly my advocate but wants to portray himself to me as being unavailable to be more involved in my life than he has been so that I do not become too reliant on him instead of self reliant (like a man ought to be). Rather than do what I used to do (which was assume that AJP just wanted me to feel punished and ostracized because he was jealous of me and/or thought that I deserved to be punished more harshly for my crimes than I have been) which used to make me feel relegated to only having my parents to think about as people I personally know and currently deal with on a regular basis (though I admit that I feel that the local police are like family members to me and I sort of am a recurring character in their lives (and they are generally nice to me and let me use “the power tower” to keep my car park and to charge my electronics at night)) (and only having my parents to come home to is a particularly disturbing kind of anxiety and depression which feels like being rejected from society on a deep level since only those who brought me into existence appear in those moments to know me on a relatively personal level (and there always has been a painful to bridge communication gap between me and my parents which makes me feel like I will never quite jive with them as comfortably as I ideally imagine is possible (but that could be because I am too embarrassing and painful to deal with now that I have lost all my friends, have no job, dropped out of school, have an extensive criminal record, have a history of bad behavior towards my parents, and have a history of being admitted to mental hospitals for appearing to have psychotic breaks which literally caused me to break windows and other objects))). So having at least one person I have knowledge of and a friendship with (even if that friendship is no longer in effect) which is more than just a casual acquaintance and who is in my age group and desired professional and cultural group prevents me from feeling excruciatingly alone (i.e. like the only person I know who identifies as being part of the “young urban professional” (cult)ure and “Bay-ism” (i.e. esoteric and experiential knowledge of things people would only know if they explored the San Francisco Bay Area deeply enough (especially the East Bay (especially Oakland)))). I have been mocked by my mother recently for saying that I have former working experience as a programmer. She said that I did not have such work experience (seemingly as a way to discourage me from doing anything but settle for being a dumbed down Mexican barista and/or mental ward patient with no hope of recovering fully enough to return to being a full-time tech worker or else as a way of using “reverse psychology” to taunt me into proving her wrong; that I am a real tech employee). I do believe that plenty of people support me (whether they make themselves and their support known to me or not) in my quest to break back into tech and to use magic mushrooms and other modern philosophy “tools” to participate in a culture of innovation and egalitarianism and saving the planet and such (and promoting free speech, open source intellectual property sharing, and furthering science). What I want is what I think is in every person’s best interest; but it is daunting to take on if I feel that I am alone rather than part of some kind of formal or informal group of other passionate, knowledgeable, and caring individuals (and I have some sense of solidarity from Twitter and Instagram which has significantly contributed to me having a sense of optimism about the human species having a future that is not so dystopian I would justify ending my life by suicide).
tl;dr: (that’s Reddit speak for “too long; didn’t read”) I think that I am doing better now than I ever have been, quite frankly; even better than when I was going to school, going to work at Lawrence Berkeley Lab (and other places), and having a boyfriend (and friends whom I used to hang out with and talk to on the phone) because I am more self reliant, self assured, and experienced than ever before. I have plenty of reason to believe that my life is worth living (even in what I deem to be “worst case scenarios”). Hence, it is very unlikely that I will try to commit suicide. What I will try to do is keep working on my personal projects (and none of what I aspire to do involves crimes other than petty theft at most).
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