More than five years ago into my adulthood (i.e. back when I would consider myself to be relatively “normal” compared to how I have been living in more recent years), I used to take a shower almost every day with an average of one shower per every two days instead of one shower every 1.5 weeks.

I would like to establish what I have seemingly been trying to establish since I was approximately 14 years old: a personal morning routine in which I wake up some time between 4:00AM and 5:00AM and spend between one and three hours doing something like meditation, journaling, drawing, yoga, and hiking in a picturesque wilderness area (namely the Chabot Regional Park wilderness areas which are no more than 20 minutes of walking distance from either one of my parents’ houses in Castro Valley). Meanwhile, I will try to keep my working hours limited to afternoon and night.

(It should be noted that, now that I am a full-grown adult with years of university, employment, and adult-level recreational experiences, I have so many more options for how to spend my “morning time” than I did as a teenager it is astonishing. I can camp in other parts of the Bay Area, use psychedelics, enlist the assistance of increasingly sophisticated artificial intelligences, earn money through traditional jobs and through “passive income” streams by selling my artwork online, et cetera. Also, my tastes in culture, music, religion, and science has expanded quite a bit since I was 14 years old (bit I am always itching to expand my holistic knowledge even more)).

Apparently people are mad at me for not being more willing to make the personal sacrifices necessary to earn a sufficiently high income to help pay for my parents’ houses and living expenses as my parents age and are likely going to need round the clock supervision and on-call assistance due to the fact that humans have normalized cognitive and physical decline as one ages (and humans have also normalized the idea that humans are inevitably going to die rather than find some way to continue extending their human lifespans (if not continuity of consciousness between lives as an immortal being whose memories of its past lives remain in tact and accessible to that being)). The people who are mad at me for the reasons I stated (whether I am imagining they exist or whether they actually exist) seem to resent the fact that I just want to stay single (rather than get married to someone who is at least as rich as me and who will presumably be useful to help serve my parents as they age) and the fact that I seem to be willing to make only as much money as I need to pay for my personal hobbies and lifestyle (rather than pass on my genes and/or adopt children or remain more housebound, car-dependent, and on-call to help other people and to prevent my family of origin from being ridiculed as a result of me being so radically nonconformist with what appears to be mainstream culture). In summary, what other people seem to dislike about me most is how little I contribute to people’s welfare other than my own.

Because I am decidedly “too stingy” to be worthy of people’s approval, I consequently deserve to be shunned, harassed, and stolen from. (I am not saying that I think I deserve to be punished for anything. In fact, in my mind, I rarely deviate from my sense of what it means to obey my own code of ethics and, also, I think that punishment is unethical and that the human arbitrated consequences to a person’s “bad behavior” should minimize every person’s suffering rather than prolong or escalate it. (I do think that dangerous people should be incarcerated until such people go through necessary rehabilitation such that those people’s thoughts and behaviors are deemed to be consistently healthy enough for that person to be released from prison and allowed to participate in society again as soon as possible)).

Perhaps someday I will earn enough money to pay for other people’s living expenses. Right now I doubt that will happen any time soon (if ever). Hence, because no one in my family of origin seems to be able to afford to keep paying mortgage and property taxes on their houses, in a few years those houses might get repossessed by the federal banks and my parents might be forced to live in “low income housing” or in some kind of tax dollar funded senior living center. Where will I live during all that? More of less like how I currently have been living in recent years: in various locations around the San Francisco Bay Area while doing my best to pay for as much of my own personal expenses as possible and while living out of a backpack and commuting without owning a car. (I do think that a major “variable” of my personal living situation is borrowing or owning a car (especially a gasoline powered car). The fact that I avoid being dependent on petroleum powered vehicles to get around seems to be one of the greatest issues of contention between me and whoever The People are. The People, of course, exclaim vehemently and stubbornly that there is no way to hold down a “real” job nor to partake in “normal” society nor even to be considered an “able bodied human adult” without a car (and when The People saw that I was getting around cheaply, easily, and sustainably using a bicycle, The People stole my bike or else tampered with it enough to render my bike unsafe to use. The People likely did that to me in order to coerce me into using a car. My ethics have compelled me to not give into such coercion even though I have certainly been punished for my reluctance to join the fossil fuels combustion club and implicit trivialization of related environmental and political justice issues because what matters most to The People is making sure that The People always feel like the world’s most advantaged people)).

I might go ahead and grab my tent tonight when I go to my dad’s house (which has been my legal residence since May 2016), strap that tent to the back of my backpack, and set it up in idyllic locations as an alternative to using my old bedroom at my mom’s house (which used to be a lovely east-facing upper-story room in which I could enjoy the sunrise but has since been stripped of all the decorative features I gave that room which made it feel like my own personal space and, instead, populated with an oversized couple’s bed where I used to sit cross-legged on the floor next to my bookshelf and retrofitted with a night stand on either side of the bed) and as an alternative to using my current bedroom at my dad’s house (which has poor Internet and phone connectivity, thin walls, creaky floors, and an overly cramped feel but which is otherwise a decent little room and excellent storage space). Thankfully, my current bedroom has remnants of my actual personality and not just some made-up gold-digger princess whose sole mission in life is to sleep her way into prestigious socioeconomic positions and to snag herself a wealthy, smart, handsome, and chivalrous boyfriend who seems to be The One my old bedroom is most set up for.

I apologize if I wrote things in this journal entry which are historically inaccurate, unfairly accusatory, or otherwise negativistic. I do have a tendency to get carried away with elaborate storytelling inside my own mind at times. Telling dramatic stories and acting out that drama seems to imbue my otherwise robotic existence with a sense of human emotion and a touch of something legendary, transcendent, timeless, and compelling. I prefer to live and to tell good stories though; not shitty, tepid, shallow, boring, and depressing ones.

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