In the global economy and more specifically, locally, war is big business — metallic ballistic missiles, cyberwar, etc.

With war follows the lawyers defining legalities.

And everywhere, statistics.

In the midst of all that, I live.

What “I” is will always be up for debate but generally I is enough of an entity on human timescales for other humanlike entities (including animals, insects, plants, bacteria, etc.) to respond to.

In other words, it’s the scale that matters.

Scalar.

Blind justice.

Location data tracking.

Windmills.

Asphalt shingles.

Rotting decks.

We pretty much understand the meaning of the last six words/phrases in our time and on our timescale.

Which reminds me, I need to clean off the sticks, twigs and limbs that have collected on my roof since it was replaced a year and a half ago — yeah, I’m that lazy.

In my thoughts, I give myself the freedom to live wherever I please, the only true illusion of freedom I have because scale has no meaning in my imagination (although in reality, scale means everything to my thought processes).

At my age, I have explored most of the thoughts and subcultures I’ve wished or been able to explore.

My curiosity thrives but my willingness to move this post middle-aged body diminishes slightly.

Yet, billions of people live together on this planet, some newly released from their incubating wombs, some returning to a womblike state ensconced in a coffin — millions and millions of them yearn for a life full of sated curiosity states, regardless of scale.  Some will satisfy themselves with the simple lessons taught them by parents who wish to carry on old traditions, curiosity not encouraged or thought of.

Who am I to say what is right or wrong about how any one of us lives?

All I can do is observe and learn, applying the information, knowledge and wisdom I’ve gained to myself at timescales I can work with, using the tools at my disposal or the materials I can reach/afford to build my own tools.

This week, I relax, take a break from pushing my writing capabilities that can inhabit the thought sets of people unlike myself — be me for once.

I pull back into the scientist/engineer role most familiar to me, analysing data from experiments set up for my use.

It frees me to explore the universe without getting involved in local subcultures and accidentally revealing trade secrets in my confessional style of writing.

I don’t like keeping secrets.  I left the world of commercial electronic product development in part because I was no longer interested in climbing the corporate ladder where secret plans and pacts increased the higher you climbed.

The same is true of the subcultures I’ve participated in.  When participation requires keeping secrets, I return to my core self where I can be whomever I wish to be and write about it.

I’ve chosen to limit my friendships and work relationships in return for my personal freedom.

My father, a cousin of mine and friends in corporate management never understood that I could keep secrets like the best of them, even better than some, and yet was willing to walk away from a lucrative career for so-called intellectual freedom.

I don’t have a dogmatic philosophy to fall back on and quote at this point.

All I have is this space here, where I can write to myself everyday just as I used to sit with my mother after school everyday and recount in boring detail what happened at school, or talk on the phone for hours with my father, recounting what for him was thrilling detail about my corporate advancement, while I sought advice from both as to the best way to proceed with interpersonal relationships.

My wife has served as that sounding board until recently when I wanted to explore the mental possibilities of life without her; I then brought her into the conversation to give me something to write about after the fact.

I should walk around with a warning sign around my neck, “If he gets bored, look out!  He’ll find a way to make life around you thrilling enough for him to write about!”

That’s it for today.

I’m switching from the day shift at work to the evening shift, freeing my days to be by myself again, releasing me from the pressure to have to pretend to want to spend time with my wife and friends.

One thing about my self-aware autism, it borders on being sociopathic, which means I try to make up for it by turning on my empathy network when I’m with other people, which burns me out eventually.

It’s best when I’m alone with my own thoughts to analyse in cold, detached nonemotional laboratory conditions.

It’s why I love my life as a blood courier, helping to save lives while I’m left alone to drive for hours at a time each day, watching the world go by like an amusement ride, entertaining my own thoughts while I think up a new blog entry to write, turning on my charm and empathy as needed.