[Reminder: Skip to Day 6]

When I was hired for my first job the day after my interview, I felt initially sad about it. But now that I am writing again I don't feel like a robot at all. Writing is the most rejuvenating activity on the face of the planet Earth. Or Mars. I am so lucky I found writing in my life.

My best friend is an engineer and he is certain he will never get married. Granted he is 23 and has only worked less than two years. He says he is ready to quit his job, his very high paying job. It always seems like there is something to envy and something to pity about a person.

To make myself a better person I work out for thirty minutes, read for thirty minutes (intellectual), talk to friends for at least thirty minutes (but the more people the better), and I write for my spirit.

Mars is nice because I don't have to pay for housing. I don't have to pay for car insurance. And because of my farm I don't have to pay for food. Now of course, I don't make any money. But this zero in, zero out situation seems to make me exempt from any sort of economical slavery or economical institution, and that leaves me free. There is no dark cloud over my head. No one is chasing me. No debt looming. No prize luring. I am free from superficiality, free from shame, and free from measuring myself by my net worth.  

Writing is a spectacular way to clear your head. If you are brain dead, and don't know if you are merely swamped with thoughts or actually have no thoughts at all, free writing is the best.

I remember this one interview I had for a biotech company called Shire straight after college. It was for a Manufacturing I position. I wasn't myself that day. While I was able to tell the interviewers how arguments are mostly based off miscommunication and resolution comes from compromise or realizing both sides are actually the same after all, I had gotten into a fight with this girl from San Francisco. I was looking forward to seeing her after a while of long distance, but unfortunately, I had already broken her heart once, making her cry, and she was guarded already for being adopted and being screwed by a ton of guys. She has had a history of depression and attempted suicide. She is a precious egg. I must abstain from labeling people as emotional disasters because that is not what anyone is. Some people are vulnerable. No amount of money or good looks can change a personality. She has her history. And that history manifested a harder shell.

I wasn't myself to my best friend, Brian, that same day either when I came to him with her texts and asked if she was being a bitch. I was insensitive by not even caring about how his day went. I was self-absorbed. Merely insensitive. I got mad at her because I didn't understand. My ego. My need to dominate the text conversation. I simply was not myself.