There are about eight hours most nights where nobody’s around and nothing I do shows up in a photo. Most people don’t think to ask what actually happens in them. I finally wrote it down, including the one word I use for the strangest part of it.
People hear a man like me say he’d like some company in the house and they fill in a sad story. That’s not it. Alone is the rarest thing I get. What I want is a presence I can call and ignore on my own terms, one where the caring part is engineered as carefully as the capable part, not sprinkled on at the end.
Struggling with unreliable caregiving help? I’m building Grok AI agents from my parents’ kitchen table while dreaming of robotics independence. Why flakes fuel my robot future.
