I often entertain myself with thoughts about how, after we die, we should be presented with a table of statistics about stuff we did in life. Like, how many steps we took, or how much ice cream we ate, or our how many frogs saw us. Just stats about everything. And the one I wonder about perhaps most often is what percentage of my life I’ve spent nude.
I mean, I sleep nude. I even shower nude. Honestly, if I’m home and don’t have anyone over and I’m not cooking or cleaning or cold, I’m probably naked or close to it. I just find it so comfortable. Honestly, I think I’d be classified as a nudist if I cared about a sense of community or being outside. But no, those aren’t for PDR. Just being naked.
This line of thought has also made me wonder if this is why I carry so much stuff when I’m outside. I’ve often likened it to having an inventory like an adventure game character, but maybe what I’m actually trying to do is make it so that I’m still naked in an apartment. An apartment made of the clothes I’m wearing. “See, I’ve got all this stuff, I must still be comfortable inside and hidden away from the world, right?” That must be it, right?
Anyway, this level of self-insight surely deserves some kind of honorary psychology degree.
Hey, maybe my brain is weird.