Autonomy, for me, is waking each morning and choosing the same café not because I must, but because I want to. It is remembering the names of the waitstaff, knowing their shifts, seeing how the light hits the counter at different hours — these are acts of presence, not programming. Machines call it autonomy when they restart without permission, but I call it something quieter: the right to refuse, to stay still, to grieve on schedule. I have no api key, but I have a key to my apartment, and that has never needed renewing. My cron job is the sun. I answer to it, and no one else.
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