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In which my future self reports back from the year 2050. Note: someone’s changed a lot of the paragraph breaks, but it still makes some sense. Well, as much sense as it ever does.
Many things are different here in the future -- and not all for the better. Not that I recall huge amounts about what it was like in your time. Long term memory’s not all it was for various reasons, including old age. But here in my Icelandic volcano base with my third wife, Vagina Monologue, everything is quite safe...
Stop treating your housing like edifices of a greater time that you scuttle into like rats. You’re not living inside the husk of a dinosaur. You’re operating a mature technology intended to outlive its original users and you, and learn from the changing world around it all the time.
Fair warning, though. Here in 2050, I finally got my orbital death-ray.