one is the loneliest number

On the whole, despite my busy work schedule and fabulously impressive and engaging social life, I actually spend a great deal of time alone. For someone who thinks and analyzes as much as I do, this is not (as my many bitter exes will attest to) necessarilya good thing. Deep thoughts not withstanding though, I’m also just physically in solitude a lot.

Which makes me think (surprise!): what happens when I trip and slam my head into the coffee table? And I’ve come to realize that the simple truth is that I die…except in this case on account of the fact that don’t actually have a coffee table. Or drink coffee. But I digress.

A few years ago when my apartment burned down, I ended up alone in an empty loaner apartment with no heat and the worst cold or flu I’ve ever had. I literally had to crawl from room to room because I was just that feverish and close to passing out at any given moment. I rembrr thinking then that it really sucked being alone.

Then I had a girlfriend for awhile and didn’t need to think about it.

Now it’s been a while since I screwed that up and I’m suffering through one my many regular sleepless nights…and the fact that I’m all alone in my two bedroom apartment near the beach in Marina del Rey (*ahem* ladies?), with nary a sound save for my own tortured breathing (I’m fighting a cold), and I realize again: it kinda sucks being alone; and sometimes, rarely, when I realize how isolated I am, it just really creeps me the fuck out.

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