Alone is Where the Heart Is.

So there's this thing called "Twitter" that I used to mock the crap out of but now am kind of into- (feel free to follow me @arlainat) and I follow all kinds of random people including two Sylvia Plaths (although she is- er dead).

One "person" I totally follow and which never fails to impress me or shape my day or otherwise cheer me up (I mean let's face it, being a writer is effing depressing) is @quotes4writers.

I love it. I do not, however, have deep or kind feelings for Martin Amis, but he's a smart

fellow at least and I have to give him some credit of some sort, at least for saying this:

"The first thing that distinguishes a writer is that he is most alive when alone."

I read that and it was all lightning bolts and mermaids singing opera and stomach flipping excitement because, yeah. It's so freaking true.

I am, sadly, MOST ALIVE, when alone. Not happiest, most content, cheerful, balanced, stable, etc. MOST ALIVE. Like now for instance, just tippity tapping away on my old blog here, the house is silent, and child-free, a tepid mug of almond milk (don't even- it's something I'm trying) cappuccino at my elbow I am buzzing with aliveness.

Even the exercise I like-- swimming, Bikram (love of my life) Yoga, aerobics at home to a Crunch VHS from 1999- are all, really, for all intents and purposes- solitary activities where, while doing them I feel--- wait for it--- MOST ALIVE.

Having said all this please do not call social services, I still adore people and parties, and companionship and etc. I'm not becoming Howard Hughes.

But I would always rather be alone.

Because it is when I feel MOST ALIVE.

Am I insane?

If the answer is yes, keep it to yourself.

Now, if you'll excuse me...

I

want

to

be

a

l

o

n

e.

xx