“Okay, I’m not going to give up.  Solitude never hurt anyone.  Emily Dickinson lived alone, and she wrote some of the most beautiful poetry the world has ever known … then went crazy as a loon.”  –4F21

yesterday i spent nearly two hours waiting at the psychiatrist’s office.  this is not uncommon–he typically runs two hours behind: i’ve seen people get upset, i’ve seen people reschedule and leave, but i’ve never seen anyone wait less than two hours.  as i waited, the receptionist signed people in and made reminder calls.  “hi, this is cecilia at dr. martinez’s office.  i’m calling to remind your son of his appointment at 2:30 tomorrow.  thank you.  hola, habla cecilia en la oficina de dr. martinez…”

two little girls in pink jackets played outside.  i watched through the window as they ran back and forth on the sidewalk, their father yelling “go!  stop!  now turn around!  go!  turn around!  stop!”  they shrieked and giggled, bumping into one another as they followed the instructions.

later, the littlest girl came inside with her mother and brother.  she sat down on the couch nearby, not taking her eyes off me as she ate a giant onion ring.  i grinned and stuck my tongue out at her.  she stuck her tongue out at me in return, spewing little pieces of onion ring all over the carpet.  her little brother, who was wearing a green camouflage jacket and a bib that said BZZZZZ, cried and reached for her onion ring.  their mother broke off a little piece and gave it to him.  he threw it angrily and made for his sister’s again.  “i guess he only wants it if it isn’t his,” i said.  the mother laughed.

not counting a walk to the convenience store and back (during which i was offered a ride by a guy in the store parking lot and then honked at by some guys in an ambulance who were obviously on their way to an emergency), this trip to the psychiatrist was the first time i’ve left my house since sunday evening.  for nearly four days straight i’ve been at home, engaging myself in various web and photo and cleaning and jewelry projects.  for the most part, i’ve been doing it on purpose.

and i’m loving it.  during these past four days alone i’ve been creative in a way i don’t think i could be were i to get up and actually go somewhere.  my time alone in my apartment has become quite precious to me; when i wake up i count the number of hours until i have to go to bed that night.  later in the afternoon, i count again.  at this very moment i have exactly six hours left before i have to go to work.  as i told dr. martinez yesterday, for me to go out with friends we have to be doing something new and interesting, otherwise i won’t go.  most of the time i’d rather be alone.

so i’ve decided i want to become a crackpot.  i want to take those 450 milligrams of antidepressants right down to zero, start drinking heavily, and create the strangest, most original works of art known to man.  if i did that, though, i’d probably die within a few years.

when i took this photo, i showed it to one of my mother’s friends.  “that is weird, alison,” she said.  “that is really weird.”

“yeah,” i replied.  “but i bet they thought thomas edison was weird.”