Our culture thrives on black-and-white narratives, clearly defined emotions, easy endings, and so, this thrust into complexity exhausts.

A lot of people, quite frankly, think intense attachments to animals are weird and suspect, the domain of people who can't quite handle attachments to humans.

Solitude is a breeding ground for idiosyncrasy, and I relish that about it, the way it liberates whim.

When I drank, the part that felt dangerous and needy grew bright and strong and real. The part that coveted love kicked into gear. The yes grew louder than the no.

I am shy by nature, a person who's always found something burdensome about human interaction and who probably always will, at least to some degree.

Happy and alone, you say? Reclusive and merry? How oxymoronic! Pas possible! Alas, the concept is lost on so many.

The hard things in life, the things you really learn from, happen with a clear mind.