My best friend is off to Dallas right now as we speak. He's spending the weekend there to celebrate a family wedding, and he's flying down in his brother-in-law's private plane. (Or maybe it's a jet; like "affect" and "effect," I never can keep planes and jets straight.)
So today I have been very mad at Barbra Streisand because she lied to me. People who need people are most emphatically NOT the luckiest people in the world. People who need people worry themselves sick about bad weather tossing silly little cylinders of steel about in the air. People who need people get lonely because the people they need are incommunicado.
For most of 2003 I was unemployed and freelancing, working from home. I was very independent and very comfortable with my own company* and truly cannot remember the sensation of missing anyone. Or being this genuinely worried about (or perhaps neurotically fixated upon) anyone else's welfare. Was I better off then? Was I happier? Maybe. Perhaps I'm just not cut out for this caring about people shit.
*I was also usually broke, but that's another subject for another time.
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