Life is lonely underneath a hard, chitinous shell. But the world is a dangerous place. Safety in solitude. "Alone is strong." Is that different than "in unity, there is strength"?

"When happiness is in the house, sadness is at the door." I have found that this is a truth, but I have also found that it doesn't work the other way around. Sometimes the sadness overstays its welcome. Today is one of those days. Infinite complexity tires me.

What were those thoughts I was thinking as I lay upon my rumpled excuse for a bed on the floor, in my endlessly cluttered, shuttered, locked, horrendous room? I lost them, so whether or not they were important, they're gone. I'm glad, because they were terrible. I enjoy terrifying visions while I'm awake, even while I drive or write, and the usual parallel universe in my infrequent sound sleep. That used to be the other way around. I used to have a lot of nightmares.

And at this moment, silent and almost completely isolated from every other aspect of society, I waver in bitterness and wretched indecision, unsure of what's coming and whether I can stop it. I walked outside in the afternoon, and suddenly I was a stranger in a strange land. I don't belong here, any more than I used to. This is alienation. This is a twisted peace. This may be a path to more of always, or to insanity. And I've never mocked a good person.

The world is still a dangerous place. Alone is strong isn't even our proverb. Grief can be beautiful, and you're not here.