Ok To Be Alone Quotes

Money alone isn't enough to bring happiness . . . happiness [is] when you're actually truly ok with losing everything you have.

What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you? And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're ok?

But I can now understand why people read, why they like to get lost in somebody else's life. Sometimes I'll read a sentence and it will make me sit up, jolt me, because it is something that I have recently felt but never said out loud. I want to reach into the page and tell the characters that I understand them, that they're not alone, that I'm not alone, that it's ok to feel like this. And then the lunch bell rings, the book closes, and I'm plunged back into reality.

I know how it feels to be completely alone and helpless, and the last thing you want to hear in that situation is, 'It's going to be OK.' "The only thing that seems to really help is that someone else who has felt that low expressing those feelings to you.

there are many reasons to be sad. u may be sad because u feel alone. the comforting thing abot feeling lonely is that every thing that has ever existed also knows what loneliness feels like too. u may be sad because u are sad. it is ok to be sad but if u are sad because happiness is fleeting, just remember that sadness is also fleeting too.

Nice is OK when it's among other things but never when it stands alone

Some things cannot be fixed; they can only be carried. Grief like yours, love like yours, can only be carried. Survival in grief, even eventually building a new life alongside grief, comes with the willingness to bear witness, both to yourself and to the others who find themselves inside this life they didn’t see coming. Together, we create real hope for ourselves, and for one another. We need each other to survive. I wish this for you: to find the people you belong with, the ones who will see your pain, companion you, hold you close, even as the heavy lifting of grief is yours alone. As hard as they may seem to find at times, your community is out there. Look for them. Collect them. Knit them into a vast flotilla of light that can hold you.

Look, it's a monster. He's walking alone. Look, he's pulling something out of his pocket. He threw it on the ground. Let's go see what it is. It's a black box. You open it... ok... Look, it's sorrow, misery and pain. It's loneliness and longing. Boy, he'll be sorry he lost these.

Grief can be incredibly lonely. Even when people show up and love you as best they can, they aren’t really with you in this. They can’t be. It so very much sucks that, in large part, you are in this alone. And also, you can’t do this alone.

When I was young, some women told me they loved me for my long eyelashes. I accepted. Later it was for my wit. Then for my power and money. Then for my talent. Then for my mind-deep. OK, I can handle all of it. The only woman who scares me is the one who loves me for myself alone. I have plans for her. I have poisons and daggers and dark graves in caves to hide her head. She can't be allowed to live. Especially if she's sexually faithful and never lies and always puts me ahead of everything and everyone.

It's when I'm alone that the doubt sets in. It's been that way for years. As long as there are people around, I can pretend that everything's OK. But I need that audience to pretend for, otherwise it doesn't work. Alone, I'm not that easy to fool.

The common denominator of all jokes is a path of expectation that is diverted by an unexpected twist necessitating a complete reinterpretation of all the previous facts — the punch-line…Reinterpretation alone is insufficient. The new model must be inconsequential. For example, a portly gentleman walking toward his car slips on a banana peel and falls. If he breaks his head and blood spills out, obviously you are not going to laugh. You are going to rush to the telephone and call an ambulance. But if he simply wipes off the goo from his face, looks around him, and then gets up, you start laughing. The reason is, I suggest, because now you know it’s inconsequential, no real harm has been done. I would argue that laughter is nature’s way of signaling that "it’s a false alarm." Why is this useful from an evolutionary standpoint? I suggest that the rhythmic staccato sound of laughter evolved to inform our kin who share our genes; don’t waste your precious resources on this situation; it’s a false alarm. Laughter is nature’s OK signal.

Yes, I'm fine; yes, I'm always fine. No, I'm not just saying that so you'll leave me alone.

I think I would do OK in prison, because I like small enclosed spaces and being alone.

It's ok, it's alright, nothing's wrong tell Mr. man with impossible plans to just leave me alone in the place where I make no mistakes in the place where I have what it takes

You are alone in your grief. You alone carry the knowledge of how your grief lives in you. You alone know all the details, the subtlety and nuance of what’s happened and what’s been lost. You alone know how deeply your life has been changed. You alone have to face this, inside your own heart. No one can do this with you.

Just imagine, life to be a dance with different kind of rhythms depending on what music is playing in the background. Sometimes we may dance alone and that’s OK, as some songs are simply meant to be danced like that. Practice! Don’t stop! It’s your dance! 

I lay there with my mind running amuck, on the brink of madness. And somehow, gradually, early Sunday morning, I became calm. I can't think of any other word for it. I was thinking about the beach poem again, and I started to feel that I was being looked after, that everything was OK. It was strange: if there was ever a time in my life when I had the right to feel alone this was it. But I lost that sense of loneliness. I felt like there was a force in the room with me, not a person, but I had a sense that there was another world, another dimension, and it would be looking after me. It was like, "This isn't the only world, this is just one aspect of the whole thing, don't imagine this is all there is.

TooDamn-Funky: It's a start, ok. Been thinking bout the boyz. 'member last year my bro did that immersion thing in Venezuela? Kciker5525: Where he learned to speak Spanish??? TooDamn-Funky: Yeah! u go for 2 weeks talk nothing but Spanish u come back fluent. Kicker5535: ...???? TooDamn-Funky: Well this is like a guy immersion program! Kicker5525: So...what. I'm going 2 b fluent in GUY? TooDamn-Funky: Exactly! u will c what they talk about alone. U will c how they r with each other. U will c how they THINK!! AND WHEN IT'S DONE YOU'LL BE ABLE TO WRITE A GUY GUIDE BOOK!! Kicker5525: U r deranged.

Being in love is not actually fear, but the difference between being in a haunted house alone and being with someone: walking through it alone is terrifying, but then you bump into another terrified person, you both look at each other and think, Hey, you're here too. You're still terrified but its OK because you're not terrifed alone.

The culture of self-love tells us life’s too short to stay in a marriage that doesn’t make us happy. As a post on the self-love account @femalecollective argues: “Reminder: relationships are supposed to make you feel good.” That logic makes sense only if the self is the highest priority. But if everyone really thought that way, we’d all end up alone.

never be sad abot the past. it has alredy hapened and you canot change it. instead, focus on wat truly matters: being sad abot the future. there are many reasons to be sad. u may be sad becuase u feel alone. the comforting thing abot feeling lonely is that evrey thing that has ever existed also knows what loneliness feels like too. u may be sad becuase u are sad. it is ok to be sad. but if you are sad becuase happiness is fleeting, just remember that sadness is also fleeting too. when u are sad, it is ok to let urself be sad. that is ok. evjoy ur sadness. one day even ur sadness will be over too soon

DFW: I think there are different people on the page than in real life. I do six to eight drafts of everything that I do. Um, I am probably not the smartest writer going. But I also--and I know, OK, this is gonna fit right into the persona--I work really really hard. I'm really--you give me twenty-four hours? If we'd done this interview through the mail? I could be really really really smart. I'm not all that fast. And I'm really self-conscious. And I get confused really easily. When I'm in a room by myself alone, and have enough time, I can be really really smart. And people are different that way. You know what I mean? I may not--I don't think I'm quite as smart, one-on-one with people, when I'm self-conscious, and I'm really really confused. And it's like, My dream would be for you to write this up, and then to send it to me, and I get to rewrite all my quotes to you. Which of course you'll never do...

Don’t cry! Oh my Mind! Don’t waste tears like river, Tears are like elixir of life, So don’t waste it for love, But I have to cry, And I cried so much that flowers starting blooming by my tears, My tears makes desert into green field, Ok! Cry, cry like a shower if you have pain, Let rain of tears fall over the earth, Let me go crying in the forest so I can be alone, So that tree will grows out of your tears, Your tears will get evaporated and turns into cloud, This will bring rains! And you might get relief from your pain!

You can love whoever. Marry anybody. You can make me live wherever. Go to whatever school you decide. I don't care, ok? I just don't care. All I want is to be left alone.

I make music like I make love—in a group. OK, so I’m not in a band, and I sing alone in the shower.

It's hard to pretend you're OK. Especially when you're all by urself, alone. :'(

I find myself enjoying being alone a lot of the time, people come and people go and you have to find a way to be ok with both.

If you set up your life so that the people you need you, that's ok. If you set up your life so that you don't need anyone - then you need to be prepared for the experience of aloneness.

Every week they would have one hour scheduled, sitting quietly at their desk. Learning to be alone with their thoughts. Learning to be comfortable with themselves. Learning it was OK to be silent. How great is that?

It takes a long time to learn yourself and even longer to accept you are you. More often than not by the time you have found yourself and your purpose you won't have much left of what you started with and that is ok. Its isolating stepping out and away from comfort zones and the truth not many speak of is, the dreamer often walks alone.

My answer to all these questions is that Americans are not nearly so free as we think we are, or as we should be. To achieve the genuine freedom to which we are entitled as human beings, we cannot be satisfied with political democracy alone—especially at a time when democracy itself is under fierce attack. We need economic democracy every bit as much as we need political democracy.

Oh and then my casket lowers into the ground And after that a navy sky and me alone in it Me alone again with the stars Me back to the blaze of ink the first one Me just a tadpole and also made of everything Like in the beginning and I remember all of it The first forgetting how at birth they took me far from me And how I was not glad to be taken And I am told to stop thinking about dying Ok fine then nothing

She was the kind of person who took care of things by herself. She'd never ask anybody for advice or help. It wasn't a matter of pride, I think. She just did what seemed natural to her. My parents were used to this and thought she'd be OK if they left her alone. I would go to my sister for advice and she was always ready to give it, but she never went to anyone else. She did what needed to be done, on her own. She never got angry or moody. This is all true, I mean it, I'm not exaggerating. Most girls, when they have their period or something, will get grumpy and take it out on others, but she never even did that. Instead of getting into a bad mood, she would become very subdued. Maybe once in two or three months this would happen to her: she'd shut herself up in her room and stay in bed, avoid school, hardly eat anything, turn the lights off, and space out. She wouldn't be in a bad mood, though.

Now that you’re old, cut yourself some slack, would you? Let yourself off the hook. Give yourself a break. You don’t have to do it all anymore. Take it easy for a change. It’s OK with the rest of the world. So why not you? For the first time in your life, do what you want. Not what everyone else thinks you should. Not what you think everyone else thinks you should. Do what you want. Excuse yourself. Say no. Back out. Beg off. Stay home. Take a rain check. Take a nap. Watch the ball game on TV. Anything but what you’d rather not do but feel you have to for everyone else's sake but your own. And then feel bad about having done it. That's plain wrong. And ask for some help when you need it: 'It’s too heavy.' 'It's too far.' Too near. Too cold. Too hot. Too bright. Too dark. Whatever. It's OK because there's always going to be something you need help with anymore. And be grateful for the helping hand. You'll find more and more people extend one to you these days. Whatever the reason for accepting you’ve got the best excuse in the world. The only one you’ll ever need: 'Hey, I’m old.

There is a skewing effect on the percentage of men women are willing to date. The consensus was around 20%, based partly on the OK Cupid study showing that women find only 20% of men attractive. This is corroborated by the human genetic record and men's general experience. However, women's standards have rapidly increased since the advent of social media. In the past 10 years alone, Fresh and I have witnessed through apps like Instagram and Snapchat women insisting on only the top 10% of men. And even that may be an outdated measure as recent research shows women only swipe right on 5% of men's dating profiles today.

Chang said, “You OK?” Reacher said, “Top of the world. Except my head still hurts.” “No reaction?” “To what?” She pointed at the screen. “All that.” “My ears are still ringing a bit.” “That’s not what I mean.” “I leave people alone if they leave me alone. Their risk, not mine.” “You’re not upset?” “Are you?” “What was the machine you saw at the farm at midnight?” “It was a dot in the distance. It had a light bar. Like a bull bar, but above the cab. Four rectangular lights, very bright. Could have been a jacked-up pick-up truck. More likely a tractor. It was working hard. I could see exhaust smoke in the lights.” “Could it have been a backhoe?” “Why?” “That was the day Keever disappeared.” Reacher said, “It could have been a backhoe.

People tend to run wild with those match questions, marking all kinds of stuff as “mandatory,” in essence putting a checklist to the world: I’m looking for a dog-loving, agnostic, nonsmoking liberal who’s never had kids—and who’s good in bed, of course. But very humble questions like Do you like scary movies? and Have you ever traveled alone to another country? have amazing predictive power. If you’re ever stumped on what to ask someone on a first date, try those. In about three-quarters of the long-term couples OkCupid has ever brought together, both people have answered them the same way, either both “yes” or both “no.” People tend to overemphasize the big, splashy things: faith, politics, and certainly looks, but they don’t matter nearly as much as everyone thinks. Sometimes they don’t matter at all.

You are allowed to have struggles. You are allowed to feel broken and too shattered to pick up the pieces. You are allowed to sit in the darkness for a while and not immediately barrel toward the light. You are allowed to not yet be able to see the light. None of this makes you a burden. Life is really hard sometimes. Everyone will struggle at one point or another. We all take turns helping to carry one another's burdens—this is how we survive. It's OK to share your sadness, even if you're sad all the time. Even if your sadness makes others sad. Even if you're difficult to be around. Let others help you. You do not have to hold it alone. You do not have to be your best self to be worthy of care. You do not have to apologize for being a human who takes up space. You are hurting and imperfect and deserving of love.

OK, listen, this is what we’re going to do,” Rami said at last. “You’re going to come downstairs, get into the car with me and we’re going to drive back to Watford.” Flynn lifted his head. “No!” he began to protest. “Actually, Flynn, this is not open to discussion. If you won’t come back with me, I’ll have to take you to hospital.” “I’m not going to hospital,” he said desperately. “You can’t make me! Just let go of me, just leave me alone”! He tried to pull away, but his arms felt weak. “Flynn, if we call an ambulance, they’ll section you.” “Why? They can’t do that! They can’t!” “They can and they will because right now you’re a danger to yourself.” Flynn put his forehead back on his knees and bit his thumb hard. He just wished he could go back in time to before the argument, before the dinner, before Rami’s phone call, before this morning’s practice. How could the events of one day have ended in this? “Don’t call an ambulance,” he whispered. “Are you going to come back to Watford with me?” He nodded. Defeated.

In 1970, psychologists Bibb Latane and John Darley created an experiment in which they would drop pencils or coins. Sometimes they would be in a group, sometimes with one other person. They did this six thousand times. The results? They got help 20 percent of the time in a group, 40 percent of the time with one other person. They decided to up the stakes, and in their next experiment they had someone fill out a questionnaire. After a few minutes, smoke would start to fill the room, billowing in from a wall vent. They ran two versions of the experiment. In one, the person was alone; in the other, two other people were also filling out the questionnaire. When alone, people took about five seconds to get up and freak out. Within groups people took an average of 20 seconds to notice. When alone, the subject would go inspect the smoke and then leave the room to tell the experimenter he or she thought something was wrong. When in a group, people just sat there looking at one another until the smoke was so thick they couldn’t see the questionnaire. Only three people in eight runs of the group experiment left the room, and they took an average of six minutes to get up. The findings suggest the fear of embarrassment plays into group dynamics. You see the smoke, but you don’t want to look like a fool, so you glance over at the other person to see what they are doing. The other person is thinking the same thing. Neither of you react, so neither of you becomes alarmed. The third person sees two people acting like everything is OK, so that third person is even less likely to freak out. Everyone is influencing every other person’s perception of reality thanks to another behavior called the illusion of transparency. You tend to think other people can tell what you are thinking and feeling just by looking at you. You think the other people can tell you are really worried about the smoke, but they can’t. They think the same thing. No one freaks out. This leads to pluralistic ignorance—a situation where everyone is thinking the same thing but believes he or she is the only person who thinks it. After the smoke-filled room experiment, all the participants reported they were freaking out on the inside, but since no one else seemed alarmed, they assumed it must just be their own anxiety.

Christina died of a stroke in the fall of 1971, at the age of sixty-one. June watched the nurses take her mother's body away. Standing there in the hospital, June felt like she'd been caught in an undertow. How had she ended up here? One woman all alone, with four kids, and a restaurant she had never wanted. The day after the funeral, June took the kids to school. She dropped Kit off at the elementary building and then drove Nina, Jay, and Hud to junior high. When they pulled into the drop-off circle, Jay and Hud took off. But Nina turned back, put her hand on the door handle, and looked at her mother. 'Are you sure you're OK?' Nina asked. 'I could stay home. Help you at the restaurant.' 'No, honey,' June said, taking her daughter's hand. 'If you feel up for going to school, then that's where you should be.' 'OK,' Nina said. 'But if you need me, come get me.' 'How about we think of it the other way around?' June said, smiling. 'If you need me, have the office call me.' Nina smiled. 'OK' June felt herself about to cry and so she put her sunglasses over her eyes and pulled out of the parking lot. She drove, with the window down, to Pacific Fish. She pulled in and put on the parking brake. She took a deep breath. She got out of the car and stood there, staring up at the restaurant with a sense of all that she had inherited. It was hers now, whatever that meant. She lit a cigarette.

some older people who need to sit down, Barb. We can’t put chairs out. I don’t want them to get too comfy or we’ll never get rid of them.’ ‘Oh, you’re being ridiculous.’ Henry is thinking that this is a fine time to call him ridiculous. He never wanted the stupid vigil. In bed last night they had another spit-whispered row about it. We could have it at the front of the house, Barbara had said when the vicar called by. Henry had quite explicitly said he would not support anything churchy – anything that would feel like a memorial service. But the vicar had said the idea of a vigil was exactly the opposite. That the community would like to show that they have not given up. That they continue to support the family. To pray for Anna’s safe return. Barbara was delighted and it was all agreed. A small event at the house. People would walk from the village, or park on the industrial estate and walk up the drive. ‘This was your idea, Barbara.’ ‘The vicar’s, actually. People just want to show support. That is what this is about.’ ‘This is ghoulish, Barb. That’s what this is.’ He moves the tractor across the yard again, depositing two more bales of straw alongside the others. ‘There. That should be enough.’ Henry looks across at his wife and is struck by the familiar contradiction. Wondering how on earth they got here. Not just since Anna disappeared, but across the twenty-two years of their marriage. He wonders if all marriages end up like this. Or if he is simply a bad man. For as Barbara sweeps her hair behind her ear and tilts up her chin, Henry can still see the full lips, perfect teeth and high cheekbones that once made him feel so very differently. It’s a pendulum that still confuses him, makes him wish he could rewind. To go back to the Young Farmers’ ball, when she smelled so divine and everything seemed so easy and hopeful. And he is wishing, yes, that he could go back and have another run. Make a better job of it. All of it. Then he closes his eyes. The echo again of Anna’s voice next to him in the car. You disgust me, Dad. He wants the voice to stop. To be quiet. Wants to rewind yet again. To when Anna was little and loved him, collected posies on Primrose Lane. To when he was her hero and she wanted to race him back to the house for tea. Barbara is now looking across the yard to the brazier. ‘You’re going to light a fire, Henry?’ ‘It will be cold. Yes.’ ‘Thank you. I’m doing soup in mugs, too.’ A pause then. ‘You really think this is a mistake, Henry? I didn’t realise it would upset you quite so much. I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s OK, Barbara. Let’s just make the best of it now.’ He slams the tractor into reverse and moves it out of the yard and back into its position inside the barn. There, in the semi-darkness, his heartbeat finally begins to settle and he sits very still on the tractor, needing the quiet, the stillness. It was their reserve position, to have the vigil under cover in this barn, if the weather was bad. But it has been a fine day. Cold but with a clear, bright sky, so they will stay out of doors. Yes. Henry rather hopes the cold will drive everyone home sooner, soup or no soup. And now he thinks he will sit here for a while longer, actually. Yes. It’s nice here alone in the barn. He finds

What we need is a Tools to Help You Co-habit With Your Suffering Day. I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon. In the meantime, though, here are my tools. Share. They might help others. Talk. Don’t keep it to yourself. There’s a great saying in Narcotics Anonymous: an addict alone is in bad company. Let people in. It’s scary and sometimes it can go wrong, but when you manage to connect with people, it’s magic. Let people go. (The toxic ones.) They don’t need to know – just gently withdraw. Learn to say no. I struggled so much with this, but when I started to do it, it was one of the most liberating things that ever happened to me. Learn to say yes. As I’ve got older, I’ve become quite ‘safe’. I am trying more and more to take myself out of my comfort zone. Find purpose. It can be anything – a charity, volunteering … Accept that Life is a roller coaster. Ups and downs. Accept yourself. Even the bits you really don’t like – you can work on those. No one is perfect. Try not to judge. If I’m judging people, it says more about where I am than about them. It’s at that point that I probably need to talk to someone … Music is a mood-altering drug. Some songs can make you cry, but some can make you really euphoric. I choose to mostly listen to the latter. Exercise. There is science to back me up here. Exercise is a no-brainer for mood enhancement. Look after something. Let something need you for its survival. It doesn’t have to be kids. It can be an animal, a houseplant, anything. And last but not least … Faith. I’m not sure what I believe in, but I do feel that when I pray, my prayers are being heard. Not always answered, but heard. And that’s enough.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “When seconds count the police are only minutes away.”  This is not a knock against the police.  Many officers are good friends of mine, and no police force can be everywhere—nor, in a free country, would we want them to be.  But calling the police almost never helps. Criminals, like predators in nature, do not attack when conditions favor the prey, when the sheepdog is alert beside the sheep.  Predators attack when the prey is vulnerable and unprotected.  In other words, when the cops can’t respond fast enough.  When an attack comes you probably won’t be standing in front of the police station.  You’ll be alone, or multi-tasking a busy life, or burdened (tactically speaking) with small children.  You could even be sound asleep.  Your attacker will choose that moment precisely because he thinks he can get away with it.  The mere thought of this is frightening.  And that’s a good thing.  Properly applied, a little bit of fear keeps us alert.  It is OK for children to live without fear.  Indeed, that is a top priority of every parent.  Adults, though, must see the world for what it is, both very good and very bad, and prepare for the worst so they can safely enjoy the best.     This book is about winning the legal battle, and leaves tactical training to others.  In no way does this imply, though, that your first priority shouldn’t be survival.  If you are in a fight for your life, for the life of your spouse or your children or your parents, you MUST win.  Period.  If you don’t win the physical fight, everything else becomes rather less pressing. The good news is that because we know how evil people target their prey we can use this knowledge against them.  Avoid looking weak and the bad guy will seek easier prey.  Stay alert and aware of your surroundings.  Project confidence.  Avoid places where you can get cornered, and make yourself look like more work than you’re worth.   Criminals are sometimes too stupid to know better, but that’s the exception.  They largely know the difference between easy and difficult victims. There’s more than enough easy prey for them.  If you look difficult they’ll move on.

I fumbled in my pockets for my father’s map. I stared and rubbed the paper between my fingers. I read the sightings’ dot’s dates with my wormed eyes, connecting them in order. There was the first point where my father felt sure he’d seen mother digging in the neighbor’s yard across the street. And the second, in the field of power wires where Dad swore he saw her running at full speed. I connected dots until the first fifteen together formed a nostril. Dots 16 through 34 became an eye. Together the whole map made a perfect picture of my mother’s missing head. If I stared into the face, then, and focused on one clear section and let my brain go loose, I saw my mother’s eyes come open. I saw her mouth begin to move. Her voice echoed deep inside me, clear and brimming, bright, alive. She said, “Don’t worry, son. I’m fat and happy. They have cake here. My hair is clean.” She said, “The earth is slurred and I am sorry.” She said, “You are OK. I have your mind.” Her eyes seemed to swim around me. I felt her fingers in my hair. She whispered things she’d never mentioned. She nuzzled gleamings in my brain. As in: the day I’d drawn her flowers because all the fields were dying. As in: the downed bird we’d cleaned and given a name. Some of our years were wall to wall with wonder, she reminded me. In spite of any absence, we had that. I thought of my father, alone and elsewhere, his head cradled in his hands. I thought of the day he’d punched a hole straight through the kitchen wall, thinking she’d be tucked away inside. All those places he’d looked and never found her. Inside their mattress. In stained-glass windows. How he’d scoured the carpet for her stray hair and strung them all together with a ribbon; how he’d slept with that one lock swathed across his nostrils, hugging a pillow fitted with her nightshirt. How he’d dug up the backyard, stripped and sweating. How he’d played her favorite album on repeat and loud, a lure. How when we took up the carpet in my bedroom to find her, under the carpet there was wood. Under the wood there was cracked concrete. Under the concrete there was dirt. Under the dirt there was a cavity of water. I swam down into the water with my nose clenched and lungs burning in my chest but I could not find the bottom and I couldn’t see a thing.

What is your name?” she said crossing her legs. “I am Raj Singhania, owner of Singhania group of Industries and I am on my way to sign a 1000 crore deal.” “Oh my God, Oh my God!” she said laughing and looked at Bobby from top to bottom. “What’s with this OMG thing and girls, stop saying that. I am not going to propose you anytime soon. But it’s OK. I can understand how girls feel when they meet famous dudes like me,” Bobby said smiling. “What kind of an idiot are you?” she said laughing. “Indeed, a very rare one. The one that you find after searching for millions of years,” Bobby said. “Do you always talk like this?” she said laughing. “Only to strangers on bus or whenever I get bored,” Bobby said. “OK, tell me your real name,” she said. “My name is Mogaliputta Tissa and I am here to save the world.” “Oh no not again!” she said squeezing her head with both her hands. “I know you are dying inside to kiss me,” Bobby said flashing a smile. “Why would I kiss you?” she said with a pretended sternness. “Because, you are impressed with my intelligence level and the hotness quotient, I can see that in your eyes.” “You think you are hot! Oh no! You look like that cartoon guy in 7 up commercial,” she said laughing. “Thank you. He was the coolest guy I saw on TV,” Bobby said. “OK fine, let’s calm down. Tell me your real name,” she said calmly. “I don’t remember my name,” Bobby said calmly. “What kind of idiot forgets his name?” she said staring into Bobby’s eyes. “I am suffering from multiple personality disorder and I forgot my present personality’s name. Can you help me out?” Bobby said with an innocent look on his face. “I will kill you with my hair clip. Leave me alone,” she said and closed her eyes. “You look like a Pomeranian puppy,” Bobby said looking at her hair. “Don’t talk to me,” she said. “You look very beautiful,” Bobby said. “Nice try but I am not going to open my eyes,” she said. “Your ear rings are very nice. But I think that girl in the last seat has better rings,” Bobby said. “She is not wearing any ear rings. I know because I saw her when I was getting inside. It takes just 5 seconds for a girl to know what other girls around her are wearing,” she said with her eyes still closed. “Hey, look. They are selling porn CDs at a roadside shop,” Bobby said. “I have loads of porn in my personal computer. I don’t need them,” she said. “OMG, that girl looks hotter than you,” Bobby said. “I will not open my eyes no matter what. Even if an earthquake hits the road, I will not open my eyes,” she said crossing her arms over her chest. Bobby turned back and waved his hand to the kid who was poking his mom’s ear. The kid came running and halted at Bobby’s seat. “This aunty wants to give you a chocolate if you tell her your name,” Bobby whispered to the kid and the kid perked up smiling. “Hello Aunty! Wake up, my name is Bintu. Give me my chocolate, Aunty, please!” the kid said yanking at the girl’s hand. All of a sudden, she opened her eyes and glared at the kid. “Don’t call me aunty. What would everyone think? I am a teenage girl. Go away. I don’t have anything to give you,” she said and the kid went back to his seat. “This is what happens when you mess with an intelligent person like me,” Bobby said laughing. “Shut up,” she said. “OK dude.” “I am not a dude. Stop it.” “OK sexy. Oops! OK Saxena,” “I will scream.” “OK. Where do you study?” “Why should I tell you?” “Are you suffering from split personality disorder like me?” Bobby said staring into her eyes. “Shut up. Don’t talk to me,” she said with a pout. “What the hell! I have enlightened your mind with my thoughts, told you my name and now you are acting like you don’t know me. Girls are mad.

Oftentimes, we encounter offers for things that are too good to be true. People offer us opportunities to start businesses for just one hour of work per day, with a guaranteed outcome of millionaire status by next year this time. All you need to do is pay the low, low price of $299 to get started. They have no product or services to offer; yet if you recruit enough people, you will be rich. This is too good to be true. Let me tell you, what I am offering in this little book is too good not to be true, friends! In fact, I misled you again. This is not my offer; it’s Jesus’ offer. In the book of Revelation alone, our God made astounding promises to those who overcome. He put His eternal reputation on the line to assure you that, with Christ living in you, by the power of the Holy Spirit, you will overcome. If this were not so, He would have wasted words, making promises to overcomers. Our God cannot lie. What He says, is so! Hallelujah! Ok, let me calm down and share several of the promises to overcomers:

There are certain things— How to say this? OK. Let me give you an example. Can I give you an example? There’s a self-portrait by Rembrandt. It’s at Kenwood House, very close to where we live. It’s one of my favorite paintings. I go to see it quite a lot. I start off on a walk on the Heath, and then I find myself there. It’s one of the last self-portraits he did. He painted it sometime between 1665 and when he died four years later, bankrupt and alone. Whole stretches of the canvas are bare. There’s a hurried intensity in the strokes—you can see where he scratched into the wet paint with the end of the brush. It’s as if he knew there wasn’t much time left. And yet, there’s a serenity in his face, a sense of something that’s survived its own ruin. Fran couldn’t give two shits about that painting.

Monday “Uuuuurrrgghhhh!!!” “Honey, it’s time to get up!” “Uuuurrrgghhhaacckkhuhh?” “Honey, it’s night time already, you need to get up!” “Aww Mom, do I have to?” “Yes, you do. Those villagers aren’t going to scare themselves.” “Uuuurrgghhhhh!!!” “Don’t Uuuuurrrgghhh Me. You get up, and get ready this instant!” “OK Mom.” Zombie parents can be a real pain sometimes. It’s always, “Do this,” and “Scare that.” Some days I wish I were human so I wouldn’t have to get up at night and go scaring. I’m sure human parents aren’t like this. And I’m sure human parents aren’t always telling their kids what to do. Human parents are probably really nice and let their kids stay up all day and do whatever they want. But not Zombie parents. “Don’t go out during the day because you’ll burn yourself! Blah, blah, blah,” they say. One day, I’m just going to stay out all day, just to see what will happen. My friend Creepy stays out during the day and nothing happens to him. As a matter of fact, so does Slimey next door. Urrggghhhh! They have all the fun. Why can’t my parents be like that? Well, at least I’m not alone. My best friend Skelee can’t go out during the day, either. His parents are really strict. Skelee’s parents won’t even let him have a dog. He said his uncle got a dog once, but it buried his grandmother in the back yard. And they never found her. Bummer…

At a time when we most needed love and support, each one of us felt alone, misunderstood, judged, and dismissed. It’s not that the people around us meant to be cruel; they just didn’t know how to be truly helpful.

In all my years I’ve never heard of these strange creatures,” said Spidroth. “Hey, who are you calling ‘strange creatures’?” said Kayla. Finally they got back to the giant mushroom where the Council of Meep were. “Um, do you mind if I go in alone?” Dave asked Carl and Spidroth, when they reached the doorway that led up into the mushroom. “There’s something that I need to speak to the Council of Meep about.” “Sure, whatever,” said Carl. “I might go and buy some food from the market. I swear I smelled something that smelled just like a baked potato.” So Dave left Carl and Spidroth, and went back up into the mushroom with Kayla. When he got to the top, the council was waiting. “It is good to see you back,” said Father Meepo. “You managed to rescue your friends then?” “I did,” said Dave. “Father Meepo, I want to talk to you about our deal. About me becoming the next Farmer.” “I knew it!” said a female meep. “He wants to renege on our deal!” “You know that the deal we made is eternally binding?” said Father Meepo darkly. “It cannot be broken.” “I know,” said Dave, “but I was wondering if it could be… delayed?” “Delayed for how long?” asked Father Meepo. “There’s this bad guy named Herobrine,” said Dave, “he’s escaped and slain one of my friends, and now I think he’s coming for me. I need to be around to stop him.” “We know of Herobrine,” said Father Meepo. “The human who betrayed his own kind.” It was news to Dave that Herobrine was a human, but that was of little interest to him right now. All he cared about was convincing the meeps to give him more time. “Can I just hold off on becoming the new Farmer until Herobrine has been dealt with?” Dave asked. “And… it’s ok with you… could I also wait until after I’ve been to the End and defeated the ender dragon? I set off on my quest to defeat the dragon, and I’d like to still do that if I can.

OK he said all those whores out there are for me but they also each have something to give to Gloria if I can just find out what that is and help Gloria along like a splash of light on the ocean and everything moving and rocking and shining in the sun so God help me now because Gloria is the great sea those whore-fish swim in; God help me to give up food so I can spend more of my SSI checks on whores and find what I need to find and God let Gloria grow right with me because I sure don't want to die alone.

Courage, sweet Courage. It’s ok to be afraid. In fact, you have to, if you’re going to keep your name. I’m going to tell you a secret that few people ever know. And those who do, sometimes forget as soon as they grow old. The secret is you're not alone, even here in this room. You see, there’s a lion, yes, a lion watching over you. He’s good and brave and strong, and he loves you like I do. And he stands ready to pounce on anything that moves. You see, the trick to being Courage is not never being afraid. It’s knowing that right beside you is a lion who knows your name.

At a time when we most needed love and support, each one of us felt alone, misunderstood, judged, and dismissed.

I once read that after every 7 years or so, every cell in the human body has completely regenerated and the body becomes made entirely of a different collection of physical material. At which point, nothing that was once you, is you anymore. And across 7 years, your life circumstances are likely different too, if not completely different. Meaning both your interior physical state and exterior circumstances are constantly changing completely, and yet you always feel mostly the same. At least in the sense that you still feel like you. It seems as if all processes of change in life are sifted through the same colander of self, and the only thing that is ever consistent on any level in any circumstances is that thing inside your head that continually identifies you with you, despite what’s going on around and through it. And that’s sort of ultimately what it all comes down to, I think. How well you exist with that strange, central you that observes all the other dynamics and constantly changing yous. If anything, it is this that solitude and separation provide. The value and reformative nature of confinement are, at least for me, not necessarily to develop into a different person but to properly face the strange, painful, difficult, and almost inexplicable person you might really be. The person who isn’t really a person, but the thing that lacks a complete and obvious person, but longs relentlessly for one. The truth of what you might be, that you went to great, massive efforts to otherwise avoid. And instead, you direct your efforts to learn how to live with this, rather than always lashing and flailing away from it. That’s where the real trouble came from for me anyway. Eventually, your strategy is to flail violently against yourself, in an effort to overtake it, you’ll end up going to the end of the world, losing everything you have and love just to ultimately end up being put here, to confront the same fact that you knew all along, that you always go with you. Arguably, some level of solitude is inevitable, in any life. But perhaps, some level of deeper, intentional solitude is necessary for a good one. At least for a period of time. Even in a crowd of thousands of people, every person is ultimately alone inside their head, as a solitary receiver of everything. Everything and everyone is experienced individually, skull by skull, moment by moment, once, for all eternity. And so, what does it mean to be a solitary receiver of a world of noise, if when the noise is turned down, you can barely stand it? Perhaps some decent amount of solitude grants you the first step in confronting just how broken the receiver inherently is, finally letting you hear the static buzz that’s been humming in the background of everything, that you can only notice when nearly everything else turns down. Sometimes this humming drove me crazy, sometimes to the brink of all hopelessness, but then like everything else, you begin to adapt. I think it probably takes a full lifetime to ever know what you really are and what good anything was for you. Eventually, everyone figures out how to be ok. Eventually, you don’t have a choice.

Death makes us face up to our own mortality. When my father died and I was suddenly parentless, I felt pushed into the firing line. It was as if I’d been sitting in a trench all those years smoking my cigarettes and brewing tea in my billycan while everyone had been out there getting shot, and suddenly my officer had shouted: ‘OK, Ironside! Over the top!’ Now I was in no-parents’-land with snipers all around. I was next. We have to face the fact that we will die, that we will die alone. We have to face the truth that even with others we basically always are alone, and that unless we give it meaning, life is meaningless.

begins to shake our airplane as if it were a plaything. People cry out as objects fall on their heads from the open overhead lockers. Bags, flowers, packages, toys, wrapped gifts, jackets and clothing rain down hard on us; sandwich trays and bags soar through the air; half-finished drinks pour on heads and shoulders. People are frightened; they scream and start to cry. “Hopefully, all will be OK,” my mother says. I can feel her nervousness, while I myself am still pretty calm. Yes, I begin to worry, but I simply can’t imagine that… Then I suddenly see a blinding white light over the right wing. I don’t know whether it’s a flash of lightning or an explosion. I lose all sense of time. I can’t tell whether all this lasts minutes or only a fraction of a second: I’m blinded by that blazing light; while at the same time, I hear my mother saying quite calmly: “Now it’s all over.” Today I know that at that moment she had already grasped what would happen. I, on the other hand, have grasped nothing at all. An intense astonishment comes over me, because now my ears, my head, my whole body is completely filled with the deep roar of the plane, while its nose slants almost vertically downwards. We’re falling fast. But this nosedive, too, I experience as if it lasted no longer than the blink of an eye. From one moment to the next, people’s screams go silent. It’s as if the roar of the turbines has been erased. My mother is no longer at my side and I’m no longer in the airplane. I’m still strapped into my seat, but I’m alone.

The first one was wearing a kind of ancient Tyrolean (?) hat whose ragged edges were maybe an inch wide; the second had a straw hat that looked like an open snuffbox with a broken cover. The Agitated on the right had an evil laugh that bared his stumps of tarnished nuggets; the Agitated on the left foamed with rage. The laugher started dancing, doing somersaults and dancing again, like a circus ballerina; then he jumped up and down, tirelessly, saying “Opa! Opa!” and guffawing. He smiled less and looked satisfied, almost happy. He obviously thought he was funny and was playing nice, but all of a sudden, he started yelling, rolling on the ground and jumping back up. He kept yelling and jumping and then finally fell down on the floor of his cage and wiggled around in a kind of epileptic fit. After maybe 20 seconds, he got up and started dancing; and the whole time he was scratching himself and smiling absent-mindedly. The furious one climbed the bars of the window, tried to spit on us, shook the bars, moaned and groaned and his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. He tore at his rags, scratched his face until it bled, howled and cried in frustration—at not being able to bite us, to wring our necks and tear off our skin. He aimed his claws at us; he choked; his face turned purple, almost black! “OK, Leonard! Now I’ve had enough of looking at these monsters! They’re hurting me. Not to mention that us being here is not good for them. These crises must wear them out. When they’re alone. they can hide in the corner, curl up and go to sleep, or whatever, but they’ll calm down. I’m getting out of here!” “Good! Good! Let’s go,” my guardian said very seriously. “They’re very gentle, almost proper. It’s the others I don’t wanna show you, no matter what Bid’homme says. The others, ah! They’re nightmares! If there’s any like them outside of here, they’re only found in jars—and drowned in alcohol—again!” Just then two young, buxom nurses passed by us. The two sad anthropoids whinnied—literally—like horses and threw themselves against the bars—then tore off some of their clothes, seized by an exhibitionist rage, and slobbered and roared. The nurses ran away and Leonard finally agreed to get away from the awful scene—so sad that it was almost not disgusting.

So, you’re perfectly fine—” “Other than the stab wound.” “Ah yes, ha ha. Sorry.” He actually said ‘ha ha’ in a way that Paul found irritating. “Still though, you and I have dealt with some difficult information and now look – we are making jokes! This has gone very well.” He resumed beaming at Paul. “Which brings me to the next issue we must address. There appears to have been an issue with the emergency contact details the nurse took from you when you were admitted.” “Oh?” “It happens all the time. People are rushing about—” “I’d been stabbed.” “You’d been stabbed. We rang the number you gave us and, apparently, it is a Chinese takeaway called the Oriental Palace.” “It’s not just a takeaway. They’ve recently expanded to include an in-dining area with ambiance.” Mrs Wu would’ve been proud. She had been answering the phone ‘Hello Oriental Palace, now including an in-dining area with ambiance’ for nearly three months. She clearly didn’t know what ambiance meant, but somebody must’ve told her the place had it, and she was damn sure going to sell it. “I see,” said Dr Sinha. “And do you have a relative working at the Oriental Palace?” “No, not as such.” Or at all. “Ask for Mickey.” “OK. Mickey who?” Paul had been dreading that question. Who really knew the second name of their regular delivery guy? Sure, Mickey had come in and nabbed the occasional smoke or life-threateningly cheap Eastern European beer on a slow Tuesday. He’d even stayed to watch half of Roxanne on DVD once, but a second name seemed like a very personal question. Mickey had told him he was not from China, and how annoyed he got when people assumed he was. Unfortunately, Paul had forgotten where Mickey was from, so that was another no-go area. “Just Mickey.” “So, no relatives you’d like us to call?” “Nope. None.” Dr Sinha was clearly uncomfortable at this. “Well, as someone from a very large family, may I say, I envy you. I spend half of my salary on birthday cards alone.

Once upon a time, somewhere miles and miles beneath the surface of the ocean, there lived a young octopus named Nina. Nina spent most of her time alone making strange creations out of rocks and shells. And she was very happy. But then on Monday the shark showed up. “What’s your name?” said the shark. “Nina,” she replied. “Do you want to be my friend?” he asked. “OK. What do I have to do?” said Nina. “Not much,” said the shark, “just let me eat one of your arms.” Nina had never had a friend before, so she wondered if this was what you had to do to get one. She looked down at her eight arms and decided it wouldn’t be so bad to give up one. So she donated an arm to her wonderful new friend. Every day that week, Nina and the shark would play together. They explored caves, built castles of sand, and swam really, really fast. And every night the shark would be hungry, and Nina would give him another one of her arms to eat. On Sunday, after playing all day, the shark told Nina that he was very hungry. “I don’t understand,” she said, "I’ve already given you six of my arms, and now you want one more?” The shark looked at her with a friendly smile and said, “I don’t want one. This time I want them all.” “But why?” Nina asked. And the shark replied, “Because that’s what friends are for.” When the shark finished his meal, he felt very sad and lonely. He missed having someone to explore caves, build castles, and swim really, really fast with. He missed Nina very much. So he swam away to find another friend.

If you made a mistake, it’s ok. At least you tried.

FOR A WHILE, TEACHERS ACQUIESCED TO THE CHANGES. “WE’RE USED TO being like, ‘OK, whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it, because we all care about what’s best for kids,

Please Dear" Please, all I wanted was a change Lisa, I never wanted you to go that far away Then you had to go And leave me sitting all alone Oh baby, how I miss you so And I'm so damn tired of thinking She wiped the tears away A lifetime away And laid a goodbye on me At night I can still hear you saying Hang on to me, baby Hang on to me It ain't easy Please dear Could you save a seat in nirvana for me So we can go on forever Please dear Could you save a seat in nirvana for me Lisa, every time I turn around I see your face Please give me a sign that says you're o.k. Will you let me know That you'll me at the door And take me everywhere you go Up in the sky when I buy my ticket I have a hard time sleeping You're ringing your bell Reminds me of all the times of playing At night I can still hear you saying Hang on to me, baby Hang on to me It ain't easy Please dear Could you save a seat in nirvana for me So we can go on forever Please dear Could you save a seat in nirvana for me I never wanted to say goodbye I always wondered why It's another sleepless night Are you really, are you all right You're so far away Oh, I miss your face Faster Pussycat, Wake Me When It's Over (1989)

cultural understandings of grief don’t really matter in the early days. What does matter is knowing that you aren’t alone in feeling like the world at large has failed you.

All art is Logos, and when one of us gets it right, even a little bit, the rest of us feel less alone. We are figuratively holding hands, admitting we won’t ultimately win our war against Entropy—and somehow that’s OK.

AM: My father had arrived in New York all alone, from the middle of Poland, before his seventh birthday… He arrived in New York, his parents were too busy to pick him up at Castle Garden and sent his next eldest brother Abe, going on 10, to find him, get him through immigration and bring him home to Stanton Street and the tenement where in two rooms the eight of them lived and worked, sewing the great long, many-buttoned cloaks that were the fashion then. They sent him to school for about six months, figuring he had enough. He never learned how to spell, he never learned how to figure. Then he went right back into the shop. By the time he was 12 he was employing two other boys to sew sleeves on coats alongside him in some basement workshop. KM: He went on the road when he was about 16 I think… selling clothes at a wholesale level. AM: He ended up being the support of the entire family because he started the business in 1921 or something. The Miltex Coat Company, which turned out to be one of the largest manufacturers in this country. See we lived in Manhattan then, on 110th Street facing the Park. It was beautiful apartment up on the sixth floor. KM: We had a chauffeur driven car. The family was wealthy. AM: It was the twenties and I remember our mother and father going to a show every weekend. And coming back Sunday morning and she would be playing the sheet music of the musicals. JM: It was an arranged marriage. But a woman of her ability to be married off to a man who couldn’t read or write… I think Gussie taught him how to read and to sign his name. AM: She knew she was being wasted, I think. But she respected him a lot. And that made up for a little. Until he really crashed, economically. And then she got angry with him. First the chauffeur was let go, then the summer bungalow was discarded, the last of her jewellery had to be pawned or sold. And then another step down - the move to Brooklyn. Not just in the case of my father but every boy I knew. I used to pal around with half a dozen guys and all their fathers were simply blown out of the water. I could not avoid awareness of my mother’s anger at this waning of his powers. A certain sneering contempt for him that filtered through her voice. RM: So how did the way you saw your father change when he lost his money? AM: Terrible… pity for him. Because so much of his authority sprang from the fact that he was a very successful businessman. And he always knew what he as doing. And suddenly: nothin’. He didn’t know where he was. It was absolutely not his fault, it was the Great Crash of the ‘29, ‘30, ‘31 period. So from that I always, I think, contracted the idea that we’re very deeply immersed in political and economic life of the country, of the world. And that these forces end up in the bedroom and they end up in the father and son and father and daughter arrangements. In Death of a Salesman what I was interested in there was what his world and what his life had left him with. What that had done to him? Y’know a guy can’t make a living, he loses his dignity. He loses his male force. And so you tend to make up for it by telling him he's OK anyway. Or else you turn your back on him and leave. All of which helps create integrated plays, incidentally. Where you begin to look: well, its a personality here but what part is being played by impersonal forces?

When you evolve, your inner circle must evolve with you. Otherwise you may subconsciously halt your own growth to avoid outpacing and losing contact with the people who mean alot to you but might not be able to hang out with you. When there is no one around you who believes in or understands your quest, you must turn your foxhole into a one-man fighting position. That's ok. It is always better to fight alone until you can find people to fight the good fight with you. The is no time to waste trying to pull deadweight up a hill.

Dear Nick, I Know we made this decision together. I know we both thought it would be less painful to break up before the distance did it for us. I really believed it was the right thing to do: that it wouldn't hurt as much this way. But I can't imagine anything could be harder than this. And I don't think I'm OK. I came back from New York and I was so devastated I shut myself away from my best friends, and now they've shut themselves away from me too. I've done everything I can to feel happy again. I've been to Morocco and ridden on camels and danced in the desert: I've chased my inner star. I've thrown myself into modelling and done whatever it takes to make new Friends at school so I'm not alone, even though I don't really understand them most of the time and I don't think they understand me either. I'm trying so hard to move on without you. But I'm not, Nick. I'm not moving anywhere. All the things I wrote in the last letter... they weren't true. Or they were, but it wasn't what I really meant. I was hiding behind Facts and figures because I didn't Know how to say this: Every day you're changing, you're growing, you're living, you're out there being you, and the only thing staying the same is me. I'm still here, holding on to you. Stuck in the past. Trapped in it. Burying myself in it. Drowning in it. And I don't know what to do to make it better. I miss you, Nick. I've missed you every day, every hour and every second since you've been gone. And I miss the bit of me you took with you. Harriet xxx

Divorce is ok. Breaking up is ok. Starting over is ok. Moving on is ok. Saying no is ok. Being alone is ok. What is not ok is staying somewhere where you aren't happy, respected, valued, abused, or appreciated; that's not ok.

What if it ends?" "What if it does? It will still be ok. You will still keep on living, and moving forward with your life. All you can do is love them where they are at. Even when they choose to move on without you.

...It felt like permission. The kind I hadn't let myself have for [six months]. The kind of permission I'd been waiting for, as I sat alone in [her] apartment in grief, welled up so high, it felt suffocating. The permission I thought I'd given myself. But it hadn't been permission to cry. It had been a command to be strong. To be ok. I told myself over and over, I had to be ok. And finally, finally! Someone gave me permission to come undone.

And then one day the sadness was gone. In its place was a sense of peace and stillness. I still wasn’t thrilled to be single and alone, but ultimately, I was OK with it because I was OK with me. Today,

knitting as well, then?” “No,” laughed Auntie Jem. “It’s a metaphor.” Norm didn’t care what it was for. He just needed to talk to Mikey. Alone. “You coming, love?” said Norm’s mum, setting off with Auntie Jem. “In a minute, Mum,” said Norm. “OK,

In the 15 years since its inception, the column has documented my days of being single and alone for the first time, reentering the dating world as a sober person, dating, getting engaged, getting married, getting pregnant, having kids, and finding my life again after all of that. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes not. Sometimes the not-so-funny things are important too. What it is, though, is honest. My column has allowed me to show people – at whatever stage they’re at in life – that they don’t have to be perfect to be OK. There are no books on “What to Expect When Your Boyfriend Leaves You For His High School Crush,” or “What to Expect When Your Child Takes a Year to Potty Train.” But that doesn’t mean people don’t need to know that this stuff happens. And more importantly, that they can survive when it does. Sometimes even laughing.

Ok Kevin," he said to himself, "We were born for this! If we are ever going to find Laura then we can't be scared of the dark, can we?" He knew he had to press on, for both their sakes. He felt so awful thinking of her alone and scared, and probably always in danger. He knew the best help he could give her right now was to never give up. He knew he would find her, but he also knew he needed more supplies. He was going to hurry to his base to stock up, and then resume his journey. Taking a deep breath he said aloud, "On the count of three we'll run... ONE...TWO ... GO!!!" Kevin sprang from the tunnel entrance and launched towards the direction of his home. As he zoomed through the valley, he was pretty sure he passed a dozen spiders, some skeletons (arrows whizzed past his head a few times), and definitely a few zombies (he could hear their deep moans all around him). But it didn't matter; he just kept on running, passing through low-hanging tree branches and leaves as he went. He was so intent on reaching his home that he didn't see the drop off just a few blocks ahead of him, and went flying over the edge before his mind even registered what was happening. Falling

As I realise that I am going to be intersex my whole life. Years and years and decades, maybe for seventy years, I’ll be like this. And, unless I find someone who doesn’t mind having sex with me, I’m going to be alone all that time. I’ll probably be alone all that time. Think. How difficult it is for people to find someone they love, who likes the same things as them, who has the same values, who wants the same things out of life, and then imagine adding to that the fact that they not only have to be OK with having sex with a hermaphrodite, they have to like it. Without being a totally weird pervert, I add to myself.

Finlander: Fire Control. Ralston: Sir. Finlander: Arm number one ASROC. Ralston: Aye aye, sir. Number one ASROC armed and ready sir. Schrepke: Captain you are a fool! Munceford: Finlander, leave it alone. Finlander: Take it easy Ralston. Ralston: All systems in automatic control, sir. Weapons armed and ready. Finlander: Take it easy. Ralston: Fire Control a-ok sir. All systems armed and ready. Schrepke: This is insane! Finlander: Now don't worry Commodore. The Bedford will never fire first. But if he fires one I'll fire one. Ralston: Fire one!

Paranoia's OK," said Berry, "it's just a more primitive defense. If you think someone's watching you, you think you're not alone.

Never Understood Nor Do I Understand How Woman Can Say She Hates Being Alone As If Jesus Isn't There. It's Ok To Be Alone. It's Never Ok To Be Without.

There are many other intense feelings associated with pregnancy, which Gerald Caplan refers to as “a period of increased susceptibility to crisis, a period when problems of an important nature appear to be present in an increased degree.”2 In addition to the external economic and social changes there are internal changes, both metabolic and emotional. For mother there is a new role, particularly if this is her first baby; there is the aloneness of labor and the loneliness of being home with the baby, particularly if she previously had been a career woman; and there is the new responsibility of structuring time. There also is a profound realization for the woman having her first baby that she will never be a little girl again, that she has passed beyond the pale into the older

How will you know when you have fully recovered? When your body has had enough rest and nourishment that your energy is back and chronic fatigue is not an issue anymore. When your fearful thoughts (which may continue to creep in) don’t send you into the anxious cycle, and you can brush them off knowing that your past has given you enough information that the thing you fear most will not come true. This is just another false alarm. When you stop giving attention to those false alarms, then the many faces of anxiety will recede. When you begin to stop just THINKING positive, thinking that this alone will turn things around. Action is the main element that will turn your anxiety disorder around, in my struggles I was the most anxious positive person ever, but I kept telling myself lies such as things are getting better, things are getting better...THINGS ARE NOT GETTING BETTER, telling yourself the truth that things are not ok and this is not all there is to life, will get you to take massive action and celebrate the smallest victories. When you start taking responsibility for your anxiety disorder. Certain factors such as your childhood environment may actually be a reason for your anxiety disorder that you are experiencing right now, but in the end when you begin to take responsibility for your issues you instantly stop playing the blame game and stop being the victim. Once you take the power back into your own hands, you will begin to recognize that you ALWAYS have a choice in the matter, it just takes time to recondition yourself until desensitization begins. When your thoughts, emotions and physical body are in sync. It may seem that at the moment your thoughts are running out of control, you’re emotionally unstable and you may feel completely fatigued or scared to partake in a daily exercise routine because of fear due to your heart. Once these three things are aligned and the daily struggle to have clear thoughts, to try so hard to be upbeat and the fear of exercising is gone, days feel enjoyable and easy for you again. No more fight or flight out of the blue and no more sweating the small stuff.

As I approached the elevators, a familiar man passed me, pausing to say, "You will—" "Stop it right there!" I yelled, interrupting Paolo the Diviner before he could cause any more trouble for me. People in the area turned to look at us. I lowered the volume of my voice, but kept my tone as mean as I could. "I have no idea why you've decided to become my personal voice of doom, but I would appreciate it if you would stop telling me that I'm going to trip, or spill stuff on myself, or be arrested, or any of the thousand other disasters I'm sure you behold in my future, because frankly, I don't want to know. OK?" Paolo looked offended. His nostrils flared. He backed up a step, looking down his long nose at me, his lips pressed together tightly. "I'm sorry to be so brusque," I said, realizing I had insulted him. "And I want you to know that I appreciate your concern for my well-being"—a little white lie never hurt anyone—"but I will take my chances with life on my own." He said nothing, just raised a supercilious eyebrow at me. "Thank you," I said, figuring that he might leave me alone if I thanked him for his effort. "Uh ... have a nice day." Paolo continued to stare silently at me as I made a little good-bye wave and walked toward the elevator.

It's nice to be able to control my smell environment, and I can hear myself think better when it's quiet. It wasn't easy to become a person who's OK being alone on a Saturday night, but I did the work, I got there...

I'm happy for the love I have it shines like starry sky No matter where I find myself it gives me wings to fly Sometimes I feel that what I need is love I have within, don't matter if it manifests or reciprocates to me My path is one of single heart and walking life alone but that's ok 'cause through all that I'll find my way back Home

happened upon one that was titled “Five Deadly Terms Used by a Woman.” Those terms are “Fine,” “Nothing,” “Go Ahead,” “Whatever,” and “That’s OK.” The word “Wow!” is listed as a bonus word. The descriptions that go with each of the statements are hilarious. “Fine” is a word women use to end an argument when they know they are right. “Nothing,” of course, means something and men should definitely be worried. “Go ahead” is a dare, not permission. Men are discouraged from pursuing it. “Whatever” implies the man in question should back off and leave her alone. “That’s OK” means she’s thinking long and hard about retribution for whatever the man has done. “Wow!” simply points out her amazement that one person could be so stupid.

At a time when we most needed love and support, each one of us felt alone, misunderstood, judged, and dismissed. It’s not that the people around us meant to be cruel; they just didn’t know how to be truly helpful. Like many grieving people, we stopped talking about our pain to friends and family. It was easier to pretend everything was fine than to continually defend and explain our grief to those who couldn’t understand.

Lies include: -I'm ok -Just go, I want to be alone -I've been through worse, please -Takes more than that to hurt me -Whatever, I stopped listening -Don't worry, I didn't even notice

  But it was too late. The hole was tiny, yet the ball was rapidly losing air.   “You’re a bad dog!” Alex shouted at Bud when they got inside. “I’m never going to take you with me again. Why are all the other dogs ok, but you’re just so silly?!” And he shut the door behind him. Bud was left alone at home. Again.

Maybe one day we’ll look in the mirror and be happy with the fair-to-middling upright ape that eyes us back, and we’ll gather our breath and think: OK, we’re alone, so be it. Maybe that day is coming soon. Maybe the whole nature of things is one of precariousness, of wobbling on a pinhead of being, of decentring ourselves inch by inch as we do in life, as we come to understand that the staggering extent of our own non-extent is a tumultuous and wave-tossed offering of peace.