As you may or may not know, solitude can oftentimes lead to super fun and sexy times. I'm living in an unattached single this semester, and over the past three days, I've read books, wrestled seven giant boxes of assorted schmutes into exquisite order, homemade prescription sunglasses, watched Harold and Kumar go to White Castle alone in the dark while hula hooping in my underwear -- it's been like camp. . . except all alone and actually not at all like camp. This newly appreciated freedom to do whatever the swear word I want has leaked through the cracks of my nice, red, automatically locking door and sometime in between strolling the lamp-lit streets of New Haven -- a large bar of high proof chocolate in one hand and a glass bottle of low proof ginger beer in the other -- and reclining on an ivy-shaded gravestone reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I rerealized that my own company is maybe one of the best things. And not in the 'I'm doing my best to cope with my debilitating friendlessness' way, but rather the 'I now actively avoid the rest of humanity. Seriously. **** people.' way. Not quite, but hear me out: I'm totally into all of the weird things I'm into; I'm always up to doing or not doing whatever I want to do or not do; I never stare uncomfortably to the side when I mention unemployment or heinous acts of porcine mutilation (I bet just reading that phrase made you ask 'dear heavens what is wrong with this girl?' I didn't ask that when I wrote it. I was totally non-judgmental). It is excellent. I don't want to end this with some pitiful insistence that you 'Be Your Own Best Friend!' You do whatever you want; attach yourself to as many people as you fancy and spend every waking moment holding pinkies with them. Just know not to despair when you find yourself in the wilderness of human independence, because (to use the immortal words of the title of that one Tyler Perry movie) you can do bad all by yourself.