L'enfer est des personnes loutres

Jean Paul Sartre, one of my favorite little French madmen, once said (or wrote, but I bet he said it, too) "Hell is other people." And he said it in French, of course, which automatically makes it more disturbing.

In any case, it's something I've always thought. (But apparently you have to put the thought into an existential play to get any kind of props for it.)

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't hate people. I like people. I just know myself well enough to realize that things might grow to be particularly infernal if I had to be around them all the time. You know, "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and all that.

So, despite the fact that little Jean Paul is a French madman, I can still see his point. With the possible exception of certain experiments I should not know about, people are not ants. We are not bees. We are born alone and we die alone. By virtue of biology alone, we are discrete creatures of solitude. We do not naturally have a community mind, and if science fiction has taught us anything, bad things happen when we try to make one.

And because absurd metaphors (and invisible segues, apparently) are my Prozac, let me say that I feel other people are like clothes. They are sometimes fun, sometimes obnoxious, occasionally necessary, and culturally expected. But clothes aren't part of who you are. Or they shouldn't be, anyway. Clothes serve a purpose. I like clothes. Some clothes I like better than others. But if I felt like I had to be in them ALL THE TIME, I would start to hate them.

That, and my bikini area would never get fully clean.

So I think of those poor souls who feel required to have someone around them all the time just to be happy, and equate them to "nevernudes," those quirky folk who have never been seen naked by spouse, neighbor, or doctor. I'm not sure where the motivation to be constantly clothed comes from, but I think shame has something to do with it.

So is that the case with the "everfolked," those people who can't stand to be alone? Are they ashamed of themselves? Does solitude force introspection which is too frightening to embark upon? Are they so filled with self-loathing that they cannot abide a table for one? I think so.

But then all this could simply be a justification for the time I need alone to complete my Manifesto. I can't very well posit The Downfall of Man with other people looking over my shoulder.

Oh no. I need to be alone for that. Those prying eyes are always judging, judging, judging...