: humans are pack animals :



the whirly girl

Don’t believe me? Get on the freeway.


Contrary to popular opinion, American highways are not great big parking lots. The one you’re on, yes, it’s gridlocked, but there’s open road ahead and behind. Smooth sailing. You just can’t see it for the brake lights and semis standing in your way. Traffic jams, you see, are a natural consequence of our need for companionship. Apparently, we don’t want to be alone.

Yeah? Too bad. Spread out, people, and give me some elbow room. I can’t breathe with everyone crammed together like sardines. This is how claustrophobia starts, you know. And I have enough problems already; I don’t need more. What do you have against solitude, anyway? It’s really quite lovely.

In solitude, you’re free to be the you only you know. There’s no pressure to fit in or appearance to keep up, no expectations to meet (or fall short of) —…

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