One is the loneliest number

Okay. This.

HitRecord, episode 1

Holy. Fuck.

Okay, so I know how it is to be alone, be all alone at home, be at my job and be the only one in my little, tiny cube doing my little, tiny thing that only I can do, so I'm left alone to work on my spreadsheet, or I know how it is to go alone to a café and open up my laptop and call up word pad and just look at it awhile ...

... and cry.

And write a chapter title, and look at that for a while.

... and cry.

Yeah, I'm really popular in cafés.

Then, a week later, go back to that one word in that one document, and start writing and writing and writing, and wanting to puke so bad at what I'm writing, at the same time I'm crying so hard as I'm writing what's going on between my characters, as I feel along with them.

And...

And it's a terribly lonely experience, my life, and a scary one. I create, then I decide to publish, and my glory is that somebody liked what I wrote, and my agony is that somebody didn't, but I don't know that until it's too late, and my words are out there, and they hurt or they heal, but I'll never meet the persons I help or hurt.

Or when I do, I really puke. Then I run.

It happens.

But that's my life, which is none: I have no life. I'm alone, and I'm 'fine' with that. Being alone is so much better than being with somebody, and then, inevitably, hurting her.

Then I saw this video, and ... it was about the number one, the loneliest number.

And it was all made up by ones. Ones and ones and ones, all alone, all creating with hope and fear and a trembling expectation that somebody might actually see what they did, and what would happen if they did?

Well, nothing would, but somebody, somewhere would see them and see their art, just like with me, and ... it would be alive. It would be more than just them now, it would be two, or three ... or ten-thousand, or millions.

Just like Friday's girl, Rebecca Black, a thirteen-year-old girl of a single mom. She made a music video for $10k and went back to school the next day, and that was it for her, so she thought.

I'm not Rebecca Black, nor Stephenie Meyer, nor Medea nor Sophocles, and even if I were, I wouldn't even know it until I was dead, right "Frances"? ... I'm not eve anybody else, I'm just me.

But, I'm alone, and being alone, I'm lonely, and I forget, or I do not know anything other than the happiness of being sad and alone.

And then this video shows me thousands, thousands of others, alone, and creating, and hopeful, and ... joyful in their vocation.

Watch the video.