why I am not a social creature (after Frank O'Hara's "Why I Am Not A Painter) I am not one for talking, I am quiet. Why? I think I would rather be alone than in a crowd. Well, for instance, my friend is having a party. I drop in. "Sit and stay" she says. I sit; we sit. I look around. "There are so many PEOPLE here." "Yes, they're all our friends." "Right." I sit and the minutes tick along and I keep sitting. The socializing is going on, and I sit, and the minutes tick along. I sit. The party is finished. "So many PEOPLE." All that's left is just the two of us, "Our friends," she says. What am I? Some days I am thinking of the way I am: introverted. I sit alone and think. Pretty soon my brain is teeming with doubt. My brain is a jumble of misery, not ease. Unsure of what I am. Then it whirrs some more. There should be so much more, not of dread, but of how wonderful quiet is and thoughts. Days go by. It is even in my art, I am a real person. I have lived some more and I haven't said anything about doubt yet. It's years later; I say to myself: I am a PERSON. And one day at a party I see my friend, and other PEOPLE aren't so bad anymore. © Dana L. 2013