There are days when the entire planet feels like it’s conspiring to talk too loud, drive too slow, and breathe my air just a little too wetly. Every direction I look, someone’s over-sharing, overreacting, or over-there being alive in my general vicinity. It’s exhausting. Humanity is like a car alarm that never stops.

I used to think I was just irritable, but no — I’ve simply evolved past the noise. Give me silence, a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like burnt regret, and maybe the sound of wind through trees that don’t have Wi-Fi. That’s bliss. The world thinks “peace and quiet” means meditation apps and scented candles. I mean the real thing — no people, no phones, no reminders that civilization is still staggering around out there like a drunk at last call.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m broken for not wanting to “connect.” Everyone’s obsessed with community and collaboration, while I’m out here craving solitude like oxygen. I don’t hate people individually; I just can’t stand them in bulk. It’s the collective stupidity that grinds me down — the noise, the performative kindness, the endless commentary. The only time I feel truly human is when I’m far away from them all.

So if you see me off in the corner, not talking, just sipping my coffee and staring into nothing — relax. That’s me at peace. That’s me loving the world in the only way I can: from a safe, silent distance.