As a teenager, I accidentally gained initiation into the secret society of solitary theatregoers. When, one rainy Saturday night, I could not convince anyone to join me for a screening of a movie I wanted to see, I found myself walking up to the ticket window, handing over cash, and guiltily whispering, "Just one ticket, please."

As I grow older, I find that I prize my time alone more and more. Thus, here I sit at six a.m., tapping away at a keyboard. The computer room door: open just a crack. One of my curious cats could use an inquisitive front paw and a quick headbutt to open the door if they really wanted to, but this way Jeff won't be disturbed by the light coming from this room.