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During my COVID isolation in a three-star hotel in Fort Lauderdale, I found myself doing something I do not ever do. I found myself watching television. Premium mediocre television, but still, television. I watched a few movies on HBO and Cinemax, and even some on commercial television.

Later, I was hospitalized with that COVID. While I was in the hospital I noticed that my roommate perpetually watched the television. He was up all night long, watching the television. My next roommate did the same. They never turned the television off. And when I described that behavior to my mother, she said that she had the television on all day long.

I never turned my TV on; it was broadcast only, taking even the “premium” out of its mediocrity. Omaha was beautiful and brought me my laptop, e-reader, phone, and notebook (and all the relevant chargers, too!). I spent my time reading, researching, and yeah, bragging about my survival and my brief fame as The Bed Whisperer.

Due to circumstances beyond our control, Omaha and I were authorized to fly on different days. So I got home Sunday night, and Omaha was to fly home Monday night. I… I pushed myself waaaaaay too hard Monday night, probably did extra microembolism damage inside my peritoneal cavity, but in some ways it might have actually been worth it. Only my future self will be able to make that judgement.

But in that time, I found myself watching television again. Well, a movie, the last Bond film. And as I did, I asked myself why I was watching television. And the answer was simple: My alters, The Council and the Stable were as sick and fatigued as the rest of me, and none of us could really think well. We were all quiet. Tired.

We don’t want to be lonely.

Omaha and I are still watching television over other activities. It’s fine and passive, and it means we don’t have to move much, risking inflammation. She’s a huge fan of her childhood favorites and we ended up watching Barney Miller, the comedy that, I believe, bridges the gap between Steve McGarret of Hawaii Five-O (a “perfect cop”) and Norman Buntz of Hill Street Blues (a “corrupt cop”). After a few episodes, I realized that over half the “cases” dealt with by Barney Miller and the rest of the 12th Precinct were about lonely people dealing with their loneliness in inappropriate ways.

Some of us cherish our time alone, but none of us want to feel lonely. For those who have no one, television fills the hours with a kind of companionship, a sense that humanity is happening, at least somewhere, and letting you in on it, at least a little bit. I’ve spent a lifetime learning to live with myself, create personas for the thoughts (not really “voices,” not as I understand it) in my head (if they are “voices” as other experience them, mine are all very friendly and helpful, but I cultivated them to be so).

I’m eager to get back to full health, to be capable again, to have Girl Scout, Muse, Code Fairy, DJ Earworm and the rest back at their respective helms (do they have helms? I should ask Muse; she would know). And true to my sages, I must find, now, how to manage the interior loneliness that will come as I get older.


No silence today. There’s always a silence tomorrow. What? Look, somebody’s got to have some damn perspective around here! Silence.

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Elf Sternberg

May 2025

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