The round peg of humanity, the square hole of modern society... different blood types, different mentalities, sensibilities... the inadequacies of modern psychology to address the different social identities inextricably imbedded in the human being, given genetics, evolution of the biological creature...

The type O hunter mind leaves the house, intent, focussing on the hunt for food. I wake from a long early evening nap, done with the week, having been surrounded by construction noise, and go out for a Five Guys hamburger. It's past ten at night and the people of the city are out finishing their dinners and conversations and out for walks in good company. I'm out to fill my hunger. The grocery stores, where I usually take my hunt, are closed. Five Guys is noisy, so I walk home with hamburgers wrapped in their foil in a paper bag. I'll get home and toss the American White Bread buns and eat the rest, though I admit, it's not the same. Society, beyond providing dinner, strikes me, the hunter in his hunger, as being unnecessary. Conversations outside of restaurants solving the world's problems, as people do in bars. My fixated focus, zeroing in on the kill, which is a hunter must do it, after some stalking, has, no doubt, made me appear weird and creepy at various times, were it not for a patience which would save my reputation in the end, make me not the crazy man, completely.

I will admit to loneliness, once I'm done cramming my face. History Channel has something on Sasquatch. They are out in the woods in Northern Ontario at a camp on a lake. It seems like stuff I can relate to, unable to relate to much at the end of a work week and lots of people coming through the restaurant, from Saturday night's couples, to Father's Day special-menu very busy Sunday night, on through a slow but having-to-entertain a small bar crowd Monday, then famous Wine Tasting Tuesday and then at last the long haul of Wednesday Jazz night. Each night, an extra painful hour or two on top of what might have been necessary. Yes, Sasquatch, I can hang with you. I get you. Your shyness, your love of the woods and disappearing, the possible irritation you might feel when you are encroached upon. Your feet and hairy back, your peace with nature, your reverent silence away from the chattering monkey of humanity... where did we go wrong? (Russian Sasquatch creatures have the use of fire, according to legend and eye-witness account.)

All week, at the home front, workmen have been making terrific noises, the power unit behind an automatic nail gun vibrating above, releasing a burst of pressure every three minutes. And next door the Polish Lady's house has been completely stripped down to the two by four framing. I am ready for some quiet time, some time away from this much vaunted social society that people seem so eager to belong to and participate in.

It occurs to me JFK, classic Type O guy that he was, came up with the Peace Corps idea out of his own understanding with boredom and cooped-up'edness. Give young people an outlet to get away from the big city, out into the undeveloped countryside of a rural country. Give them something to do with their bodies and their hands, in the meantime helping other people out and letting the rest of the world that Americans are human beings too. Give them something natural to do, like some good ole' civil engineering and school/hospital clinic building, to keep them from going out of their minds.

There seems to be not much else on TV, surprise surprise, that an O can relate to, no big expanses of nature captured for the TV screen that I can find, but that's okay, I have laundry to do, even if the energy to do it is waning. And I am fed. The tiredness and the blankness of night in a city will close in eventually. I would wish to be transported out to nature, to a lake's shore, a big expanse of stars overhead, but the best that ends up happening is a raccoon that comes to the yard, though he was, I must admit, acting a little funny. Miss Kittycat watched and waited from the back wall of the neighbor's yard along with her new friend, a juvenile tiger tabby male.

For me a Type O has a simple way of dealing with other people. He empathizes with all of them, and he is kind to whomever he can be kind to. He respects their need for food and shelter, and gets that they too have been roped in, given jobs that don't completely agree with them. Having to turn to the imagination, to art and poetry and music, to stay alive and stimulated, his sensitivity toward others is well-honed, even to begin with. He has a great dislike for 'animal cruelty,' being an animal himself.