I have been reading a lot of lesbian romance fiction and erotica of late. I thought it was because I’m a voyeur and a lurker (guilty,,as charged). Then I realized I like these characters because they do life together, like cook a meal, cuddle when they sleep, share little intimacies, completely unrelated to sex.

What is it about intimacy that so terrifies us?

That isn’t an LGBT thing or a heterosexual thing. We live our lives, hoping not to have our hearts broken. Ex-wife #1 broke my heart and I broke hers about this time forty two years ago. Fast forward another sixteen years and ex-wife #2 and I were dancing our own pas de deux of death.

It is tempting to conclude that I am the party in these dyads who sucks at relationships, but then again “like attracts like” as they say in chemistry. Do we go through life, searching for people who are as equally inept or adroit in relationships as we are?

J has just left for work, with the lunch I packed for her. She will return to the friendly confines of her side of the bed and whatever fiction or television facilitates her escape from the monotony and demands of work and marriage.

Marriage isn’t for dilettantes and dabblers. We have to dip more than just our toes in its water. I write this as someone who has the fear of total commitment thoroughly ingrained in his being.

And now I am sleepy again. Later. I guess I will come back and complete these thoughts.