Free moment at the computer, this is so rare these days, it is cold and kind of close in here all the time.

Amy and I had sex for the first time in months this weekend. (It's a crowded house, but we managed. We had some experience in this regard, after all--we dated while I was in high school.)

It was nice, very nice. I wish it were the kind of Stephen King deal where the horrific end-of-the-world tragedy makes people all kinds of horny, but this has not been the case for us. Well, it has been for me, maybe. But everybody brought the same problems they had before the revenants into this whole situation with them, and they didn't go away. The things that are wrong with you are always wrong with you until they get fixed regardless of the external circumstances. I thought when we got married that that was the sign she needed to trust me again. I really thought that would change everything. What can I say? I'm not the world's most insightful person. the anniversaries of people's deaths come and go and I'm lucky if I remember it at all. I miss the intimacy. I feel robbed of it.

Do you ever get to wondering, especially now, if you are "worth" having survived? Not really "worth it," or "deserving of it," but like, why? It's amazing how arbitrary things are. It occurred to me that I could just as easily be gay as straight, I bet. So much of love is just a buddy-buddy relationship. Would that be hard to replicate with a man? The sexual aspect, yes, but the rest of it? I don't know. I don't think so. What's been happening has shown everyone (read: me) how really random what you consider the integral aspects of your life actually are. You envision yourself as a grown-up and part of your own family and the next thing you know you are in high school again, a high schooler. No one has any goals anymore, no one has any long-term plans, because no one really knows what's going to happen. Everything gets scarcer and more expensive because fewer and fewer people are doing anything. Is that true where you are? Without goals, without an endpoint as a constant, everything just becomes a big gray washout, too fluid to care about. I don't care and nobody cares. Everyone's life is just a sort of diseased parody of life. A dry spell that's lasted for five years, who gives a shit? It could last for five, ten, twenty more years if anyone lives that long--what difference does it make? It makes a big difference to ME--I guess that's hope?