I was talking with a friend (married) on the phone a couple of nights ago. We were discussing what we would do if we ever found ourselves spouseless--for whatever reason. He said he wasn't sure he could ever get married again. I told him I was going to, for sure. He was surprised and said he couldn't see me married to anyone but Darrin. Then I explained that I would find some sad, lonely man who enjoyed going out to dinner, seeing movies, playing games, taking long walks and talking, but wasn't really that interested in having sex. He said such a man does not exist. Now I'm completely bummed. Darrin just better not die--ever.
Or if Darrin ever does die, I told another friend I'm moving to a cave with my snakes and piano and I'm never coming out or talking to another person ever again.
Somewhat extreme, I suppose, but it won't happen for another 25 or 30 years, and by that time my blog will be obsolete, I'll have been replaced by a younger, more vibrant (who knows, perhaps more male) Queen of the Queerosphere, The Great -L- will have grown too old to leap tall buildings in a single bound and come to my rescue, and everyone else will have such compelling lives that they will have forgotten I exist. Which is, I suppose, the only available option in life's inevitability. However, on the off chance that you still love me, I'll post directions to my cave when I move into it.