Alone Again Or

I periodically feel starved for romantic companionship, and yet on those rare occasions when I meet someone with whom a romantic relationship is possible, I feel my autonomy slipping away and quickly do whatever I can to undermine things. In a variation on this theme, or perhaps an extention of it, I think I unconsciously choose women that are not right for me so that I have an easy excuse when I feel myself wanting to escape from the prison house of commitment. The sad fact is that I'm 42 and I've never really been in love. I've had occasions when the first flushes of romance and lust feel like love, but I've never really had a deep romantic connection with a woman that made me want to spend the rest of my life with her. I'm starting to come around to the idea that some people are just not meant to be in relationships, and I may very well be one of those people...

Sometimes this thought upsets me, but I wonder how much of the sadness I feel is simply an internalization of other people's values - values that I don't necessarily share. Every time I talk to my father, for example, he asks me how my "social life" is going, which is code for are you still an asexual weirdo? The question pisses me off, but the only response I can muster is to chuckle and try to change the subject. My dad's 88 years old, and I'm not about to lash out at him if I can help it. He's not gonna change at this point. I have to accept that he has a hard time getting his mind around the idea that living alone might be an appropriate life choice for someone like me.

Part of my getting older has entailed recoggnizing that being alone is not so bad. I've pretty much been alone all my life. That's another discussion altogether... Let me illustrate the pleasures of solitude by recounting how I spent my Saturday evening... I returned home from my weekly doubles game at about 4:00 and took a shower. At 5:00, Trudy, my great cat helper, came over to help me cut my kitties' nails. I need her especially for my older cat, Polly, who is skittish to the point where it's very difficult for one person to hold her and cut her nails. Vito, the four year old tabby, is no problem. Unfortunately, Polly got so freaked this time that she peed all over the place when we finally trapped her. Oh well. I love Polly unconditionally. Seems she's the one lady I can truly love! ...It was nice to catch up with Trudy, who is one of the kindest and warmest poeople in the world...

Trudy left at 6:00. I wanted to roll a number, but I could not remember where I left the papers (!). I went out into the balmy evening. The weather this summer in LA has been perfect, especially in the late afternoons after the fog burns off. The sun felt good on my face as I crossed Fremont en route to the liquor store. I always feel embarassed when asking a cashier for a pack of Bamboos or Zig Zags, but I needed those papers so I had no choice. I rolled the thing up once I was back home, relaxed on the couch, and plugged the iPod into my head. I've been on a real progressive rock kick for about six months, so I listened to Genesis, Jethro Tull, Family, VDGG, Be-Bop Deluxe... One of the great things that happens when I lie down on the living room couch is that Vito invariably comes to me and plops down on my chest for a chill out session. He's a great cat and makes me feel loved. I often pick him up off the floor, look him in the eyes, and I say, "I know how much you love me, but do you know how much I love you?"

At 7 or so I fixed myself a vodka cranberry cocktail and watched the Met game, which I had recorded earlier in the day. Having won the first game of a three-gamer with the Phillies,the Mets sent lefty Pat Misch to the mound, just up from the minors, to face off against Roy Halladay in Game 2. It was a bad mischmatch from the start and the Mets lost. Still, I always enjoy watching Halladay pitch, even if he's systematically shutting my team down, like he was last night. The guy is such a ferocious competitor.

The Mets are a very frustrating team to root for, but one of the few things the Mets have over the Yankees is great announcers. I grew up listening to Bob Murphy on the radio, and I was very sad when he passed away a few years ago. But now the Mets have an incredible team of broadcasters. Gary Cohen does the telecasts with Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling. The three of them are so interesting to listen to that it almost makes up for the way the Mets rarely seem to be much good. Plus the team has Chris Carlin and Bobby Ojeda doing great pre- and post-game shows back in the SNY studios, and Howie Rose announcing the games on WFAN radio. So I spent the remainder of the evening with Gary and Ron and fell into a zen-like trance as the rhythm of the summer game washed over me...

At 10:00 I made myself a late dinner, read the New Yorker, and then went to sleep. It was not at all an exciting Saturday night, but I found it very satisfying. It's the kind of Saturday night I can never have when I'm in a relationship, and for this reason it's the kind of night that makes me feel like being alone is ok...at least for now.