Recently, someone asked me, “Why do you write about love so much?”

I responded, “Why are you alive?”

They looked at me like I had seven heads, but even if I had three days, I couldn’t pick a better response. Chew on that for a while, I thought. There’s plenty of meat there for you. Enough to keep you fed for a week. Maybe a lifetime, I can only hope.

You want me to spell it out for you?…

With a scarf still wrapped around my neck, I blow into my hands, then rub them together hoping to see a flame. Just a glance at the wet coat next to me shoots a chill down to my toes. The smell of bacon wafts through the air, pacing the snow that continues to flurry outside. Each time the scent lands on my upper lip, I inhale, and my toes warm a bit.

Snowflakes land on the window. Some dissolve, others melt and race down to join the slush on the sill. Voices chatter as the kitchen door swings open, but fade out of resonance when the door closes. The creaky hinges resound in the background, sending another icey wave through my body…

When I am with family and friends, we’re having a great time. Smiling, laughing, and escaping life. That’s why they want to see more of me, I hope. I mean, that’s why I want to see more of them. I love them.

Here’s the thing, though. More time does not mean better time. It just means more. That’s it. And quite often, more just leaves you feeling like you’ve had too much. Fun becomes boring. New becomes old. Strong becomes weak. Empty becomes full. And yes, good can become bad…

Make the choice and own the result. Be sad or be happy, but never dwell.

Any time I dwell, I get hit with a three-punch combo that sends me to the canvas. Physical or mental, the canvas is devastating. Of course, you can pretend you’re living inside a movie—Rocky Balboa or something. You know, the whole “winners get up from the canvas” bit. They do, but I assure you it sounds sexier to get up from the canvas than it is to actually do it. I don’t care who you are—you get knocked down enough times, eventually you’re going to start believing you're a loser…

I’ve been thinking a lot about patience lately.

Patience is our ability to tolerate or accept delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry. At least, that’s what the dictionary says. We need patience, almost always. But patience is also saying “no” to option 1 in favor of future options. It’s easy to say yes to option 1. It’s available and open. It’s ready for the taking, and it often has elements of what we want. But is it really?…

Sometimes I wake up with love oozing out of my fingertips. I know it sounds kind of wonky, but it drips from my fingernails to the page. A spigot of heat, if you will. Love is a big topic, one I’ve written about before. How can I not? It’s so primal. So visceral. It lives inside us. Shit, I even wrote a letter to love. I loved that piece. Still do.

Today isn’t about love, though. It’s about a lack of it. Maybe that’s why it’s creeping out of my pores. The worst grievance the coronavirus has caused me, which is pretty fortunate, is that I haven’t had sex all year. What? I know, I know. It’s the longest I’ve ever gone. If sex makes you uncomfortable, don’t read this…

Sometimes you’re on a collision course with heartbreak. Sadness. Love. Excitement. I don’t know. Whatever it is, you hit it directly. In baseball, they call it a no doubter. The bat meets the ball head on. Boom. It’s a home run, and you know it with every ounce of your being.

Music has a funny way of getting you there. But it’s more than music—there’s something bigger happening…

In fourth grade, I put a tack on a teacher’s chair because a girl told me to. Actually, a boy dared me, but the girl was sitting next to me. She laughed when he said it, so I did it. I got sent home from school, and my mom wanted to kill me. But the teacher deserved it and that girl was my first kiss. So was it worth it? Well, it took me twenty years just to remember the specifics. How can I regret it? Seemed like good trade at the time, and still does. That teacher was the worst. Plus, I liked the girl. So yeah, it was worth it.

I’ve been out and about, thought I was attracted to someone…

As you get older, you get more lonely.

There’s no way around it. Maybe this is sad, but it’s just the truth. Going to bed without a warm body next to you is a haunting experience for a soft heart. The only thing worse is a dead body, which can happen in one of two ways—literally or figuratively. I’m still trying to figure out which is worse.

When I look at people younger than me, I see myself, but a version that existed two mind states ago. I can’t pinpoint when the shift occurred, exactly, but…

Today I woke up to an ache in my right shoulder. Time for another cortisone shot? Maybe, but I got too distracted by the ache in my hip. Right one, too. All those years of skating? Possibly. No more ache in my right knee, though. I stopped running to stymie that. What’s up with my right side?

Sometimes when I chew, I hear my jaw click. Never heard that before, and it’s happening more and more. Google assured me nothing is wrong. At least my breath is good (I think). But my eyesight is getting a little worse each year, -4.00 now. Maybe it’s all the squinting that’s creating these wrinkles. Damn mirror…