Back Aboard the SS Sorrow

After cycling through the whole range of emotions about the end of my marriage several times, I'm surprised to find myself feeling sad again.

It started a few days ago when I read a piece by Chris Erskine, a former sportswriter who pens a column for the LA Times about his family life. Erskine is one of those writers who manages to enthrall me even when he writes about things I care nothing about - his daughter's little league games or the condition of his lawn.

He and his wife have been married for 25 years, and even when he describes the inevitable squabbles that occur between couples, their mutual affection and respect and commitment manage to shine through.

While reading his column the other day, I realized that that was the kind of marriage I had always hoped to have - a true union of souls where the other person's happiness is just as important as your own. The kind of marriage where you feel like you know the other person almost as well as you know yourself.

The melancholy I felt reading Erskine's column has been simmering for days, and finally came to a head tonight at the supermarket, of all places. The Trader Joe's near my house is normally thronged with single gay men, but for some reason tonight it was packed with happy couples, straight and gay.

It's impossible to tell what goes on inside a relationship, especially when you pass a couple briefly in the cereal aisle, but everyone tonight seemed totally content to be grocery shopping on a Saturday night with their significant other.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the piped-in music, which I never even notice, started playing the song Dear Husband and I danced to at our wedding. It was one of those moments when you realize that you're truly alone.

I hate feeling sad. I'd much rather be angry. Hell, I'd even prefer bitterness at this point. Not that I don't have plenty of that.