I’m really trying, for once, not to let my sex drive run my life.

Almost every major decision i’ve ever made in my life has been closely related to sex & sexual attraction, and a lot of those decisions have been lousy.

A few of those sexually-driven choices have worked out well — my marriage with Sandi comes foremost to mind, and my friendship with Rabbit — but even those paths were mixed with pain.

I suppose lots of people can say the same thing. Certainly sex has motivated large swathes of human history, and it’s been the driving force of most human stories.

My first book, anomaly, was basically a chronicle of my romantic misadventures, though it started off as an exploration of my suicide attempt.

My jumping off the bridge — at first glance seemed mostly about sex and the difficulties it added to life, which i no longer wanted to be part of.

Sometimes when i think back to why i jumped off the bridge, i know part of it was my deep disappointment in how the pursuit of physics had turned out for me.

All i can do now is interpret the facts i’ve reconstructed and the memories i still have. It’s all confused and muddled with confusing emotions. Some of it was grief over the failed relationship with Sylvie. Some of it was grief over “losing” physics. Some of it was just the dark destructive side of me. Maybe there wasn’t a reason; maybe it just happened.

What have i learned in 35 years, now that my wife has died and i’m all alone again? That i’m generally better off on my own. I like the idea of people, but the reality can be difficult and/or disappointing. No wonder i was so attracted to fiction — ideas, not reality.

I guess i was lucky to have substituted English language studies for math & physics: it’s a better fit.