Dating idea new york

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That spectral ex-spouse of mine used to complain of what he called our “heteronormative” lifestyle, a term that made me roll my eyes though I knew just what he meant: Our lives had lost their capacity to surprise.I remember lying in bed and reading the memoirs of the French writer Blaise Cendrars; I couldn’t stop marveling at the boundlessness of that man’s existence, one that made him a film director, a beekeeper, a watchmaker and connected him to gangsters and whores.The conventional wisdom is that marriage makes us whole, that it completes us (as if alone we were unfinished).But as much as I loved being married, I see now that dilution might provide a better metaphor.

The heat failed in the middle of the night, and we clung to each other for warmth as his dog, Bruce, a German Shepherd, curled and recurled at our feet.

For weeks I had been holed up in my family’s empty summerhouse, writing, and I worked all that day, caught up in a kind of luxuriant self-consciousness that has since become familiar — that acute sense of self and solitude that binding oneself to an outsider can at times unleash.

Every so often I looked out the window at the river, where strange white tendrils were rising and whipping in sheets across the surface.

James the boat builder drove me home that February morning, skidding a few times on the black ice of the highway.

I kissed him goodbye on the doorstep, fairly certain I would not be seeing him again.

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