Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.

If it was killing-and it was- then I thought it not murder, but a justifiable homicide, undertaken in desperate self defense.

About every six to eight months, I run into a man who astounds me sexually, but between escapades, I'm celibate, which I don't think is any big deal. After two unsuccessful marriages, I find myself keeping my guard up, along with my underpants.

My practical intelligence said no, but my heart said yes.

Written By Jonathan Franzen

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