Dating, again. Failing, again.
When my last book released, another academic marvel and a monograph this time, someone asked how my book party was and where it was at. I stood there, rather stunned, as--well--there was no launch party. None of my books, articles, or literary forays have ever gotten a launch party or social nod. Instead, my reviews and critics have generally been kind and warm with notes of praise, yet when you are me, and always on the outside looking in there is no one to throw a party for as we say. I'm still taken aback by the question. Still shocked by how hard it hit me. Yet, the reality has long been there. Waking up alone is one thing. Always being alone another. Never having anyone to celebrate with . . . well, that's a marker in and of itself. Though, as any socially adjusted adult does (I use that term loosely) I attempt to engage in adult activities, socialize, meet people for drinks, and do this tango from hell called dating. I...