Last night, as I was putting the final touches on dinner, I began to feel incredibly sad. I sat with the feeling for a while, weighing whether it might be my common, everyday sort of melancholy or if it was something far more sinister. I'm not sure if I really answered that. What I did realize was that at least part of my sadness centered around not having anyone to share with.

I've long espoused the theory that, aside from wild monkey love, food is perhaps the most intimate thing that human beings share with one another. In either, you invite someone to be witness to things that are very private and very basic to who you are - your needs, your response to pleasure, your ability to find delight in the pleasure of another. Both food and sex can be delicious on your own, but both are enhanced immeasurably in the right company.

It's a type of sharing that's been sorely lacking for me for a while now. That empty space has worn me out, I think.