I read via BloggingBaby yesterday that Cynthia Nixon thinks that people aren't mean to pair for life; she valued her marriage to Danny Mozes for a while -- had two kids with him -- but then left him last year for a woman.

For some reason this really bothers me. How different is that than dumping your spouse for some cutie you met on the bus or something? Is it supposed to be okay because one of you has decided that you're not really attracted to the opposite sex?

This isn't going towards any shocking revelation; I have no problem with other people being gay, but I think women are a pain in the ass. I can think that women are attractive, but I'm not interested in them sexually (I'm usually just jealous). I just don't feel like fooling around anymore; haven't for a long time. It has nothing to do with my own husband (who I think gets better-looking every year, damn him); it's more a combination of stress, exhaustion, and enough antidepressants to keep me from lunging over a guardrail on I-94.

As I looked around our block party yesterday, I wondered what drew the couples there together, and what kept them together. I've become friendly with one woman whose divorce is still fresh, and she's emotionally bleeding from every pore. She is starting to sound more positive, though, so I think she's getting better. But I look at the marrieds and wonder how they get along. Do they joke around all the time, or has she lost her sense of humor along with her waistline? Does he look at her cellulite and shudder? Do they fall into bed exhausted and snuggle up, or are they back-to-back, dreaming separate dreams?

I wonder, too, if the fact that most of my neighbors are wealthy makes a difference. How much less stress do you have if you're not constantly monitoring every penny spent? Does the money bring other problems? Did that couple -- just back from a month in France & Switzerland -- fight about the temperature in the hotel rooms the whole time, or did they walk around starry-eyed, clasping hands and smooching by the Seine? That family -- who is leaving on Sunday for two weeks in Peru -- will they bring home slides of happy faces standing by ageless artifacts? Will they talk about these two weeks for twenty years, or spend the flight home in silence, each trapped inside his or her own headphones?

My lousy self-esteem makes me assume that everyone else has it better, and easier, than I do. I figure I'm the only one sitting on the curb, isolated in the middle of a hundred people, paralyzed with fear of trying to break into a conversation with my neighbors. I wonder if, when I'm behind closed doors, nobody thinks twice of me or my family -- or worse, whispers about my parenting, my appearance, or my social lapses.

When all the Stuart Smalley-isms fail you and you're completely alone in your head, how do you function?