Okay, this is one of those "I read this somewhere a while ago, don't expect references," posts. But I have read that there are basically two different kinds of left-handed people; those who, for some reason, had less development of one side of their brain, and those who, for some reason, had HYPER development of one side of their brain. In other words, you can be left-handed because your right-side control is worse than other people's, or you can be left-handed because your left-side control is better than other people's. Those in the first group probably got that way due to less than optimal conditions in the womb, which also predisposes them to other health problems; thus, left-handed people taken as a group have a shorter than average life span. People in the second group are not likely to have more health problems than anyone else, but of course, they can't easily be told from those in the first group.

There's a large steaming heap of bullshit in this letter, but... sift through it, and a theme emerges: money.

LW, if you think divorce will mean you suddenly have more money, you are either fooling yourself or planning to shaft your wife and kids and move to Mexico to dodge alimony and child support payments.

The time to decide you couldn't afford kids was before you had kids. You had them. They aren't going away just because you think you're an artist. If you really are an artist, you'll find a way to be an artist with the amount of money you have, the kids you have, and the responsibilities you have.

(Sorry for getting off-topic!)

Hey, I feel your pain. There's part of me that also goes crazy at the thought of being "safe". Nevertheless, I've been married 13 years and raised one kid to adulthood (I got a head start, she was half-grown when she came to us).

You know what I do to keep myself sane? Drive across the Hernando De Soto bridge. It's the bridge across the Mississippi River from Memphis to Arkansas. It's about two miles long, and at night it's lit up like a Christmas display. The string of lights leading into the boundless emptiness of the rice flats and the drop to the still black water (a friend of mine was the first person to ever attempt suicide by jumping from this bridge) and knowing that if I want, I can just keep driving, all the way to California, and never look back...

I never do keep driving. I don't really want to, you know. I'm not unhappy. I just need to feel that I can. I need to hear my heart pounding in my ears. There are so many different ways to do that, though - ride rollercoasters. Become an advocate for abused children (believe me, some of the guys I meet doing that get my heart pounding). Fight fires. Have sex on a motorcycle.

Being a grown-up doesn't have to mean being trapped. Anyway, being a permanent adolescent guarantees you will be trapped in a formulaic life - so many options before you that you can't take, so many places you will never be able to go. Adulthood, on the other hand, can take you almost anywhere.

Just make sure to throw out your wife's Capri pants. Capri pants are one of the tools of the Devil. No one can be wild at heart while wearing Capri pants.

By the way, I hesitate to do this because it seems so rude to personality type other people and throw pop psychology at their problems... but see if you find this helpful: http://www.9types.com/epd/6.html

First of all, I'm in favor of wild sex on principle. I was pretty wild myself during my college days. Going wild can be empowering.

Which is why I'm a little dismayed by the reports I get from college campuses from my college-age friends. There are two groups of girls: virgins, and sluts (their word, not mine). The sluts are all exhausted and clueless; they ask questions like, "Why haven't I found true love? I keep getting drunk at parties and having sex with guys and none of them turn out to be right for me!" The guys are also divided into two camps: the extroverts, who are getting more pussy than the pound, but have long since ceased to enjoy it or be impressed by it; and the introverts, who want to know where all the nice girls are. No one involved in the process on either side seems to find it sexy. A twenty-one-year-old male virgin said to me the other day, "Why do people even have sex? I mean, it's a health risk with no payoff."

Now, maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I think sex should be sexy. I'm not close enough to the situation to diagnose it, but something has clearly gone wrong.