Back around 1990 I lived near Wellington Circle in Medford, in a working-class Italian-American neighborhood. I felt a bit lost there, far away from my few Boston-area friends and my job at Boston University. But one benefit of living in that 'hood was the park that snaked along one side of the Mystic River, and the running path that went through it.

When I meet friends around my own age, particularly those I haven't seen in a while, we have different versions of the same conversation.

Last Monday, I was looking out at the blue water of the Gulf of Mexico near St Petersburg, Florida. The scene was idyllic, the weather warm on the verge of hot. I wasn't complaining, after a long New England winter, though I did feel a bit sad, reflecting on my trip and a missed connection.

I'd been struggling with a low-grade cold virus that I couldn?t seem to shake. That virus had invaded my system in December and was still hanging around -- like this snowy winter that refuses to yield to spring -- in the depths of March. I'd wake up after a restless night's sleep due to my stuffy nose and scratchy throat, feeling like I hadn't slept more than a few hours. So one morning last week, I was still snoring away when I was jolted awake at 7:30.

I don't like crowds. This fact was brought home to me again recently, when I attended a writers' conference in Boston last week.

I come from a long line of pessimists, or as they would say, realists. Perhaps that's why my father's ancestors took -- or were given -- the family name of 'Leblang,' which means 'long life' in German. Unfortunately, the name has been a karmic joke in recent generations, as my grandfather Papa Ed died of brain cancer at 62, and my father passed away of a (second) heart attack at 61.

For me, February is the cruelest month.

For years, I resisted getting a smart phone.

Over the course of my gay dating life, which began in 1985 when I came out at the age of 28, I've pined for many unavailable men. My late 20s, 30s, and 40s were full of unrequited lust and missed connections. I had a visual aesthetic, a deeply ingrained physical type, which grew more specific over the years as I was socialized into the dominant gay culture. Muscles, broad shoulders, smooth pecs and narrow waist, the classic swimmer's v-shaped build, combined with blue or green eyes and a sweet smile have always gotten my pulse racing.

I woke up to a gray, overcast day, the trees bending in the wind outside my bedroom window, rain spattering against the panes.