The more stressed I am, the more I want sex. Want it to the point where I can find repeated statements in my journal to the effect that I felt I needed sex. Not comfort, not conversation, not food, not sleep. Sex. Which many people I know consider rather strange. “How can you want sex at a time like this?” is a question I was asked recently, and not for the first time. I’ve noticed a correlation between my drive for sex and my exposure to stress, especially that very un-sexy form of stress relating to death and dying. Given that in the past three years there have been five cancer diagnoses, two non-cancer related catastrophic illnesses, two deaths, and one impending death in my family, as well as my tendency to write down my thoughts and experiences, I’ve got a wealth of anecdotal material chronicling my responses to this…

























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