Today I saw a rerun of “Mad About You.” I suddenly remembered a time some years ago when that show was supposed to be the five-year projection of my life. I was Jamie, and I knew who my … Paul was. (I almost couldn’t remember his name. The character, not my guy.)

Anyway. It just popped in my head again. It was kinda nice being someone’s Jamie.

I have to stop wondering what it’s like to live other people’s lives. Or, for that matter, other lives I would have lived had I made different choices.