Grandfather informs me that is not possible.

It can be challenge enough to have to eat with myself.

Why do I write? It's not that I want people to think I am smart, or even that I am a good writer. I write because I want to end my loneliness.

I shook my tambourine the whole time, because it helped me remember that even though I was going through different neighborhoods, I was still me.

What if I never stop inventing?

So she had to satisfy herself with the idea of love - loving the loving of things whose existence she didn't care at all about. Love itself became the object of her love. She loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for. It was not the world that was the great and saving lie, but her willingness to make it beautiful and fair, to live a once-removed life, in a world once-removed from the one in which everyone else seemed to exist.

We shared the smile of recognizing ourselves in each other.