Hey guess what? I’ve given up. I’ve just plain given up. Some people aren’t meant to get married. And I’m one of them. I used to picture myself as a happy mother with three beautiful children, living in either New Jersey or Ohio. But I’ve come to a conclusion, which is that I’m going to get filthy rich writing touching novels and I’m going to live alone. Of course, I’ll want children so I’d either have sex with a good guy friend once and never again, or adopt or get artificial insemination. See? Things DO work out. And for romantically-challenged writers like me, that works.
Note: First off, why was I so hell-bent in living in two of the least glamorous states in the country? Second of all, if being a "filthy rich writer" was merely the option I'd settle for, I obviously had pretty high standards for what my life would become.