Anyone who speaks of the consolations of love has obviously never been in love with me. On the other hand, the rewards can be extraordinary, especially in comparison to freshly minimal expectations bitterly lowered after a series of incremental downward adjustments I call the "getting to know me" period, and when I say extraordinary I mean in the way that being alive at all is a dramatic jump up from the ho-hum existence of the less-interesting minerals and inorganic compounds. In other words the satisfactions of being in love with me carry the same impact as waking up in the morning to realize that you did not, in fact, die in your sleep. I know this sounds terribly romantic and deeply pleasurable, and indeed it is.