I tackle the fat skeptically, with diets that last roughly a week, or until I throw in the towel and eat a whole pizza in one sitting. My solitude feels directly connected to my weight. My notion of love is a series of snapshots or jump cuts: I can imagine a first kiss, five minutes of a vacation, an argument easily won—but not the continuity, the boredom, or what to do with the same person, day after day.