The Right, Good Thing

Sometimes I become very afraid of the thought of dying alone-- a penniless spinster, ahead of her time in her art, just like a particular woman I greatly admire. I can certainly put on a tough exterior of wit and confidence, and laugh at the idea of finding true happiness in one other individual; and of finding stability and safety in all aspects of life in that individual, however archaic the notion is.
I keep a little figure of her on my desk next to my cup of pencils, to remind me, I suppose, of who I am following in the footsteps of. Her "children" are the stuff that a female's deepest dreams are made of... They supply hope to the hopeless, and sustenance to the romantically malnourished.
The fate of the writer-- the great writer-- always seems to be a sad one. She would have never written what she did write had she gotten married... to a man she didn't love; or to a man she did love but who was poor. And yet she was not alone in the world. Her sister, her mother, all counted upon her for stability. Had she married for money, they would have been safe, comfortable. Either way she would have had to make a sacrifice; she gave up one thing for another. I fear so much that I will have to make a choice like that someday. I only pray that I will do the right, good thing.