isn’t nine to five. There are no vacations or sick leave time. The paychecks are spotty and slim at best, unless you get famous. And that hasn’t happened
as yet. It’s a lonely life when you work alone. The bottle is company for a little while. But it doesn’t make you happy. It just subdues your worries for a couple
of hours. I wouldn’t recommend this life to anyone. But I didn’t choose it. It chose me incredulously. And yet I follow it blindly, like an abusive lover. It hovers over me. But I
know in my heart I can have no other. So, I adhere to it religiously. But there’s demons in this. The blackness sits like a cloud of smoke on my breast. People recoil when they find out –
treat me as if I’m a louse. And sometimes I think that I am. But I still spring back to life again.