so this is what it means to try and be a writer. keeping strange hours. drinking coffee until my mouth is dry. smoking cigarettes until I cannot see straight. thinking until it hurts just to breath. having a real job, to pay the bills until I can pay the bills with my words.
thinking that I am better then what I really am, but who else will believe me. knowing that I have to do something in order to keep from loosing what self respect that I have left. all that I know right now is that this is better then trying to drowned all of my sorrows with gallons of beer.
all that I know is that some day, this road will end, and I will be on a brighter, more meaningful path. in the meantime, so it goes. press on regardless.