why I write
I was asked by a friend to write about why I write.
I’ve had one of those weeks- you know, where you lose faith in your best friend, get anemic from malnutrition, see 100+ salmon clubbed with a bat, get super-snubbed by the super-snotty president of the PTO, piss off your therapist by missing couples’ counseling cause you decided to throw your favorite stool in the trash and fight instead, reveal a weird mole with its weird-mole growth to your brand new PCP (thanks for the sudden switch, Medicaid), and receive unanimous form rejections on the piece that you were sure was gonna get accepted somewhere good this time, right before your social worker has to come assess you in your subsidized housing first thing in the sunny morn’- yeah. That kinda week.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why, despite all this, I write.
I’ve determined that it’s because I need a reason to keep drinking.