Hardly a day goes by when I don't think about quitting this business. Hanging it up. Taking my proverbial bat and ball and going home. In my imagination, the day after I quit is a wonderful, relaxing, joyful experience. I reconnect with old friends, walk on the beach, read, listen to music, play guitar, play golf, eat leisurely meals off of real plates, exercise, meditate, maybe go see a matinee, or take a stab at writing a few pages of a self-indulgent, joke-free play filled with people screaming at each other, and then, after taking the dog for a walk, climb into bed and fall into a peaceful, stress-free sleep. The day after that, bored out of my mind, I start drinking around the clock and quickly descend into a dark, frothing madness that leads to either being institutionalized or liver failure and an agonizing, premature death. The really scary part? There's hardly a day goes by when I don't think about quitting this business.
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