While showering, I had a strong urge to down a can of beer. Not just any beer – it would be chilled and light flavoured – just nice to quench my thirst for alcohol.
I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t think so. It’s comforting to lean back with a beer in hand and just watch the world go by. Coffee has the same effect, albeit at different time of the day. They calm my nerves and lift my spirit.
But more than anything, I hope a dose of alcohol would do me good for writing. That’s what we are told, right? That famous writers are hard drinkers, alcoholic, and incapable of maintaining a relationship with their spouse and family.
And then I remember reading an article today, that not all writers are alcohol abusers. Some have perfectly normal families and lead a happy life.
Are they the outliners among the trove of famous writers who really can’t live without alcohol? I don’t know. But I wrote this without any sip of beer. I’d love to have a can (or two), but just not tonight.
At least I’m done writing here. Let’s cheers to that, with an imagery can of beer in hand.