Alcoholism Is The Disease Of

On The Broad Spectrum Of Solitude, I Lean Toward The Extreme End: I Work Alone, As Well As Live Alone, So I Can Pass An Entire Day Without Uttering So Much As A Hello To Another Human Being. Sometimes A Day's Conversation Consists Of Only Five Words, Uttered At The Local Starbucks: 'large Coffee With Milk, Please.

To A Drinker The Sensation Is Real And Pure And Akin To Something Spiritual: You Seek; In The Bottle, You Find.

Alcoholism Is The Disease Of More.

I've Always Been Drawn To Solitude, Felt A Kind Of Luxurious Relief In Its Self-generated Pace And Rhythms.

Why Do I Find The Fantasy - Husband, Family, Kids - Exhausting Instead Of Alluring? Is There Something Wrong With Me? Do I Have A Life?