“This job has taken me in every hole in my fucking body. Malcolm is gone, you can’t know Malcolm, because Malcolm is not here! Malcolm fucking left the building fucking years ago! This is a fucking husk. I am a fucking host for this fucking job. You’re going to have to fucking swallow this whole fucking life and let it grow inside you like a parasite. Getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it fucking eats your insides alive and it stares out of your eyes and tells you what to do.”
— THE THICK OF IT, episode 7, season 4
Some days, this is what the commercial writing life can feel like. I mean, it’s not like breaking rocks for a living or anything. But, if there’s a better way for me to live, I never found it. And it’s not the parasite telling me to say that. I think. One can, at one’s advanced age, still be living from job to job and bill to bill, and yet find peace in sitting outside with the green and the grey and being a host for the words. And even joy.