My Cardboard Balcony

The Consumer by Belinda Roddie She wore a chunky necklace and ate potstickers by hand - slick and greasy, dyed with soy sauce, leaving a trail behind on her fingers. She was beautiful, but distant. Her eyes were unfocused. A loose smile hung from the corner of her half-open, chewing mouth.

They told me I needed to get my priorities sorted. Told me that if I kept working like this, I'd exhaust myself before ever succeeding at anything I set my mind to. I didn't believe them. Though weary I was, I took great pains to complete each task I began. I managed to add excruciating detail to each piece of art or writing that I undertook. And although I neglected my body sleep or nourishment, my wild brain was all the livelier for the sacrifice, sustaining me with a creative vitality that was sweeter than nectar and more potent than the darkest glass of brandy.