. . .Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On. . .
IN my dream world of alcoholism I was a person of great and undiscovered talent. I even acknowledged to myself that, if I would tell the story of my life in all its stark and tragic reality, I would be the author of one of the truly great American autobiographies.
As my alcoholism got worse and worse, I felt a tremendous urge to escape from life. I wanted to escape from the people who did not understand my sensitive soul. I would weave my dreams--and through all my dreams ran the thread of authorship. If I could just get away and have plenty of time, I knew I could be a successful...
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