

When he wakes up in the morning, he rolls over and looks at his iPad. Slowly, his eyes acclimate to the bright screen. E-mail is checked. He has a dozen from clients, but those will have to wait. He rolls back over and sleeps another hour.
When the sun rises high enough in the sky to eclipse the tree-line in front of his window, he awakes and rubs his eyes: it is now 10am. Too late to sleep, but too early to wake. Rolling out of bed, he grabs the  iPad and shuffles to his computer desk. Sliding the mouse across the desk to brighten the screen, he checks his e-mail again. This time, he answers them. Yes, I can make those revisions, he said. Your project will be done tomorrow, he said. No, I’m not available for any new work at this time, but I do have some availability next week if you’re willing to wait, he said.
Too late for breakfast, too early for lunch. He opens his window and lights a cigarette, which burns brightly with each new puff. His room is cold from the open window. He grabs a sweater and throws it on. He starts to work.
By noon, it’s definitely time for lunch. He makes his way to the kitchen and throws two burger patties on the stove. They cook while he works, until the smell of burning meat makes its way back to his room. They taste like charcoal, but they are sustenance enough for now. Writing is difficult; he pours a drink: rum and coke. He finds that writing always comes easier after two or three drinks and an online game or two. 
It’s 3PM now. His friends are awake and they want to hang out. Okay, he says, I’ve worked enough for today. He drives over to the party with the rum. The sun is high in the sky, but it’s still chilly outside. He wishes he had remembered his sweater. The party starts with drinking and always ends with being too drunk to drive home, so he sleeps on the couch. Not today, he says, I have to be in bed early to do this again tomorrow. 
He’s lost the concept of days off or vacations. That’s the nature of freelance work. If a client sends over a project on Friday and wants it by Monday, it will be there, overtime or writer’s block be damned. Every day the workload grows larger, as more clients want more work. He’s successful. He works four, maybe five solid hours a day. He earns a good living. But is he successful?
Mark Twain says that a man is successful when he wakes up in the morning and goes to bed at night and does what he wants in between. By this metric, he reminds himself, he is immensely wealthy. 
 


