Many years ago I decided to be a writer. An artist. The decision wasn't conscious. It's all that interested me. I'd be a poetry monk. Now, being 39, single, and "working" erratically on my literary career and duties, I'm starting to pay the real cost of my choice to abstain from a life of wife, kids, and career. Shame. I end up in embarrassing situations that lead to my humiliation that married men don't seem to suffer. I know, they have their burdens, too but I'm terrified of the life I've chosen and it feels less real every day. Help me.