Is it better to burn out than to find Jesus and excel at Golf alongside Pat Boone?

Those of us that on some subconscious level bought into the myth that I just misappropriated might be familiar with how glamorously masturbatory it can be to corkscrew oneself into the woodwork every night. But after a few years, as the herculean resilience of your youth begins to desert you, your early thirties turn into a nightmarish rapidfire montage of deeply regrettable bouts of bald-eyed sleep deprivation and burgeoning psychosis. Shredded nerves from screams piercing the wee small hours and shit smeared walls begin to take their toll and you find yourself rocking in a corner questioning who the hell you are. Then eventually the kid gets old enough to go to school and things sort of work themselves out.