Stress of a Single Dollar Job

Sometimes, the things that are most funny are truths that you don't realize until someone else points them out. This paragraph from Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller made me laugh every time I read it (at least three time). Because it pertains to writing (and just because it's funny), I wish to share it:

Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said before, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more.

And again, I find myself laughing...