I find it really hard to cope with life without trying to put myself into a box, trying to find a peg to hang my coat on. Buddhist, Existentialist, Liberal, Non-Conformist, Alcoholic, Addict, Marxist, Poet, Gardener, Depressive... When people ask me "What do you do?", I'm at a loss for words. Richard Ashcroft put it as "I'm a million different people, from one day to the next" and, at times, this sums it up for me. Not knowing which of my labels I'm going to wake up with. I've been told that I can use this position to my advantage, that I can live as a free spirit. No ties, no kids, no family except my parents. But the trouble with this sort of existence is the lack of roots. I feel a palpable sense of falling down a cliff face, grabbing for a finger hold, a butterfly in my chest that flutters, not with a sense of excited possibility, but with an anxiety of failure and nothing to fall back onto. I try to live as simple-a-life as possible. Not, as so...