Sometimes there are days when I think “OMG, actually though. Really this time, this is the END”. And then six hours later I realise that this is in fact NOT the end, but merely another opportunity to have a complete laugh and make everything good on my own terms.
This does rather sound like someone who has just lost their job and is clawing at any random psycho-philosophical bullshit they can get their hands on. Nay, sir, this is not that apocalyptically desperate.
I merely put it to you that we are masters of our own destiny. Not in a Gala Darling “Make Your Own Glittery Joy By Paying Me To Teach You Scrapbooking” way. In a “If you just get off your arse and take a little snuffle about the place then you may find some good stuff that excites you” way.
I have worked extremely hard to afford myself the luxury of choice at some time in the future. The choice of what kind of work I do, where I live, how I feel about myself.
And I need to just freakin’ LET GO, man. It’s going to be OK – not because the universe is going to take care of me or because life just couldn’t let anything bad happen to me.
No; because I couldn’t let anything bad happen to me. I will fight and fight and fight, then fight some more. I will scratch and clamber and hike to the place that I want to live in and then sit back, replete, to enjoy my spoils. And those are words, my dear. The pure delight of earning my (artisan) bread from writing nice words. All I want. All I can do.
It’s going to be fine. Now sit up, finish your wine and stop bloody tearsing like a milky teardrop. You’re a warrior princess with stilettos made of glittering STEEL.
Now act like one.