F.T.S.

I had originally started writing this post last night with a different title and different contents.

Then I stopped and read what I was writing.

 

Even to me, it read whiny. Like a list of complaints and excuses. And I got pissed off at myself for being that way.

Fuck. That. Shit.

I’ve done that sort of shit far too often in my life; played it safe, not pushed myself and frankly, I’m pretty fucking sick of it. It’s how I ended up working a job I fucking hated at the end for far longer than I should have, and driving myself into a depression because of it.

On the other hand the biggest risk I’ve taken in my life, proposing to Britt and moving to the US, has been the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m happier, healthier, in more ways than one, than I have been in my life.

So now I need to make some plans, get serious about what I’m doing. And I could do worse than look to my wife for inspiration. Not only is she ten times braver than I am; she has her own business after all, but she also has patience and application to make it work for her. (And to put up with me into the bargain).

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3 thoughts on “F.T.S.

  1. The Ardent Rose says:

    Fortunate you are yo have a woman of strength to support your endeavors. Happiness is a decision you make. Don’t let things get to you. Emote and wrote that shit out and fucking burn it! See I curse a little too!

    Liked by 1 person

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