Uncomfortable truths

and uncomfortable saucisson.

It’s good to know certain uncomfortable truths about yourself.

This makes unattractive qualities more attractive because *self-awareness*.

For example:

1. I am very impetuous. I tend to make decisions based on a week’s horizon-scan at absolute most.

2. I am inclined to bouts of startling moodiness and depression in the four days before I get my period (and sometimes the first day or two of it as well: a whole week of fun!).

3. I lack follow-through. I am great at starting things—especially really important things—but not great at finishing them. I started learning to drive when I was 17. Next month I will hopefully pass a test that will allow me to do so legally, at the advanced age of 37.

So far, none of these things has led me wildly astray.

The first means I tend to snap up good opportunities quicker than most (bad ones too, but never mind).

The second really isn’t great but at least it has driven away some wildly unsuitable men in the past. The good ones don’t scare so easy, I find.

And the third, well, if I haven’t followed through on something, it’s probably because something better came up and I jumped on that instead.

All of these are a roundabout way of saying that life is really, really short. I’m still learning and doing new things every day.

Just last week I bit my tongue almost right through while I was eating some delicious saucisson and I realised that at 37 I still haven’t worked out where to put my tongue in my mouth when I’m eating. There must be so much else out there still waiting to be discovered.

I took a break from work today to walk up to the shop. It was inordinately full for a village with a population of about 300. The reason it was so full was because there was an elderly man, very elderly, at the head of the queue and he was moving slowly but also talking to the woman at the check out and really just to everybody else in the shop as well and everyone was listening and waiting politely and it was ok because this is a small village, not London, and no one had anywhere pressing to be (apart from me, but never mind).

And what he was saying was:

“It’s nice to be out. I’ve not been out for ages. I had a brain tumour, but they took it out for me.” He’s touching just above his left ear. “It’s all gone. All gone. I don’t know whether to dance or cry. If I dance, I’ll probably fall over.”

So, you know, life is short. You could get a brain tumour or not be able to dance or bite your tongue off eating some saucisson. No one is ever going to thank you for being good, staying quiet and living an inauthentic life.

Unless you’re the Queen. And you’re not the Queen, because the Queen, bless her, is dead.

So carpe fucking diem. Go live your life.