I want to grasp the nettle.
It was bound to come, the reckless abandon that comes with thinking your time on earth is to be shortened.
I remember hearing a joke once about a man who went to his doctor because he was getting headaches, pins and needles down his arms, and dizzy spells. The doctor told him he had one month to live (interesting diagnosis/prognosis without any investigations, but I guess we'll go with the poetic licence excuse).
The man left the doctor's surgery, walked straight up to his boss and told him where to shove his job.
He then took all his money out of the bank, sold his house and car, and took himself off around the world boozing and gambling and generally having the craic (and/or crack).
He came home after 4 weeks and decided he would buy a really fancy suit to get buried in. He went to a top-end tailor and carefully chose the most expensive fabric. The tailor measured him carefully from top to toe. "Waist 32, chest 42, neck 16".
Our man piped up, saying "Ah no, I'm a 15 neck." The tailor checked and double-checked, and said, "No sir, you're definitely a 16. If you've been wearing a 15" collar you've probably been getting desperate headaches, pins and needles down your arms, and feeling very dizzy...."
What always struck me about this little story was the liberation you could feel from knowing that your number was up. How you could do whatever you wanted, tell people how you really think, throw caution to the wind.
I think I should do that now.
Those who know me are now rolling their eyes and running for cover.
It's not like I'm generally backwards in coming forwards.
I try to avoid passive aggression if I can at all, much preferring to barrel into things full force, with as little tact and nicety as possible.
So deciding that I'm going to be even more honest in my opinions doesn't bode well for anyone.
But I suppose what I really mean is that I am going to do the things I've always wanted to do, and say the things that should be said.
And buy myself a nice new car (on the never-never, obviously).
I remember hearing a joke once about a man who went to his doctor because he was getting headaches, pins and needles down his arms, and dizzy spells. The doctor told him he had one month to live (interesting diagnosis/prognosis without any investigations, but I guess we'll go with the poetic licence excuse).
The man left the doctor's surgery, walked straight up to his boss and told him where to shove his job.
He then took all his money out of the bank, sold his house and car, and took himself off around the world boozing and gambling and generally having the craic (and/or crack).
He came home after 4 weeks and decided he would buy a really fancy suit to get buried in. He went to a top-end tailor and carefully chose the most expensive fabric. The tailor measured him carefully from top to toe. "Waist 32, chest 42, neck 16".
Our man piped up, saying "Ah no, I'm a 15 neck." The tailor checked and double-checked, and said, "No sir, you're definitely a 16. If you've been wearing a 15" collar you've probably been getting desperate headaches, pins and needles down your arms, and feeling very dizzy...."
What always struck me about this little story was the liberation you could feel from knowing that your number was up. How you could do whatever you wanted, tell people how you really think, throw caution to the wind.
I think I should do that now.
Those who know me are now rolling their eyes and running for cover.
It's not like I'm generally backwards in coming forwards.
I try to avoid passive aggression if I can at all, much preferring to barrel into things full force, with as little tact and nicety as possible.
So deciding that I'm going to be even more honest in my opinions doesn't bode well for anyone.
But I suppose what I really mean is that I am going to do the things I've always wanted to do, and say the things that should be said.
And buy myself a nice new car (on the never-never, obviously).
I still haven't figured out how to simply like a post. so consider this a like.
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