I tried to do all these things recently that failed and I was disapointed. Disapointed in the guts, and heartsunk in that shallow-breathed panting, stabby-hearted why-does-my-body-have-to-remind-me-every-30seconds-that-I’m-disapointed? kind of way. I got over it and decided to live more, and better, and my life got shaken up. It tilted and swerved ever so slightly, and now I’m not as afraid as I was. Things didn’t fall into place but I worked out how to make plans and set goals and work slowly toward those goals – which I’d never been taught how to do before. It’s as though failing made me not so afraid to fail anymore and I’m kind of all ‘fuck it’ and slightly ever so expansive and it feels good. Stopping leaving things up to fate and taking hold of them and shaping them into what I need them to be, and realising I left those things a little too late and some more things won’t work in the way that I need them to work, but others will, or at least I will make do, and some things will end up the way that I need them to be. It’s funny that a failure can help you shape what you want. I was always better at knowing what I didn’t want more than what I might.