The Last Worthless Evening

Occasionally, when you are the problem in a situation, there can be a tendency to dig a hole bigger than you’d like by not knowing when to stop talking.

I’m very much guilty of this, and have been since my teens. It is only in the past few years that an ability to step outside myself to self-police has begun to take place. I’ll watch myself having a conversation and realise it is heading down a path that will end in tears and, instead of just carrying on, the brakes are applied. It is amazing it has taken this long to grasp the concept, but sometimes it isn’t the achievement that matters, but the revelation which accompanies it.

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In an ideal world, keeping  revelations to a minimum should be how things work out. There doesn’t have to be drama, and certainly not anything that’s self-perpetuated. Except, of course, there’s people out there making this kind of stuff the meat and drink of their Social media feeds. You don’t need to do that, or be that person, really you don’t. If you end up doing that?

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Life is too short for stupid. There’s stuff that matters, which needs writing, and that’s far more significant long-term.

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