It's series of beatings we endure. We beat, and beat, and beat our minds and our bodies into thinking that we'll beat the tough part of life out. But we never have and we never will. That's ok. The tough part, as much of a bruise as it may be, is our strength. It's an awful reality that hides no truth. Sometimes it just fucking sucks. Sometimes it just fucking hurts. Sometimes you lose.
I'm not good at coddling, I'm an entrepreneur and I've failed. My skin thickened, and my mind tightened it's scope. My life followed suit within the crosshairs. It's hard for me to clock out and play a role that may not have my minds focused end goal in its sights. It's hard to relax. I'm fierce in reality, and fierce in expectation, and fierce in direction. I don't like flowers. I like people who fucking grow them in Antarctica. And I don't like today. And I think it's pretty intense that we are at a place where you can read my thoughts. And even more scared that maybe there are people among us who's thoughts we don't read... I'm a lucky son of a bitch.
P. S. Two mice chewing on a film role. One of them goes, "I think the book was better."