Once I see that I've beat a situation, I move on. Even if I'm not necessarily in the best position. I won't waste another minute. If I see—or even can feel—that I'll come out just fine, then that's enough. Then I'm gone. And I throw myself into the next shit situation, to begin digging myself out of that too.
I won't just sit round in comfort and watch my money grow—and that's of what I speak mostly, money. I see even the promise of some money ahead, and I'm back to shoveling shit, tackling the next problem. But I have nothing to show for it, doing things like this, jumping, jumping, jumping.
My fathers says, that I'm behind. They're buying property now at your age, he says. And I'm lucky that I have myself a sleeping bag really—nowhere near purchasing property.
Or am I?
"They" have jobs. "They" have a set amount they make each year. Any minute now, however, I'm about to hit a lick. I can feel it. But I won't wait for it. I keep moving. And that's exactly why tomorrow I just may wake up in a house of my own—because I don't have one now, nor is one anywhere near in sight.
I stay thin and lean. I stay hungry. Or, am I only making excuses and telling myself what I'd like to hear?
There's nothing in sight, and that also is very scary. It's all or nothing for me. And my greatest fear is that I've landed on that nothing.
But I'll keep moving till I can't anymore—I must tell myself to keep up my spirits. Because the "cycles" are becoming more and more intense. The highs are higher, and the lows are lower.
But I'm so far gone from "them." And of that at least I am certain. And of that I am also proud. A certain bravery it takes to quit a thing, to cut off at once something where no more benefit can be derived. A certain foresight it takes, a certain knowledge, to know a situation for what it is, and to know when it can do nothing more for you.
He died well at least, they'll say if they will. He kept swinging till his last. And that's all I can do. It's all I have.