And then there are times of weakness.
Times when fears and doubts bear down, and I don’t know who I am. Times I wonder about choices, made and unmade, and what could’ve been.
A sense, then, of existential dread washes over me. Who am I? What am I doing? Is there grand purpose to my life I’m missing? Some way in which I’ve, fundamentally, failed?
When I get like this, I think of what my father told me as a child…
“Man the fuck up, and get on with it!”
…it gives me the strength I need to carry on.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Labels: 100 words, Doubt, Drabble, Short story
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