I want to quit. Right now.
I want to quit, because I’m tired. My head is fogged up, and my coffee — as good as it is — hasn’t cleared it. I want to quit because I woke up thismorning before dawn and my limbs ached.
I want to quit because I can remember what it feels like to have more money than I needed, and to lose it, and to remember it like a kick in the gut today. I want to quit because the way back in is long, hard and unforgiving.
I want to quit because business is tough, it’s always tough. I’m staring into a mirror 12 hours a day and daring the reflection to make one wrong move, to make one wrong call, knowing that what I do fails or flies on me.
I want to quit because I want to sit in my lounge room, playing Doom and eating, listening to Marvin Gaye, doing whatever I can, anything I can to distract myself from the ticking clock and the pressure I’ve always felt to do more, work more, try harder.
I want to quit because I grew up poor, and I’m terrified that if I risk everything, I’ll die poor too.