Thank You Father

It’s Friday today and I’m flying out to Stockholm for the weekend. I’m writing this on the plane in the midst of some serious turbulence. My cohort on this flight is totally oblivious to this as he is sleeping. Saying that, his somewhat wide frame has made for a rather cramped and uncomfortable writing experience. All part of the hustle, I tell myself. However, my pending decent hasn’t prompted the subsequent nature of this post as the turbulence has began to subside. Or has it? Our Father. Who art in… Annnnnnnnnnnnnnyway.

I was listening to a podcast yesterday by a very creative entrepreneur called Jason Surfapt if my memory serves me correctly. He auctioned his surname to companies and had it legally changed twice, making him somewhere in the region of $100,000 in the space of a year for his troubles. Hmmmmmmmm… I digress.

Anyway, he was talking about how much of the content on social media is predicated by negativity. I thought about this. With it being Friday, your timeline is going to be inundated with jubilant tweets and posts about Friday and the weekend.

Thank God it’s Friday. The weekend starts now. Happy Hour. Try our new cocktail Sex On A Washing Machine. Fuck all that shit.

Life in itself should be celebrated not the onset of a weekend. I’m grateful for every day. Every moment. I absolutely love life. Our time is the most precious commodity available to us.

I could have easily been born in a totally different era in history. Or a part of the world where I wouldn’t have the opportunities afforded to me that I have now. I don’t have time to bitch about a job, that when I got initially I was over the moon. Or bemoan the fact that my Dad left home when I was 14 and the only thing he gave me was severe beatings and razor bumps. It’s amazing what facials can do for ingrowing hairs nowadays.

If I have certain designs for my life I’m going to pursue them with as much vigour and fortitude as I can, while enjoying the journey in the process. It could be so much worse and for that I’m grateful. When it’s all said and I’m in the twilight of my years and the highlight of my day is a sponge bath. Preferably, from a beautiful female care assistant I want to say to myself.

‘Well done Hope. You gave it a go Son. Good for you’

And when the last track of my life is played, the words inscribed on my tomb.

Thanks For Everything. Well, I’ll be off then.

—

Hope Patterson