Someone posted this on facebook and it cracked me up, but I am being too nice right now to say anything so I thought I would bring my say something here:




I am sorry about that.

I am


Today I am going to think about regret. It occurred to me today, not for the first time but with an unprecedented twist of negativity, that living one’s life in the active pursuit of regret avoidance from a preemptive standpoint is perhaps not the best plan. I’ve known for however long that I put up with more than I can stand frequently because I can’t shake the reminder that this person is going to die and when they do I will want to have done everything possible for them. Sigh, right? But is how it is. I let my family have whatever I can give because hey, any one of those fuckers might drop dead at any time and then I will feel bad for every time I said no. I put up with an amount of bullshit from certain people in my life that causes me to lose all respect for myself on an occasional basis, because any one of those fuckers might drop dead at any moment and then I will feel bad for telling them that sometimes the length and breadth of their shadow shocks me. I say yes when I don’t want to, I say no when I don’t want to, for other people, for the time when I will leave them or they will leave me and we will be gone and I will miss them. And this makes sense, when you remember that I have spent my life expecting to be left and eventually coming into my power and leaving first. Of course I would have been inventive enough to create a safety barrier for myself as I ride into the sunset: no regrets. But my No Regrets campaign is fuckity, like so many of mine are turning out to be. You can’t decide to live a life of no regrets from the forefront. No regrets only applies if you have lived and engaged and incurred damage and given as good as you got; at that point, when there are plausible regrets to be had, is when you can say, no regrets anyhow. Of course I want to live my life in a manner least akin to that of a raging dumbass as possible, and exercising prudence and reason and compassion in decisions and actions is always going to happen, for the most part. The problem is the fear that walks hand in hand with preemptive no regrets. I fear creating a rip in my life that I will later mourn, and so I don’t run with scissors; and this is slowly devolving into not running with pencils, or bendy straws, or flag poles. Which I imagine will devolve into not running. So I need to just let that go. The pain I put myself through, attempting to heal that first batch of young regret, was enough of a process to make me want to never fuck up again. I get that. But that reaction was formed in twenty two year old Tabitha, and twenty eight year old Tabitha knows that without risk there is little gain. If I have to risk regret to truly live, then I am going to do it; and I do, I do have to. So there it is.

Regret, I may see your face again. I imagine it is inevitable, and only a truly desperate mind could lie you out forever. I will be ready; and if not I will be equal.



I am