I think they call it self-sabotage.
You look for the worst-case scenario, make sure you learn the ins and outs of it all.
Then you plan your strategy around it.
No, not around it, you plan your moves in accordance with it.
That way, failure is a pretty safe bet.
The thrill of the chase.
You can pursue the dream with absolute abandon because you know that butterfly will forever evade your net; you did cut a hole in it, or did you conveniently forget?
That way, you can say you tried.
You have witnesses.
You weren't secretive about it.
They saw you run, they saw you fall.
They saw it all.
No one can say you didn't give it a hundred per cent.
You were just a breath short of coercion because THAT IS NOT HOW WE ROLL.
The devil is in the detail; you pick the vegan when you know they can see the meat on your bones from a mile away.
You know how to keep them at arm's length.
You bet on it.
Sometimes, very very rarely, they turn out to be relapsing carnivores.
That's what the hole in your butterfly net is for; plan B.
No one can catch this old girl by surprise.
Eyes in the back of her head; grown like intuition honed over the years.
She's been running for a long long time.
Finally slowed down to a walk.
She shed those reasons to pick up the pace with every step; those reasons she dangled like carrots at the end of her own stick.
The maker of her own fate.
And like the song goes,
Captain of her own soul.