I have allowed myself to become so hung-up on Manchester United that I am physically sick when they play badly and emotionally disturbed when they lose.
It can’t be healthy. But, then, passion, in general, is unhealthy.
It is an essence of youth which if you carry over into your middle life, you are likely to suffer heartburn, financial ruin and a nervous breakdown.
All of which can be disguised by a half decent occupation, a little social savvy and plenty of bluster.
I am 37. That is fucking old. I cannot afford passion any more. Or vice versa.
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