FIOs

It’s a circus, and I’m the ringmaster dodging flaming hoops. Rude colleagues with their passive-aggressiveness (someone literally said “this is the last time I am going to say sorry to you and I will keep my attitude unchanged after saying sorry because this is the way I am.”)? Clients throwing tantrums like toddlers (someone said they will sue us if they don’t get a certain tailor-made report in a certain way within 10 days)? Whatever. I trust the universe to sort this mess, because I’m too busy getting shit done.

Mornings start with coffee and a half-assed prayer to the cosmos: “Don’t let me strangle anyone today.” Trusting the universe isn’t some woo-woo nonsense—it’s my middle finger to chaos. When a deal tanks or a colleague’s ego flares, I smirk, knowing the universe is out there plotting something better… or at least screwing someone else over for a change.

This trust keeps me sane. It’s not about fairy-tale endings; it’s about believing the bullshit serves a purpose—like making me tougher or pointing me to a smarter move. The universe has my back, even when clients scream or my kids turn the house into a warzone. I’m not here to coddle anyone’s feelings. I’m here to win, and the universe? It’s my snarky, cosmic wingman, laughing along.