Getting up early, still have a headache.

Last night, I was poured a few more drinks by the elders.

$ETH Pulled to 2073 overnight, my short position from last night was wiped out.
Stand at attention after taking a hit, this one’s all on me.

Recently went back to my hometown, every day is just meals and card games.

Middle-aged and returning home means being a workhorse.

Not helping Uncle Seven serve dishes, or entertaining Uncle Eight, everything’s chaotic. No time to watch the market?

Yesterday, I placed an order purely because I was overwhelmed by the anxiety of “missing updates.”

Taking advantage of the alcohol at the card table, I glanced at my phone and just went for it.

The rigor of a trader has given way to the anxiety of a blogger.

The market specializes in curing all disobedience.
If you dare to casually touch the gold and pretend, it will give you a loud slap. That slap was well done, woke me up completely.

Fortunately, before I got drunk last night, my hands didn’t shake, and I tightly held onto my stop-loss. If I had tried to tough it out with alcohol, I would have lost the money for New Year’s shopping today.

If I make a mistake with a trade, I admit it.
Usually, catching a good wave can earn two or three bites of meat; yesterday, I saw it wrong and spat it out.

My strategy is a 1:2-3 profit-to-loss ratio; stop-loss is the cost of trading, and you must remember to strictly adhere to it. Protect the principal, then there’s a chance to win.

These days, back in my hometown, I don’t have time to calmly watch the market. I just honestly play the turtle and hide. Only when I’m sure I have a little time to analyze will I set my strategy.