It's May. Fucking May. Month FIVE of 2015. In a few weeks time I will be turning a year older, before you know it Xmas chocolates will start appearing in shops like parasitic boils and then BOOM - it'll be 2016. So why the fuck am I pissing time up the wall like I have a Tardis stashed in my knicker drawer?
Because, ladies and gents, if I'm being melodramatic, I am drowning in a tsunami of fear. If I'm trying to be lighthearted, I am pooping it. If I'm in total denial, I'm a little anxious. The reality is more of a paralysis/deer in headlights situation where I'm so caught up in my own fears and self-doubt that I can't move in any direction.
It's an awful thing to admit, but that's the truth. At the end of March I left my job with £3,000 of hard-earned cash, enough to live off for 2 months while I went freelance and started my own production company. I am going to do this, I said, to myself, to my friends, to my family. I may as well have got it printed on a t-shirt or tattooed on my nose, I was that determined. "I'm going to put myself out there and I'm going to Make. It. Work."
