10 Things I'm Worrying About Today

In no particular order...

1. Money (always).
2. Attending my first ever Hen Do on Friday. Does this make me old? 
3. What exactly my GP meant when she said I had a "weird" cervix.
4. How much weight I'm going to gain since freezing my gym membership (because of lack of item #1).
5. My friend broke my shower and I feel awkward about asking her to replace it.
6. I haven't replied to any of my matches on Happn, which makes me a horrible person.
7. Seeing Lips on Saturday.
8. How I'm going to get my dysfunctional family together for Father's day.
9. Presenting my business plan and financial forecast to the bank tomorrow.
10. Competing with the BBC and Working Title for film rights next week.

{Dear Diary} Ready, Steady, Jump

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."

How Much Should I Be Paid?

What you should be earning and how to ask for it.

Last week I turned down a job I'd wanted for years. Because it didn't pay enough. 

I know what you're thinking: surely if it was my *dream* job, I'd do it whatever the money? Yes, in an ideal world I would do that job for free because I love this industry and I love being a part of it. And many people sacrifice a wage for the sake of advancing their career, through un- or low-paid internships. Admirable? Maybe. Wrong? Definitely.

We have a National Minimum Wage (£6.50/hour, working out at £12,675/year) but we also have a Living Wage, for a reason. Basically, if you are expected to live off your wage, it must be equal to/more than £17,843/year in London, and £15,308 in the rest of the UK.

The job I was offered was at a *top* independent production company and they offered me just £17,000. It is almost impossible to live off that amount of money in London - so I asked for more. What surprised me was that the company didn't immediately shoot me down and were willing to negotiate. So this has led me to write this post!

You Sucked My Big Toe

According to the internet, there are 5 rules to having a Fuck Buddy:

• Avoid kissing on the lips
• Don't stay the night
• Stick to small talk
• No cuddling
• Turn your heart to stone, mentally lock him in a box with a huge padlock and think of him only as a human dildo

Nobody told me these rules. So it's not really surprising that my fuck buddy and I are in a bit of pickle...

It began back in September. I named him Lips because his kiss made my knees weak, but I didn't want anything serious. On the 4th date I turned to him in bed and said, "You're cool with this just beeing sex, right?"

He laughed. "I like how you waited until after sex to bring that up."

"Priorities," I replied.

"Yeah it's cool," he said. "Makes no sense getting into anything serious."

So we embarked on our Fuck Buddy Adventure. Usually Thursdays, fortnightly, 8pm. We'd chat and then we'd fuck. It was good, uncomplicated. We signed up to go to a high-class orgy together.

I'd like to state now, for the record, that he upset our sexy apple cart first.

If We'd Stayed Together

{Because I spend 60% of my waking life living imagined situations, considering hypothetical outcomes and writing an end to every What If... This is about my dear friend Gellar, who I could not give my heart to. And, it turns out, I was right not to. I'm so glad it has worked out for us both, that we can be friends again, but if (if, if all of the ifs) I had said Yes, where would be now?}

We'd have been together about a month when you found out. If circumstances had been different, I might have fallen in love with you by then. If it had just felt right when we kissed. If the whole mess that is my life hadn't dragged me away. If I'd finally fallen for you after willing for it for so long, it would have been with a beautiful thud of pieces slotting together and a calm acceptance. 

If you had become Mine. My boyfriend. We would have clocked up weeks' worth of late night phone calls, whole albums of naughty pictures and all the other hallmarks of a long distance relationship. My phone, the vessel of our affection, would be my most precious possession; I'd think of it, of you, last thing at night and first thing in the morning.  

When you got the news, would you have told me straight away?