Conversations like tonight's, or snippets of it anyway, always catapult me into fretting about my future.
What this might mean for me, how I will juggle rent and bills on a Freelancer's ever-so-consistent pay, whether I'll be able to afford to feed Buttons, let alone myself and whether or not simple necessities like sending my leather jacket to the drycleaners' will even be an option.
And I have officially been left in full-freak out mode.
Never mind that I spent yesterday journalling about how I would just appreciate what I've got now, move along at an even pace and not be alarmed by people hurtling pass me in both directions.
I am afraid.
I'm afraid because the more time I spend here, the more I realize it's about time for me to leave. And I'm not saying it's impossible, I'd just very much prefer a whole lot more stability. Suddenly everything seems so expensive, so difficult and it doesn't feel like one's paycheck, whether two and a half grand or twice that, will ever be enough for anything.
But we all need to get started somewhere eventually I guess.
I don't want to write about it anymore, simply because writing about it makes me more afraid than I need to be. Whoever said I still had time, maybe wasn't counting right.
I thought I did too, but it's starting to feel like no matter how fast or how high I climb, I'm still falling short in some way or other.
I want to go crawl into a hole for a little bit.