The Problem With Believing In Myself

It feels so good to finally eat real food, sleep on my own bed, and take a long overdue bath! The light in my room is still busted and it's still a jungle of wires, and yes, one half of the kitchen still smells like a dead rat but I'm glad I'm home. At least I can forget about the murals until Wednesday, when the salon will be launching, and Thursday, when we would have to do the murals for the Metrowalk branch.

The owner of the salon also asked me if I can freelance for them. That is, if they need something done, they can call on me to do it and I get an allowance every month. It sounds like an ok thing to do, and it seems like a simple decision to make especially with my current situation, but I'm still somewhat apprehensive about taking it.

"Podi, you're a stupid, pathetic, whiny little kid," that little voice in my head is saying. "Just take it already."

But... but... I can't! Things like these -- things dealing with money and business and even freelancing for goodness sakes -- I don't have an aptitude for! I'd much rather do things as a friend and feel good about it that way than get money out of it.

I suppose ultimately, I'd prefer dying (read: young) as a poor man with a lot of friends rather than claw through life making money and marketing myself with a standard of living stuck on 'survive.' Not that it's a bad thing. I just feel that I'd be happier with the former more than the latter.

Wait for me, I'm nothing on my own
I'm willing to go on, but not alone, not now
I'm so aware of everything, but nothing seems for real and
As long as you're in front of me then I'll

I watch the fingers of our hands
And I'm grateful that it's me
Holding on and on and on...
I believe in me

-- K's Choice, Believe