Dilemma Number Nineteen... Am i really destined to be a journalist?

The pressure finally got to me. I knew it would.

After i finished at DMU i went back to my bar and i fell in love three times. With Steve (although that technically happened while i was at uni) and with bartending. Not just bartending... spirits, cocktails, distillation techniques, origins, history, perfect serves, etiquette.... everything. I love working in a bar and it makes me happy. Lastly, i feel back in love with dancing, the thing i used to love when i was younger but shunned through a fear of choreography vs my poor dyslexic brain. A year on at Polestars and i still love standing in front of a group of ladies and teaching them to swing off poles, shake their asses or do raunchy burlesque routines. Great man, great job ... hey it's not the best pay... but for once i'm happy.

But all this time i've had a niggling voice in the back of my head. The trained journalist in me looking down her nose at me and sneering.."eer, don't you think it's time to get a proper job now?", "don't you think it's time to grow up?","didn't you say you wanted to be a writer?". Answer, yes. But on my terms. I love to write so much... but i think i've decided it might not be what i want to do as a job. I have some wonderful ideas a lot of the time (the dress chronicles will be appearing as a separate blog soon) and the sort-of book is always being worked on and added to, but i don't want to be one of those reporters running around a newsroom being ignored, or watching as their article gets cut to shreds, or banging the door of a bereaved family down. I want to write in a place where i have no limits. I want to say what i want to and when i want to.

I haven't written in so long because this niggling voice has for so long poisoned my love for writing because part of me feels guilty for not making my writing into a proper job. But would i be happy then? Probably not. Dilemma solved i guess.

Bedtime now.