I am twenty-six years old. In my lifetime, I’ve already interviewed Oscar winners, award-winning authors and filmmakers and written about many amazing people, places and things. I know if I keep at it, I will write and teach professionally one day. Unfortunately, tomorrow is not that day, next week is not that week and next month probably won’t be that month. I will be the happiest gal in the world when that magical day happens. Until then, I have to figure out how to mentally and physically handle the very real frenzies, tortures and miseries involved with what I have to do to survive. It’s not in my nature to talk or move constantly and I’ve never developed the ability to switch my brain off. My work anxiety is debilitating. I might feel like a bloody, decapitated car crash victim on the inside and will probably feel that way as long as I’m not doing what I love to do, but I can’t give up. I just can’t. I’m going to spend the next few days soul searching, healing and preparing for what lies ahead. Because, as a wise man once said, un-slumping yourself is not easily done.