The dreariness of reality and saving: Part 1

The 12 months of saving/living like a hobo/all roads lead to the bank deposit box has started!

I've packed up, rented out and f*cked off as Peter Kay would say (or would he?), and am now back in London freelancing as a PR for 12 months, trying not to stab my eyes out with a rusty teaspoon in order to avoid sinking into the squalid and toxic sewer that is PR in London.

Now i'm 7 weeks into a 3 month freelance contract at my first job. How time flies! But not quickly enough... I want the next 11 months to be over so I can finally get out on the open road. To say I'm itching is an understatement. I can't think of anything else. If I don't realise this dream I really will just wither away and cease to be. An even greater fear than working in PR in London.

Anyway, I'm struggling with being a responsible freelancer. This 3 month job is hugely stressful but I just need to get through it and financially I will have paid off 1/3 of my debt for the whole 12 months. What keeps me going is visualising where I'm headed. This morning on the train to Kings X, sandwiched between balding, overweight, stressed out commuters (and that's just the women) with hacking coughs and windows sealed tight on the train, I looked out of the window at the grey sky and flat landscape of Beds/Herts borders. I imagined getting the ferry from Tenerife to La Gomera, heading to the misty heights of the island and just sitting on the coastline and looking out to sea. That moment will come but until then I just hope I don't accidentally die in the next 10 months before I get to realise the dream. That would be truly awful. Especially considering if I am to kark before I have paid all my debts off then I should have just legged it with a load of bent credit cards in the first place. Arse.