The idea of receiving a fairly nice paycheck for shooting a hell of a lot of pots, pans and other shiny, round objects sends me into a descending spiral of panic and depression. It's not panic and depression in the form of hair pulling, drunken binges or car crashes. It's just when I find time to take a short break, to sit in a coffee shop with a cookie while waiting for conflicting, unconfirmed schedules to sort themselves out, I tend to question a lot of things: my choice of work, my commitment to personal expression, my talent or the lack of it.

Times like these, it's comforting to have friends. Haha. Also, it's just panic. After things (or when I) settle down, I remember that this was the plan to begin with: work as photographer so that I can afford to take my own pictures. I remember the places where the job has brought me, and the people I've met. I remember that, because of the job, I've met a lot of my good friends and have been given the opportunity to meet (and shoot) people who've influenced my life. Also the job pays enough so that I can get Chinese dinners and buy a lot of books. Maybe I just need a vacation. Or maybe I just need to stop griping about not doing personal work, and do personal work.