Less than two weeks. Look, stop it!, I tell myself, this fear is out of all proportion! Apparently my stupid subconscious feels I don't deserve a better life and I'll be punished for reaching out to one - closer than ever, at close to sixty, to the six-year-old who placed herself in a corner, having been told so often she was VERY BAD. So close, I think of her and tremble. Ugh. The better things go, the more encouraging the work leads, the more ideas for the future business, its name and mission statement and strategy, the more real it all becomes, the greater the fear. And we're not just talking fantasies of professional failure and destitution here. Oh no. It's all about death. My mind fills with images of pain, implosion, physical decay. Last night I dreamt my skull was cracked across the front, with pieces breaking off like a cracked eggshell. I would say meditation isn't helping. Nothing's helping. Except that I suppose it probably is, since I'm still functioning and mostly managing not to yell at anyone. Anyway, there's no choice. All the boats are burned. No choice but to feel this stuff and do it anyway.