It was December 2012, and I had finally landed a full-time job as the operations manager of a moving and storage facility. It was a steady paycheck, and I was grateful for the opportunity, but I had never felt more out of place. The job itself wasn’t difficult, but the responsibilities weighed heavily on me. The constant pressure to meet deadlines and ensure customer satisfaction was overwhelming, and it seemed like there was always something that needed my attention. My anxiety had never been worse. It was like a constant hum in the background, a reminder that something was always going wrong. I found myself struggling to stay focused and motivated, and I was fighting off panic attacks on a daily basis. At home, I was short-tempered and easily agitated, and my family felt the effects of my stress. But I soldiered on. I knew that I needed to push through the discomfort and prove to myself that I was capable of handling a “real” job. And I did, for a time. I showed up early, stayed late, and did everything in my power to ensure that the business ran smoothly. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was meant for something more. I would spend my days sending out emails to agents and managers, in between customer complaints. I paid for an IMDB Pro just to have contact information for every celebrity that was on my list. Bud and Roach Show was going to succeed by any means necessary.
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