Confession time. Sometimes I wake up more mortified about this new business than stoked. All I want is to throw the covers back over my head, snuggle down into the soft womb of my bed, and forget I had this brilliant idea in the first place. I mean, who am I to think I can pull something like this off? I’m just . . . me. Me with all my flaws, all my weaknesses, all my insecurities—insecurities which take this prime opportunity to rattle off why I suck.