I shot back across town this evening to make sure the cat wasn’t starving after spending last night with my friends and their baby. Lovely to hang out with them, and that baby… She’s a joy. She is just entirely present, reactive and responsive. A reminder to us all to be like that.
Now I’ve got Pickle sitting on me paddling into my belly. Nutrition. Affection. Distraction. Repeat. Basic needs are pretty easily met across species. I’ve been feeling pretty emo recently and it’s been leaking into the blog. What’s the deal?
I don’t like writing about disappointments in my career because I frequently find myself in conversations with actors on that subject and I never want to be in them. It’s fucking boring. “Should should should. Want want want.” We pretend to be other people for a living for God’s sake. It’s fun. Some people stitch up knife wounds. We just want to hold a mirror up. But everyone is the star of their own life. And this latest season is no good.
This early summer has been what can only be described as an absolute complete and utter shitstorm career-wise. I could look for reasons. I could look for patterns. In the end I have to convince myself it’s arbitrary. But it’s hard to keep maintaining this daily record when I’m having to sit on disappointment after disappointment. I keep wanting to go off on a good old rant. In terms of what I’m used to it’s off the scale. So I think I will. Entitled actor twat rant. Maybe it’ll lance the boil. Maybe reading back over my first world problems and my charmed life presented negatively – maybe it’ll help me concrete how lucky I am…
Since I’ve started this blog I’ve hit a desert of pencils. It can’t be connected but it feels that way. It’s always down to the wire. I’m fucking livid about the last few. I went to a field and danced until I dropped because I smashed the crap out of a recall for a lovely tour of Hamlet, waited two weeks on a heavy pencil while unknown machinations took place and eventually found out while walking down a street near my old drama school that I’m not going to Miami and California because *insert reason* *there is no reason* *ABORT ABORT*
So here I am looking at a desert of the unknown, as ever, despite having had some beautiful opportunities to pin my hopes on, all of which turned out to be balloons. And it’s the same in the love life. Vanishing hope. Repeated. With friends asking me “When are you going to fall in love,” while I’m standing open hearted wondering the same thing.
So I’m going to put my skin back on. But this is me shaking it out first. I’ve tried not to vent here, because I actively dislike people whining when things aren’t perfect. I’ve got loads of good things happening. Loads. Absolutely nothing to complain about apart from not being able currently to expand the list of interesting practitioners to collaborate with. “Make your own work,” yes yes of course. But I love working with new people and that’s how we grow. “Go on a load of dates.” No. I hate it. “Hide in a hole?” Now you’re talking. *digging*