Not me
Well, what the fuck.Who woulda thunk I'd end up here?
Not me.
I turned 34 yesterday.
34.
That's a number that gives you pause.
Or at least me.
34.
So many things in life I wanted to be.
Architect. Journalist. Computer Tech. Film Director.
Among many others.
So many things I can still be.
But here I am.
Inert.
Inert is the wrong word.
There is activity. There is energy.
But is there motion? Forward movement?
I don't know.
I really don't.
tangent
joking with my roommate on his birthday:
to him - "Once you turn 30, you start falling apart."
to me - "I've know you for years, Sammy. You didn't start falling apart until you lost your job."
to him - "I started falling apart long before that."
It's hard to care about all the bullshit you need to get through life
Get a job. Pay the bills. Etc this. Etc that. Etc whateverthefuckelse.
when all you care about
(really care about)
is
a good rehearsal
a solid show
challenging your peers
sharing what you know
laughing with friends
maybe
just maybe
every so often
doing something worth a damn onstage
something that when you step offstage
you know
just know
you fucking brought it
from the top of your intelligence
to the bottom of your soul
you just fucking brought it
and rocked it out
and it's all the sweeter because you got rock it out with folks you love and respect and couldn't imagine doing what did without them there to push you, inspire you
disclosure
here's a little secret
every group I direct
not sub-coach, not fill in
but direct
I fully expect to be the best ensemble the night they perform
I never tell them that
I never will
it's not a competition
no troupe wins
but when the night ends
and notes are done
I honestly want us to be troupe that owned the night
the troupe other improvisors say "Good show!" to
say "Good show!" and fucking mean it
Right now
I doubt someone would examine my life
then come up to me and say
"Good life!"
I love what I do
I fucking love it with all my heart
I live for rehearsals
the exploration
the discoveries
the successes
the failures
the laughs
I live for shows
the adrenaline
the rush
the art
the bits
the laughs
but I'm tired
so tired
of all the other bullshit in life
I have to do
I've never been good with money
never
because I just don't care
it's just a thing
but now I have to worry about money
and I fucking hate
loathe
giving it
money
so much power in my thoughts
And those thoughts turn
and whirl
and mill
and fester
and taint
and rot
and then you start thinking about your life
and how you're 34
34
and how you can sum up your life in such a sad, few words
Broke. Lonely. Did some improv.
Then the other thoughts come out
the ones you thought you made peace with
but they sneak in
from places you didn't know were there
they come
during the tossing and turning hours in bed
during quiet moments in an empty theater
during sips of cold coffee
and it always boils down to
what the hell am I doing with my life
and
whatever I'm doing
am I doing enough?
and I answer
Not much.
and
No.
revelation
I'm trying to suck it up
I'm trying to get my life in order
But goddammit
I'm so fucking angry
(at myself)
I'm so fucking disappointed
(in myself)
I'm so
(myself)
that I have no one else to blame
and only
(me)
to fix shit
personally
and
professionally
Who woulda thunk I'd end up here?
34, unemployed and angry.
Not me.
posted by Sammy @ 3:38 AM
Comments: 0
