9:15 p.m. - 2007-03-09
After Happily Ever . . .
Granny Weatherwax, witch extraordinaire of Terry Pratchett's Discworld, has this to say about happy endings: the only way to assure that a couple has a happy ending is to cut their heads off right after they say "I do." You can't make happiness; you can only make an ending. This is the problem inherent in thinking in terms of stories. When the story ends, it doesn't care what happens to the characters once they go back to being people.
I was thinking about that on Saturday, when everything was going so well and I felt so wonderful. I felt like I could die happy, face my maker and say, "That was a beautiful life, and I thank you for it." I didn't die, though, and I'm grateful for that, as well. The problem with life going on, of course, is that life goes on, and the unbelievable highs can't last forever. I've come down from my cloud, and am trying to figure out what's next.
There's the question of income. I have none, at the moment, only outgo. I want to find work here, because I want to at the very least have the option of being able to stay here rather than return to California. I actually picked up an application at, of all places, Godiva chocolates. I am handing it in tomorrow. I like the thought of getting some totally non-demanding, non career oriented job for a bit, so I can say, "Yes, I have a crappy day job, because I AM AN ARTIST!!! You are allowed to have a crappy day job when you are AN ARTIST!!!" I would love something where I can people watch, or something that would allow me to write while I work. Working at a place like Godiva, though, would either be an exercise in willpower the likes of which zen monks would shy away from, or the end of my weight loss and the beginning of my developing small orbiting satellites around my ass. I would really love to hear that my old supervisor from when I lived here before is desperately looking for an assistant to pay an outlandish salary, but I am not holding my breath.
Now, what was I doing in Godiva chocolates, you ask. Well, I was on my way out of the shoe store (I had holes in my shoes, f'real, and now I have a comfy pair of New Balances and am quite pleased with them) and I stopped by and decided to buy something for my date. I left it in the car. I forgot about it. But no biggie, because the date wasn't that great anyway. It was . . . alright, give me a minute.
I tend to say things along the lines of "looks don't matter." This is a lie. Looks matter. Looks, however, are not everything. It's like size. Of course size matters. Size, however, is neither a deal maker nor a deal breaker for me. If you're small, we can still have fun, and if you're big, you can still be boring or boorish in bed. I don't know what this guys size was. I didn't feel particularly attracted to him, and although there were moments when I felt like we were going somewhere, he didn't seize the day and I didn't really feel like expending the effort to seize anything myself. Which was a shame, because the emails had been so entertaining. I tried to flirt with him again in an email, hoping that I'd get a connection going that would fan the embers, but it fell flat. I suck at flirting. Haven't heard back since. Don't feel too upset about it, but I feel kinda the douche for basically looking at someone who didn't look too different from the way I looked a while back, from the way I still look, and not feeling anything. It's so stereotypically gay I could puke.
That combined with the fact that HE didn't make any moves either, whether he wanted to or not, also took me back to a certain someone I was trying to forget. Tom Robbins once wrote that the only important question was "Who knows how to make love stay?" I offer the addendum: "And how to make it go away?"
In my defense, I guess, I at least have tried to take care of myself over the past few months, resulting in the better figure. The weight loss, however, has plateaued. I haven't been exercising as much, and I've certainly been eating whatever I want, but it still sucks that I am putting forth a lot of effort and am stuck at a 40" waist. It means I now have to choose between cutting calories or staying where I am. I hate such decisions. I feel like getting into 38" pants would make me feel really good--I can get into them now, but I have quite the muffin top going--but I also feel like breakfast tacos make me feel really good. And, of course, I beat myself up plenty for even thinking about this stuff at all. I hate being shallow, whether it's with myself or with others. I'd be a liar if I said health motivated me; I am motivated entirely by superficial pride and lust, two sins with which I am quite familiar.
All of this would be alleviated, I think, if I were still rehearsing. I need to get the show up again, because all that work deserves more than one show. The problem is that SXSW is about to begin, which means that everywhere is about to be filled up with bands and people to watch them. Any and all performance venues will be occupied, and everyone will be busy. This means we won't be able to get in anywhere until April, which brings me to a new question: do this show or develop a new one? See, my favorite bit about the show we did was the part we wrote ourselves, and I want these actresses to be able to perform their own material. This takes more time, more effort, more rehearsal, more everything. It would be easier to just do the show we have, but it would be more rewarding to do something new and our own, particularly since a new show could be taken around everywhere. I've started writing something, but today I had serious block, and so who knows if I'll have something in a timely fashion.
Then there's my own solo performance career. It was great to hear that my work was well-received, but I need to keep performing if I am going to get to a point where I can get paid. This means finding venues, including ones that are not automatically going to have an audience that knows me and loves me (although only a few people in the audience I had before knew me, which is something to be pleased about). I have a gig in May, but that's a lot of time in between to develop pieces. Developing these pieces takes time, though, as does finding venues. Did I mention I still have all this orals reading to do? That I have spring cleaning to do tomorrow? Not to mention the contantly repeating refrains of "Need a job--Need to get laid--Miss the boy--Need to get laid--Need to finish grad school--Need to get laid--Need a job--Need to get laid like for SERIOUS, dude, can we go clubbing now?"
I guess the short version of all this is life is hard and I'm a spoiled brat. There are moments when I am tempted to return to the institution where I was hiding for the past few years. But I remember what my friend Andrea said. She's leaving the law to return to her first love, opera. She said that, after doing law thinking it would make for an easier life than opera, "I realized that EVERYTHING is hard, so you might as well do something you love." This is good advise for life after stories.
I'd write more, but I either need to go to sleep or hit the clubs and try to alleviate at least one of my needs. I am not sure which seems more preferable at the moment. But if you read this, remind me that I need to be working on my art. I need to keep making leaving Berkeley worthwhile. I need to ask out that guy at the costume store I think is so cute. I need to keep my story going, no matter what comes up next, and keep turning my story into art. That, at least, can make for some happy endings.
