usagi: (Default)
I auditioned for 15 or so directors this morning, where we were told NOT TO BE LATE, so naturally, I got stopped at ALL THE LIGHTS, parked where I could, and ran like a crazy person through several blocks of farmer's market and around cars and between pedestrians and cyclists, to make it to the theatre, three minutes before the audition, covered in sweat and red-faced. I handed my pre-printed-out audition form and a hand-written "resume" with a hand-drawn "headshot" of myself (I definitely made a statement, whether that's a good thing or not is yet to be determined), and waited for my one-minute monologue in a tiny room that serves as a theatre with ten other actors.

I grew up on stage, and I was never, ever nervous performing. Practice, practice, practice, dress rehearsal, and then the curtains come aside and you have an audience's eyes and blinding, hot lights on you and it just FLOWS. I really believed as a kid that I would be a successful Broadway star, that I had potential, that I was unique.

Standing in front of directors in search of new blood for local theatrical projects, being overweight and self-conscious and worried my monologue would run over and I'd get told "thank you" by the event MC, I ran through my monologue and skipped a few parts and probably did it in 30 seconds, rather than the 55-65 second average of my practice-sessions. And while everyone else did play-monologues, I adapted something from a less-mainstream comic book. I definitely made a statement; good or bad is yet to be determined.

I tried to brush off the blues and self-loathing as I left by going through the market, seeing all the produce and flowers. And then the local artists. There are hundreds of artists who do their own thing and don't make any money, and they're all better than me, and who am I to even think that I matter? Or that I have the right to do art?

I write this entry not to depress you, dear readers, but to tell you that, if you feel this way about your life? You are not alone. I've come to realize that this is how my body handles PMS, not by lashing out at others and being generally bitchy (the current and shunned form of PMS), but by beating myself to bits. It's awful. So I got into my car and drove home, pushed myself to go through feelings and write them here. I need to get back into writing, to blogging, to movement and action.

I'm still doing my art. I'm going strawberry picking today, and then swing dancing tonight. And back to work tomorrow.


usagi: (Default)

December 2012

910111213 1415


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 05:29 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios