After a trip back to ole' St. Louis, I am in a panic. Very soon I will begin the seemingly never-ending road to paying back my student loans...while trying to "make it" as an actor. I am in such a panic that after riding my bike downtown to shoot a pilot and then getting a flat on the way back, I cried on the street in front of strangers. Shameless. Not only was I crying, my hair was matted and soaked because I decided for the second time since I bought my helmet in December that I should actually wear it. You know, wear your BMX helmet with no ventilation on a 90 degree day. Not only was my sweat-wet hair matted to my impossibly pink face (pink not from crying, but from heat and exercise because my skin is transparent) that had tears streaming down it, those tears were making beautiful rivets down my dirty cheeks thanks to the crowded and filthy streets of Chicago (enhanced by Taste).
I am in such a panic that I have been sitting in my very dark (even though the sun is still out) studio, surrounded by clean clothes yet to be put away, topless. And not in a cool way. Not like, woah I still love living alone and I love to be naked woahbabesville. I am without a shirt because after taking off my sweat-drenched tee, I couldn't muster up the will to put on another. Panic, or pathetic?
I don't know how I will pay my bills. I don't know when they will be completely paid. I am sure I will have to consolidate them.
It's terrifying and almost debilitating.
But not completely debilitating and actually almost motivating.
Like, get the hell off your computer and send some resumes or write a play or something!anything! you lazy fool.
One day I will play a person struggling to make their dreams come true. I will be paid a ridiculous amount for this role, and critics will hail my heart-wrenching performance and truthful nuance. I will just take my sisters out to lunch, knowing all the while as we drink $18 cocktails that I simply played a less neurotic version of me at 20.
