i dropped my mobile phone. it's full of silicon chips.

I can't believe I've lived in LA since July. Almost 8 months exactly. It feels like it's been an impossibly long time even though I know that at some arbitrary point in my life I'm supposed to start thinking of "two or three years ago" as not such a long time past. Yo, waitress, still waiting on that perspective-shift!

Today at work I really just could not do anything right and, although I was supposed to go to my mom's, I had to stay home and cry for a while instead. SCINTILLATING! Seriously though, I got really down on myself and freaked out about "WHAT I AM DOING (or failing to do) WITH MY LIFE." I know that I should be proud of what I have accomplished, but it is never quite enough. Maybe that is good, maybe that's drive?

I made a sorta-kinda-temp job into a real temp job (w/ regular paycheck instead of getting paid per script!) and another internship into a paid gig! I live with my boyfriend and I have a really great relationship with him! I have a funny kitty cat! I've been singing in public much more often and people don't seem to hate it! I think I'm writing better songs, I don't hate the stories I've slowly started eeking out, I've lost 25 pounds, I'm beginning to make some good contacts, blah blah blah blah. But all I can think about is the songs I haven't written yet, all the weight I have yet to lose, all the fights I pick with Joe, whether all this working back-stage/behind the scenes is preparing me to have my own company one day, or just setting me up for a lifetime of being dissapointed that I'm not the one who's in the play, or the one who directed it, or the one who wrote it. Whether I'm really doing enough for my mom, it scares me a lot how fragile she is, how much pain she deals with every day. She's been doing well, but it's a struggle, and I am selfishly so completely deer-in-headlights-shit-my-pants terrified of losing her...

I wonder if there will be this point when something will happen and I will think to myself, "Wow. Well done, kiddo. Nice work." Or, alternately, "That'll do, Pig." I've been trying to be more joyful, less dour, less self-destructive. It works sometimes. I dunno.

My boss as --- Playhouse said if I wanted to try writing a "Christmas/Holiday" play, he'd really like to read it. And I have so much anxiety about it. I have the story (adapted O. Henry story - I know, ugh, but it's cute) and the way I want it to go. I just can't seem to do anything. I had told him I'd send him a draft by the end of February. So much for that. Oh well. You know what they say about that first leap.

I have an audition tomorrow that I really want to go well, so maybe that's part of why I'm freaking out. I'm doing a new monologue - Julia's from The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Don't. Fuck. Up.

Deep down, my problem is likely an unrealistic, narcissistic self-regard - I want something (or everything) I do to be straight-up brilliant and I don't think that's, uhm, entirely realistic.

In other news, months ago I auditioned for a variety show looking for "women's stories." The producer later explained that, more specifically, they wanted pieces that were, "lesbian adjacent." Anyway, they cast me, and the show is actually happening now. In...two weeks? I think? Last Sunday of the month.



What a ridiculous poster, right? Apparently Rose is kind of a big deal sex worker advocate/legalization activist. So that's fun. I'm going to make jokes about queer theory and sing songs. Oi.

And you know, my ma told me about how the dump truck got stuck in the mud at her house today. And the company sent another dump truck to try and push the first truck out of the mud and broke the axle on the first truck. So they had to find a way to get under the truck (apparently all the mud made using the giant jack a truck that size needs very difficult) so they could re-weld the axle...and, well, at least I didn't have to deal with my dump truck being stuck in the mud all day. Things can't be all that bad.