Have you done it then?
Cracked open your diary?
Not to be smug, but I did.
Part of me wished I hadn’t like. It’s blankety-blank.
Oh dear.
How could I have forgotten the icy-cold hands of a dead January? I’ve booked in bits and pieces, but not enough to sustain a jobbing actress with hair that attracts all manner of insects.
Rational thoughts starts to jettison from my mind. It leaves room for thoughts such as:
WHYYYYYYY?
WHAT AM I DOOOOOIIIIING?
MONEY?! HELLO? MONEY???
Perhaps you’ve asked yourself these questions too. I thought I heard you shouting in the back garden. Do you mind, I’m trying to type here!
I had a huge meltdown a couple days ago, wondering just how long I can keep this charade up. Pretending to know what I’m doing, wearing four different hats, trying to self-generate work. It’s not for the faint hearted and sometimes you wonder if it’s got to the point where you’re being delusional.
Surely after ten years if I was a half decent performer, someone out there would have noticed? Surely an agent would have been excited at the prospect of repping me? Alas dear reader, the only agent who is interested in yours truly is a travel agent. And even then, she’s wondering why I’m crying and begging for work.
Surely after ten years I’d be an established name in Northern Theatres? And not just a FOH assistant, getting paid to watch shows and drink blackcurrant squash.
So the age old question comes around again.
Do I continue plodding forward? Or come December 2025, do I decide once and for all to move on?
That is the question.
For now, I’m going to commit to 12 months of relentless graft- trying to make it happen for myself and knocking on doors where I can. My pride will tarnished, but my spirit can withstand another 355 days.
Let’s see what life has in store. And perhaps this time next year, I’ll be somewhere else. A pineapple juice in hand in the sunshine.
p.s. Who do you even ask to find out if you’re delusional? A psychic? Maybe she’ll know better than me. And she only costs £250 an hour…