On nightmare fuel

The sheer amount of time in between posts here makes me wonder why I even bother keeping up a blog. I think I post when I want to talk, have no one to talk to, and can talk myself into believing that a) there are people out there listening and b) there is no one out there listening. I love being a walking ball of contradictions.

So...I suck again. And not in a good way. (When was the last time I sucked in a good way, and is there any way to say that without sounding like a slut-man?) It's been, wow, about four months since I graduated from the academy, and have I done anything productive in my intended field of passion? Nope. Not a damn thing. Not a single, blessed, bloody thing. Well, I got my headshots, and I worked - made some money, although not nearly enough to support any sort of healthy lifestyle in New York. Oop. Back up - getting my headshots is actually kind of misleading, because getting my headshots suggests that I...ya know...have headshots. I have digital images of myself that, once committed onto paper, would make lovely headshots. I have no gotten them reproduced, in part because by the time I actually GOT my headshots, I'd already planned to go home for two weeks. In part because reproductions would cost me about three hundred dollars right now, and that's money I don't have. And anything else put onto the credit card is going to be just another nail in the coffin lid.

But that's not the real reason at all, now is it? Let's be honest here - I'm scared. To hell with scared - I'm fucking terrified. It is, for obvious reasons, not a run-around-like-a-headless-chicken sort of terrified...although in a cosmological sense, that's pretty much what I've been doing in the past four months. No - I'm sunk so deeply into doubt it feels like I'm walking around staring at myself, judging, and constantly finding myself wanting. I feel like that quote in Stigmata, as my oftentimes flawed memory presents to me, "An actor must have faith; you do nothing but doubt."

So I'm getting off my ass tomorrow. To hell with it - I'm slapping the money on the card (one of the many cards), and high interest be damned. I'm sick of lying around thinking about what I need to do for my future, instead of actually doing it. It's funny. All I have to do is think about what Myia would say to me. She would kick my ass so hard I might as well give up homosexuality. Well, she's coming back to New York pretty soon, and I'm damn well going to have something positive about myself to say to her for once.