On dodging responsibility

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Iiiii'm blogging at wooooork...
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My officemates leave tomorrow to manage the cruise to the Amazon, and I'm staying here to (finally) do proper maintenance on the two computers that we have. If that sounds like I got gypped...I really didn't. As interesting as it might be to visit the Amazon, I think I'd be much happier doing it by myself or with a select group of friends than with the hundred-odd extraordinarily wealthy and equally extraordinarily crotchety people our group director will have to handle. She's decided she's going to be drunk for the next two weeks, and having dealt with many of these people over the phone the last month...I frankly don't blame her. Rich people really suck sometimes.

Anyway, as one might imagine, it's been insanity today, with people calling left and right asking for confirmations and tickets and final updates and chickens and black lambs and the lost headdress of Ramses II. Despite being busy with a number of things, I've still managed to feel a profound sensation of discontent the majority of the day. I could, of course, ascribe this to the fact that there just wasn't enough work for my ginormous brain to handle, but more likely it's the result of a) not knowing where "Homecoming, Part 2" is going, b) the sheer number of phone calls I was getting, thereby interrupting me roughly every 10 minutes, c) having to suddenly take on extra work I knew almost nothing about because Jessica (my group director) was already overloaded with handling last-minute details (including the fact that the INS sucks monstrous donkey anus, and therefore her husband can't go with her on the cruise), and...

Of course, d) my recent talk with Luis. That's a kicker right there.

I actually don't think anything has necessarily changed. There is only, perhaps, a mindset shift on my part. I realized that, despite my intention of just taking the relationship one day at a time, I still managed to have certain expectations. I guess I'd hardly be human if I didn't, entering into a relationship for the very first time. And Luis didn't mirror them. A little disappointing, perhaps, but I'm certainly not going to fault him for it (I know you read this blog occasionally, Luis. Despite all my incessant wrangling and slightly masturbatory contemplations, I really am fine with where we are. Really. Honestly. Promise. Stop staring at me like that. *Poke*).

What is contributing to the general malaise, however, is a sensation of overall purposelessness that not even writing has been able to altogether dispel. I'm partially inclined to think that maybe, just maybe, it's a result of seeing so many of my friends achieve a measure of success that I just haven't been able to manage. It's a bit of a blow to the ego, despite my acceptance of the vicissitudes involved in a theatre career (Yay! I got to use the word "vicissitude"!) And...maybe a good part of it is also that I keep having this inclination to look ahead, I mean years ahead, and wonder whether I'll be in effectively the same place that I am now. That would be a decidedly unattractive view.

You can't do that, I think, in a theatre career. You can't honestly plan more than a few months ahead (unless you're a bigshot with some true leverage, at which point I wouldn't even be thinking about this crap.) My attempts to take each day as it comes are generally foiled by this itching need to tiptoe over to the wall and look over, even when I know there's a good possibility that somebody's waiting on the other side with a big-ass can of Mace and a penchant for dissuading guys like me from trying to look too far ahead.

Oh well. I'm having lunch with Darien tomorrow, and we haven't really even talked in such a long time, and I'm going to have cheesecake, dammit, and we'll talk and laugh and fend off a zombie apocalypse with nothing but a rolling pin and a pair of heavy-duty steel spatulas. Woot!

I actually feel better already. Writing really does make everything better!