This metaphor hurts my teeth.

Jan 01, 2011 23:23

This is it.  This is the time that I dreamed of.  When people ask me what I do, I say, without hesitation, "I'm an actor."

One time a guy argued with me he said, "Don't you mean actress?"

He was trying to hit on me.  I told him that language is inherently sexist.  He stopped and went away.  I like it when I can get them to go away before I have to tell them I'm a lesbian.

Anyway.

I'm a professional actor now.  For eight months.  I'm halfway through, so four more months.  I'm supporting myself solely through acting.  I'm literally singing for my supper.  And it's great.  It's been great.  It will continue to be great.

But.

I feel like this step was kind of tying the knot with my career.

Like.

We were childhood sweethearts.  I grew up with her.  There were times when we got hot and heavy.  There were periods of estrangement.  Long ones, sometimes.  There were times when I thought  it would never work out.  Times when I dated other career paths.  Times when I purposefully avoided her because we had a fight.  Because I didn't get along with her friends.  Because I thought she didn't want me.  But we always found each other again.

Eventually, I proposed.  We had a long engagement; four years turned into five.  I spent a lot of money on her during this time.  I dedicated my nearly every waking moment to her.  I learned so much about her, from other members of her family, from being by her side day to day.  But I never forgot her flightiness and unpredictability.  I tried to prepare myself for the possibility that we might not last.

I took business classes on the side.

Business was everything she wasn't, and nothing she was.  Practical and predictable, safe and sour, clean cut and common.  I hated every second of it, and I couldn't wait to say goodbye.

In May, after everything, still unsure, I thought we'd put off the wedding for a while longer.  I wasn't ready to be fully committed.  I felt I still had some growing to do, as a person.  More classes needed to be taken, more avenues waited for me to explore.

Then.

She offered me an opportunity.  And an ultimatum.

I said yes.

I quit.

I moved in.

We've spent the last four months together.

And you know what?

She wakes me up early.  It can take us upwards of two hours to get ready to go somewhere.  I don't like driving her car.  We don't have enough money.  Sometimes it feels like she costs me more than we earn.  She's stressful.  Her makeup makes my face break out.  We don't always sleep enough.  We hardly ever eat right.  She keeps getting me sick.  And everything I own is covered in a fine film of her hairspray.

But hot damn.

When we're good, we're really good.  After all these years, she still makes me nervous.  She's constantly challenging and pushing and surprising me.  I do things with her that I never thought I'd be able.  She takes me to places I never thought I'd see.  I'm brimming with passion and admiration for her.  I'm completely dedicated, not just to her surviving but to her thriving.  I don't think I could ever be truly happy with another.

So.

We'll live.  We won't always be loyal to each other.  She'll flirt and carry on with other actors.  I'll have to find other ways of paying the bills.  She'll be distant and withholding, and then she'll want me to drop everything for her the minute she's finally ready for me.  And I will.  We'll compromise.  We'll make it work.  I'll change.  And she'll change.  Hopefully, with any luck, we'll change together.  And we'll take it day by day, because that's all we can do.

We'll live.

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