now entering: emotional honestyville.
This one is older--before it snowed.
I have sent out my Christmas gifts on a schedule, and they should arrive at their assorted locations by the 22nd or so, but do not open them a day before, all right? I know how some of you are, and I will be able to magically sense it if you cheat. In the meantime, I'm still auditioning here and there for roles around town--nothing that should start until after Precious Nonsense, but wish me luck for a speaking part, maybe? I've only done a couple of extra roles, so that may be getting a little ambitious, but every girl has got to start somewhere in taking such an enormous gamble (let's hope I don't fall on my face, metaphorically speaking, but if I do I want to get back up with grace), and thus far I do think networking is working out for me.
Which sounds tremendously Machiavellian of me, but I like everyone around here, too, so socializing is not exactly a hardship. Going straight is so weird, comparatively, because most girls seem to find God or have a baby when they do it, but not me, no God, no offspring, I don't want a replacement. I do wonder about everyone I meet, if they know, what they think, and I'm still selling things off...some of my work clothes, for example, and other items I've collected over the years (some more adult in nature than others, so I'll spare you all). The thing about it is to work in the industry you're not entirely yourself, you're this funhouse-mirror version of you with all of your most sexual and fantastic, in the sense of being a fantasy, characteristics enhanced. That's acceptable, even necessary, but the compartmentalization has to be done away with when you leave. I'm still working on that, both the leaving and the putting together pieces. Part of that is the physical trappings, but it's mostly symbolic of the real work.
It's tiny things, too, like Huan, who is currently staring forlornly out at the snow: two years ago I was working all the time, living a lifestyle too erratic to be responsible for anyone other than myself beyond the sense of responsibility for everyone else in the world I feel, which is different, and less personal. I've made two hundred movies, and I'm proud of some of them (while my contract might strongly suggest against saying these things publicly, it's my livejournal and I will be honest in admitting I'm less pleased with others), but it doesn't give me as much as knowing I can take care of this ridiculous dog. That's a sign I wasn't cut out for the career I said I wanted. Tiny things.
I'm also shamelessly looking forward to the university's holiday party--and the others I've managed to score invitations to, locally. How many do you think I can drag Henry to, world wide web? Should I employ my wiles, or do you think he'll spontaneously develop an interest in eggnog and watching strangers perform bad karaoke? Place your bets now, also on how much trouble I'll get into when he sees this post.