(no subject)
As of this writing, I'm feeling very negative about the future. Those close to me know that I've been in a funk the past few days, and herein shall explain why. Honestly, it all started the day I went to see Twilight. I went into O'Charley's that morning at 10:15, as I was supposed to according to the schedule, and saw John F. there opening for me. Dexter (the manager) sat me down and told me that a complaint had been lodged against me by a customer the previous Thursday, and that said customer had complained to the corporate office instead of the individual restaraunt. He told me what the customer said, which was none of it terribly bad, and dismissed me for the day. I went back in that afternoon, and was told that I'd have to be let go. If the customer had complained to the store, I wouldn't have, but since they went all the way to the corporate office, Dex's boss's boss was upset and looking for a head to roll, specifically mine. I left the store with what I believe to be a modicum of quiet dignity, even returning the blue work shirt. Sam texted me, and asked if I wanted to go see Twilight that night with her, her boyfriend Luke, and their younger friend Courtney. Initially I resisted, but seeing as how my girlfriend, Stacy, wasn't available, I thought I'd get out and possibly relax, inasmuch as I was able to.
Now, going into the movie, I was aware that my cousin Whitney's ex-boyfriend, Jackson Rathbone, was in it. I was even aware that he had a large-ish part. What I didn't count on was how I would feel upon seeing the movie. It devastated me. Not the movie itself, mind you, which I found to be slow and fairly predictable (not unsurprising, given the nature of the source material), but the fact that someone I know, someone whom I've had dinner with, had extended conversations with, and sat up on my dock at my Connecticut family lakehouse playing guitar with until 3am, and someone whom I frankly consider myself a better actor than, in a major studio movie, with hordes of screaming people filling the theatre. Yes, I'm jealous, and I understand that fully. The reason that I am not enjoying that level of success is, simply, that I'm not pretty. With my insane work ethic, on-set manner, and a decent amount of talent (before you get ahead of yourselves, I firmly acknowledge that I am not the best actor in the world, and in fact consider myself to be just above average), I should be getting jobs, but I'm not. I recently signed on with Talent One out of Raleigh, which is supposedly one of the best, if not the best, agencies around, but it feels hollow because I haven't actually done anything since Tea Time of the Dead, which is only now being edited.
I am crawling out of my skin to do something that will further my career, and hopefully solve this debilitating cash flow problem. I met a girl today who is just a year older than me and has a book published, which granted, I could never do because I suck so bad with plot, but it still didn't help my feelings of self-worthlessness. I've submitted myself to three auditions, and hopefully one of them will be interested in me, but I kind of doubt it, because I have a very unique look. I hate it. I hate the way I look. Sure, I look decent bald, but I would kill for a thick head of hair. It's a cruel joke of nature that I'm bald on top and furry everywhere else. It's my single greatest insecurity. That all stems from a scene I did in Intro to Acting, where I had to take my shirt off, and the girl in the scene said "dear god, that's disgusting." That was a tad shattering. I've been incredibly paranoid about being shirtless since, even when I shaved my chest and had a six-pack.
At least this time I'm not self-medicating. After last year, when I downed a handful of pills because I was depressed and flipped out on Anna, losing her for the present and possibly forever, I've tried to keep that to a minimum. I drink some, but not nearly the level that I used to. I don't even sleep anymore. I'm down to one, maybe two meals a day, and three to four hours of sleep a night.
My relationship is a tad rocky at the moment. I've barely seen Stacy over the past month, and the time when she was most excited to see me is when I pressed a quintet of happy pills into her hand so she could survive her parents for Thanksgiving. I know that she's been busy, and keeping odd hours, and she's stressed out about moving home, and I don't want to be another problem in her life, I just wish things were different. I honestly don't think she's been happy since we started dating, and I don't know if she's happy with me or not. Its a tad wearing.
Well, dear readers, I've taken up enough of your time with my mindless blathering, so I shall slap on my nice plastic smile and retire for the evening. Fare the well. So sayeth the Player, save and continue.
Now, going into the movie, I was aware that my cousin Whitney's ex-boyfriend, Jackson Rathbone, was in it. I was even aware that he had a large-ish part. What I didn't count on was how I would feel upon seeing the movie. It devastated me. Not the movie itself, mind you, which I found to be slow and fairly predictable (not unsurprising, given the nature of the source material), but the fact that someone I know, someone whom I've had dinner with, had extended conversations with, and sat up on my dock at my Connecticut family lakehouse playing guitar with until 3am, and someone whom I frankly consider myself a better actor than, in a major studio movie, with hordes of screaming people filling the theatre. Yes, I'm jealous, and I understand that fully. The reason that I am not enjoying that level of success is, simply, that I'm not pretty. With my insane work ethic, on-set manner, and a decent amount of talent (before you get ahead of yourselves, I firmly acknowledge that I am not the best actor in the world, and in fact consider myself to be just above average), I should be getting jobs, but I'm not. I recently signed on with Talent One out of Raleigh, which is supposedly one of the best, if not the best, agencies around, but it feels hollow because I haven't actually done anything since Tea Time of the Dead, which is only now being edited.
I am crawling out of my skin to do something that will further my career, and hopefully solve this debilitating cash flow problem. I met a girl today who is just a year older than me and has a book published, which granted, I could never do because I suck so bad with plot, but it still didn't help my feelings of self-worthlessness. I've submitted myself to three auditions, and hopefully one of them will be interested in me, but I kind of doubt it, because I have a very unique look. I hate it. I hate the way I look. Sure, I look decent bald, but I would kill for a thick head of hair. It's a cruel joke of nature that I'm bald on top and furry everywhere else. It's my single greatest insecurity. That all stems from a scene I did in Intro to Acting, where I had to take my shirt off, and the girl in the scene said "dear god, that's disgusting." That was a tad shattering. I've been incredibly paranoid about being shirtless since, even when I shaved my chest and had a six-pack.
At least this time I'm not self-medicating. After last year, when I downed a handful of pills because I was depressed and flipped out on Anna, losing her for the present and possibly forever, I've tried to keep that to a minimum. I drink some, but not nearly the level that I used to. I don't even sleep anymore. I'm down to one, maybe two meals a day, and three to four hours of sleep a night.
My relationship is a tad rocky at the moment. I've barely seen Stacy over the past month, and the time when she was most excited to see me is when I pressed a quintet of happy pills into her hand so she could survive her parents for Thanksgiving. I know that she's been busy, and keeping odd hours, and she's stressed out about moving home, and I don't want to be another problem in her life, I just wish things were different. I honestly don't think she's been happy since we started dating, and I don't know if she's happy with me or not. Its a tad wearing.
Well, dear readers, I've taken up enough of your time with my mindless blathering, so I shall slap on my nice plastic smile and retire for the evening. Fare the well. So sayeth the Player, save and continue.