I can handle my job and Baby just fine on most days. It’s when I try to add another wing nut to that life seems to go haywire. Last week, I went to a theater fundraiser, prepared two Shakespeare monologues for an audition, tried to finish my fourth revision of my novel for my writers workshop, and set a small fire in my kitchen. Boy, am I tired.
First of all, memorizing oblique, illogical text requires a lot of my brain cells. I studied the pieces on the subway, I had Husband scan and analyze them for me, and practiced really hard….for two hours. It’s my fault too–Baby and I went out a lot, I went to a theater fundraiser one night,, which was incredibly fun, and the night before the audition, I was going to take a nap, but ended up spending the time putting out the fire in my toaster oven, which left me a little too wired to sleep. The fire was small and not a huge deal, but fire or explosions in the oven seem to happen when I do more than microwave. When I linger in the kitchen, disaster ensues.
Auditioning was kind of like showing up for a marathon without stretching. I managed to get off book, but man, it was rough. Once it was over, I felt a huge sense of relief over not having to retain the words any more in my weak mind, but also a little disappointed, because, you know, my ego fantasizes a Judy Garland/A Star Is Born phenomenon, which can’t happen for most people because being a good actor actually takes a lot of time and a lot of work. It left me with a craving not to act so much, but as to be excellent at SOMETHING. Crikey!
Mom asked if it’s tough to always think about Baby and not think about the creative things I usually do, but I haven’t given up on them. It’s tricky, but I feel like, even though I have a delightful Baby, I have to keep growing myself. I’m still a work in progress, and as limpid and unsatisfying as some of my efforts are, I feel it’s still right to go for…everything.