Another restless night. Another failure at something as simple as rest.
Failure. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Even harder when things aren’t going your way. When things haven’t gone your way for some time, and it isn’t entirely your fault.
Maybe it was the internet search. Ok, searches. Endless job and competition trawlings evidently took their toll, and I found myself looking up ski instructor courses. Audible moans ensued. Then reality kicked me in the shins: back to the trawl, girl. A competition here, a submission there, this one’s for people in Highlands which I am not in – a job opening? Thought not, only special twentysomethings get those jobs, and they never explain how.
Experience. We’re looking for someone with X experience, and Y years of it. Or full training for a job nobody, in their heart of hearts, actually wants.
I started out in admin, and blossomed into this absolute monolith theatre director? How? I told you, I started in admin. Yeah, admin for what happens to be this incredible festival. How did I get that job? How’s about that is never mentioned, because it’s not that hard to get a job in admin anywhere, let alone one that just so happens to be part of some big kinda deal in the industry. I guess I was just lucky.
I have experience coming out of my fecking ears, that’s how little room left there is in my head. So much experience, but minimal professional practice to prove it, so few feet in doors that lead to anything. Oh sure, get on a course, chat to people who work there, but does it ever lead to anything? No, because that would be normal. And normal things don’t happen to you. Useful things don’t happen to you. You always have to make things happen. God forbid anyone actually asks you to work with them for a change.
Should I be thankful? Yay, look at all this superfluous shit I have that means bugger all to anyone outside of the arts and (weirdly) corporate life. I’m so grateful to work for nothing, therefore saving you money, and get nothing in return! I know I’ve always said I’d gladly work in the arts for free forever, and what a shame that ideal and the rest of life don’t coexist so well, but there’s only so many projects and so many roles before it becomes a little too much.
Some people were born to have others flock to them but the rest of us have to grovel. Not because we’re hideous creatures, rather just because. I mean, if everybody had people flock to them, that’d just be boring, wouldn’t it?
They’re all off doing shit. Everyone I know, they’re abroad, they’re in something interesting, they’re working with people they actually enjoy creating with, or projects just happen to fall into their laps. And all I can do is attempt to reconnect with the world after two years that made me retreat and run for cover from it, and fail miserably.
I should be considering all of this time as recooperation and honing of craft. I’ve been attending writer’s workshops, and recently (finally!) getting into silks. I’m retraining my voice so that I have a hope of getting a decent recording out of myself, or at least joining a choir soon and not bombing the audition. And I managed to get myself along to the gp to sort out the aftermath of university-stress-induced chaos on my body from previous years. I should be viewing these things as positives, largely because I am a very positive person.
The problem is that I am also realistic in self and life, a trait people say they have but very few actually possess it. A lot of the time I wish I didn’t have it, because I would be thinking all of the above. Instead, I’m looking at myself as a person who isn’t going anywhere very fast, can’t shift the weight since graduation, her vanity shot to bits, has minimal equipment and people to get any projects off the ground, isn’t actually very well at all, and is creatively stuck in every. sense. of the word.
Don’t get me started on this blog. There are certain things I’ve come to accept over the years, and perhaps consistent expansion at a rate I’d prefer is just not for me. A girl can dream. Yet another avenue to search for begins. Again.
Want to know how frsutrated I am? When I get annoyed about how stuck I am with anything, my inner voice and my brain tear each other apart over the “why”. Except they’ll only do it when I’m trying to sleep. And it can last for hours. I went to bed at 2am. I gave up trying to sleep just before 6am. This post has taken 45 minutes to get the internal conversation my brain was having with itself out because, you guessed it, they’re still nattering away at each other. Currently, they’re constructing hopeful emails, which is very kind of them, but no one answers emails before 7am.
Any one else feel like this now and again? Sorry this isn’t all pictures and rainbows – I’d rather be sleeping.