People keep calling the office, bothering me for money. It's not my money they're after, it's the money they're owed by the company I am working for temporarily.
Well, I tell them, everyone is out of the office all week. No, I can't help you. You'll just have to leave a voice mail. I cut them off and switch them over to voice mail before they can say goodbye, or thank you, or I have another question. And then I am back to my reading People Magazine online. What?? Lindsay Lohan wore that dress AGAIN??
It's incredibly liberating to work as a temp. No sense of ownership. No need to be too nice, because I'm out of here next week anyway. Hey, I'm not invested in this company. Call me passive-aggressive, but I'm happy to give these pushy showbiz types a little bristle. Not everyone's going to be subservient to you, and certainly not me. I used to care too much about every job I had, but as I've matured, I realize it doesn't pay to care.
It's starting not to bother me so much anymore, this not following my dreams business. I mean, the life of a successful entertainer would be a nightmare, right? You can't go anywhere without being recognized; you have to do all that PR stuff, and what a drag THAT would be! Sure, I'd love to have the means to travel all over the world and stuff like that, and I did enjoy performing...but I'm already too old to try my hand at Hollywood anyway. And even if I got some kind of work, would that really make me happy? At least not following my dreams, I am in total control of my feelings of not being fulfilled.
It's kind of nice, knowing what the next couple of years are going to be like: I will work temp jobs where I can surf the internet, read about the celebrities, and thank my lucky stars that I never ended up like any of those messed up broads. Then I will go home, heat up my leftovers, watch my shows, walk my dog, and go to bed. It's nice. I got too constipated on the road. My system doesn't agree with all the flying around and the travelling hither and yon. No, I'll stay right here. I didn't like this town when we moved here, but after six years here, it's really starting to grow on me.
My artist friends look dissapointed when I tell them that no, I haven't been acting or drawing or writing or singing...but what do they know? They're all stressed out, sleep deprived, money and fame hungry, neurotic basket cases. That's not for me. No, it's a blessing to be ordinary. It's the human condition to be a little bit unhappy.
Just because I may have had a little bit of talent doesn't mean I'm sinning against anyone not to be pursuing it, right? In a way, I'm one of the fortunate ones! Most of those stars, they work so hard to get their careers going, only to wake up one day addicted to painkillers, three husbands and a suicidal child later, and realize that they were looking for something in their lives that they thought they could get from the adoration of a crowd! I have had that epiphany, without any of the success tied to it! And without any of the marriages or children. I got to that place all by myself, and still nobody knows my name. See, it's all worked out quite well for me, really.
Damn, another phone call. Eh, I'll just put them on hold.
5 comments:
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Do you want a bigger penis?
Too bad because I'm not an evil, spamming advertisor that fools you into thinking you have a lot of comments and that you are a cool, popular blogger that provokes discussion only later to see that the posters are robots and you are a sad lonely person as you've always been. No, I am human and have no interest in making your penis larger.
Anyway you've reinforced my argument that a journey in life isn't to a place in which you're happy but a place in which you're content.
My assistant manager drove me down to the Loop and went on for about an hour about how much he's screwed up his life and the only thing he can do now is try as hard as he can to help others "who still have a chance" not screw up their lives. He almost had me feeling sorry for him until I made it to his apartment. This asshole has this awesome apartment for cheap, in a location that's in walking distance to one of the coolest, most cultured areas in the city (and oddly enough he has a cat named "Ambrocious Spank-My-Ass Fluffyfuck"). I would kill to have that apartment but he still went on and on about how much his life has been ruined. So reading that post had extra relevance to me.
the adoring crowd knows your name.
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