So yesterday we got an email from my program director letting us know that one of our program members signed with a really cool agency and sold a pilot. And honestly I’m not surprised – he’s crazy talented.
She asked if anyone else had any exciting updates.
And I’d hate to be that person with acne cream/two-day hair/sweatpants/a hole in the armpit in their shirt sitting in the middle of a room strewn with diapers, de-capped pens and other baby debris crying at someone else’s success-
-but I was sitting there with acne cream/two-day hair/sweatpants/a hole in the armpit of my shirt, sitting in a room that had completely been demolished by the walking Cat-5 hurricane that is my offspring. And I almost cried.
This has been a feverish time of fighting with myself. A constant battle between self-pity and the part of me that dusts myself off and stands up. Optimism vs. the realism that is my current situation.
And it’s a battle that goes on all day, every day:
6am – “Hell yeah, let’s take this day”
10am- “OMG what even is this nastiness in the sink. I don’t remember that being there last night”
10:05 – “Why am I even home to see this nastiness at 10am?! I am a college graduate! I should be at work!”
11am – “Pull it together, Blair. Things could be a lot worse. Be grateful.”
11:05 – “You’re so right.” *serenity* *thankfulness*
11:05-12 – work/work/work
12pm – “Hey, inbox! Got any life-changing news for me, buddy?”
12:05 – “Nothing? That’s cool. No worries. I’m fine. I’m-”
12:05-5pm WHAT AM I EVEN DOING WITH MY LIFE AND WHY ARE MY SOCKS WET WHAT THE *#@* DID I EVEN STEP IN
…it devolves from there.
Because it turns out applying for jobs in January is like
and applying for jobs in March is like
Until now, I didn’t realize how privileged I was. Until now, I’d apply and get calls by the end of the week. In November, I even said to a friend – now try not to fall out of your seats laughing – I said:
I don’t want to start looking yet, as I’m not available for another six weeks.
And I know there’s a plan. I know God’s got it. He always does. That almost makes this harder, because everyone is like – ‘God has it!’ And I’m like ‘I know, but I’m reaching that point where people are going to think my yoga pants are fused to my skin’.
So – when I got that email, I was like
But inside I was like
AND THEN MY SISTER CALLED TO TELL US THAT SHE THOUGHT SHE MIGHT HAVE LICE
—cause she came home for the weekend and it turns out someone she knows from college got it from someone ELSE at college and she was freaking out—
Is this Paris circa 1834? Am I Fantine in Les Mes? No? Then I have no excuse to have lice. Lice is something I cannot pull off.
So in a fit of mania, I almost replied to my sweet director:
“Well I live with my parents and recently acquired lice – Katie, Class of 2014”
but I refrained for reasons of not wanting to sound crazy and/or diseased.
Turns out, my sister was totally fine and this house is LOUSE FREE.
Still. For about three hours, I was like — hello, rock bottom. It’s nice to meet you. I thought you’d have more Netflix and ice cream. Alas, you look a lot like being 26 and unemployed.
It’s hard to blog about life when I’m not sure if it’s funny or pathetic. Maybe both. But this is my life, right now. And I’m working my ass off to make it better. And I won’t stop til it is.
I’m going to finish this second book. And this pilot. And this spec. And I’m going to continue this workout regimen that is making me walk like I’m imitating a cowboy. And I’m going to try and laugh when my daughter throws her entire plate on the ground and then says “uh oh” like it was an accident when I SAW THAT, ARYN LEE.
In five minutes I might be giving this rousing speech from under my covers whilst I cry. But right now I am declaring that this will be a funny story instead of an omen. You got that, life?! THIS IS FUNNY.
YOU HEAR THAT, PITY PARTY ME? YOU’RE GOING DOWN.