My workday started just as everyday before, I was fighting my anxiety and tried to keep my act perpetuating (and my puke below throat level) as if I knew what I was doing. It would go something like this: I was in the office hours before everyone else. This gave me the time to make sure everything appeared as if I was an expert. The only problem with this was I was loosing much sleep. Growing adult acne at an excessive rate and my scrappy girly grooming qualities had withered with any confidence I may have saved through my awkward life.
As I finished setting up the Avid sequence for my hot headed, quinoa eating, pre-Modonna (I believe my reference of the Pop Queen that just can’t let Lady Gaga borrow her over surgical spotlight really helps accentuate LA’s stereotypical disposition) editor I downed my cup of coffee hoping for a cocaine like buzz only to receive a completely drenched white t-shirt, shit (I promise I do not have the boob capacity to make this more then coffee on a shirt)! As I blotted down my shirt I was forced to notice the awful jeans I had walked into that morning: A straight leg with a mom like waist that gave me a pre-historical flat butt. However, the problem was I had sketched a dejected, anchor with eyebrows on the thigh of my pant leg somewhere on a drunk Saturday night. However, it was not art it was rubbish.
My day gig seemed consistent with my unpaid life, a dirty-pig debauchery. As I finally got my works ducks in an askew line I took cover in a bomb-shelter like editing bay. It was warm. It seemed safe. However, it felt so comfortable that it was like hypothermia as the victim feels a warm sensation, as if the coldness is fading, but this is a sign that the hypothermia is getting worse…next step death.
As a warm tingling sensation took over my body a stunted, frail body stood in the doorframe. His grain built voice echoed like a girl, a girl with facts. I “fucking sucked” according to him. His voice was so damn organic that my chemical-addicted brain could not process. This guy had the communication of the family that I came from dysfunctional. Then I was suddenly prepared I knew how to survive this… Stay quite and function like Taylor, Swiftly.
I exited the building to head up stairs to grab some files for my sweet boss man. Just as I headed for the stairs I sneezed. I covered my mouth for I am 87% a lady. A man turned the corner. I expected a “bless you” or a casual “gesundheit” What I got was “Eat your own shit”! I waited for laughter to trail but all that was received were his confident eyes as he quickly entered what seemed to a supply closet. Stunned, I looked for any stranger to participate in one of the coldest moments of human interaction I have received in my perhaps, uneventful twenty-eight years. I stood there in the isolation of my job and the mean of my morning that lingered.
Of course as I entered the production office I made jokes with colleagues about what had happened because it was a pretty impressive story. However, this was also a key moment of my denial, I was not happy. I had worked through school and almost five years after to have a chance at this job. The problem was I had been lying to myself in and I hadn’t been ready to admit that maybe this: my present life is not really what I have ever wanted. Swoosh! The biggest truth is that I had known this much longer then my memory will ever recollect
Join me now friends, foes, and (fingers crossed) a kin member, as I now take a job in post-production that is low key and mindless. To work whores’ hours for not whore pay to give me the break to find out maybe what will provide me with fulfillment and confidence I know it is about time I deserve it.
”To go wrong in one’s own way is better than to go right in someone else’s.” - Razumihin, Crime and Punishment