Really Feel

My first General meeting I was confused. I thought I was meeting a new friend through a different friend for coffee to talk about how weird Hollywood is. I didn't understand that I was actually trying to sell myself until I was back in my car. I had worn shorts, like we were going to walk down the boulevard and grab lattes and ask ourselves why we even try. Instead we sat in a conference room across a huge table, and she grilled me on shows I was or wasn't watching. There are right answers to these things, I learned. Or maybe right attitudes to the answers.

The next meeting I knew not to be sad. That's not what they want to hire. It took me a few more meetings to learn to pitch and then a few more to learn, oh, I'm just here to entertain. Do bits, make them laugh, essentially put on a play called I'm Positive About Everything. No one wants to know how you really feel. At least I know now, and my manager has been getting these post-meeting emails and calls "We just love her!" Meaning, "We loved the play!"

But that's work. That's not necessarily unique to this industry, I guess I guess. But everyone is work. I am my work. Cobra visited and I could sense at first she was enjoying the tragic stories. I mean, they're juicy, but then when I wasn't happy at the end of them, that was less fun. I can't get her anything, she realized. She cancelled our next plans. She read my most recent script and said, "I read it." I feel like I could lose my mind for less. I feel the need to tell a couple people about my disappointment, but it makes them uncomfortable too. I try to keep a mental tally of who would allow me to need, and it is a short list. I don't think actually you could logically call so few people a list.

Is it narrative structure that has ruined us? "But you struggled with that yesterday. Shouldn't today be better?"

Time Traveling Moon: Pt Two

"But you CAN get too caught up in Love! You can, and then you've done nothing for anyone! You must do the work!" Stripes was practically screaming int he middle of Maggie Daley Park. That happens sometimes. She gets overwhelmed with ideas and starts whooping without knowing it.
"But," I barely interrupted. "But, on the other hand--"
Stripes' huge eyes spun on me. "BUT, you can become engulfed in the structure, and then you're devoid of anything real! Your heart is gone! Your purpose is squat!"
We hoof on the silver brick road.
"So how do you balance the two?" I ask.
It's warm for November. I didn't even wear a coat. People are playing frisbee in shorts.

Later Bisque shows us photos of the universe. Galaxies, black holes, all of it. My brain starts shutting off because it's all so unbelievable. We talk about the moon. It's so bright, but it's a rock. We say there is moonlight, but there isn't. There is only sunlight, and the moon filters the good stuff to us who need it. The sun is sending light all over the place, but the moon's structure shows us the shine.