That's maths, that is. I am learning lessons thick and fast. Or maybe I'm not learning them fast enough, so they keep coming back IN MY FACE until I get it. One of them is 'As a freelancer, don't count on work until it's in the bag.' And what did I do? I counted on work, assuming that because it was agreed, it would happen. I even cancelled other work to do it. And now the dates have changed, ruling me out of the work, by the looks of things. So... yes, I'm a bit scared - if this goes ahead as I think it's going ahead, I have one day in March (though it hasn't happened yet, so I may need to LEARN THE LESSON again) and nothing else until June. Yet. Ha ha! While looking for a picture for 'in your face' I found an image of some Hulk fists I used to have. I used to use them in a stand-up routine, but really, I just loved to have them. They weren't mine. They belonged to Amy at Hasbro, and I really, really, REALLY wanted them when I left, but although I dropped loads of hints, I don't think I ever actually said 'can I have/buy them'. Either that or I said it so many times she wanted to kill me. Either way, I left fistless, and you can't get them like that any more (believe me, I've looked). They roar when you punch them and say all sorts of things. I'd love to have them to clown with. I'd be enjoying myself anyway. I love them. Anyway, here's a picture. Its real title is 'popculturenightmare'. I think it's a very nice picture. Look. It's just down there.
Speaking of June... I am grateful for that work coming in... it's exciting work, nice and meaty, a good balance, in two languages, for a really high level client, good people, regal people, in fact (you know who you are, Rebaldi!) I am very grateful indeed. I know I can't count on things (oh dear, how many times do I need to learn that lesson) but that just means not spending the money until it's actually in the bank. Not committing to yoga training I can't afford. I need to let go of being so afraid of not getting work and start doing more of what I love, and less fretting. I have been provided for so gloriously so far (and I don't even have a personal website up), and once I open my mind a bit more, I'm sure even more will come in. I just swapped this old cliché with Rob: when one door closes, another one opens. It does, though. Slam, glum, then all of a sudden, there's a draught (oh, that's one of those words whose spelling changes depending on its meaning and I'm not sure - I think a bit of air getting in all windy like is spelt like this in this country - forgive me if not). Now the game is to remember this up front and dispense with the glum face and start looking for cracks straight away. On the way home, I said to myself 'There must be a pony!'. Bear with me.
I have this on a Penguin postcard. It's a Penguin paperback from 1967. It's about a man whose two sons are a pessimist and an optimist, to great extremes. To test this, one Christmas, the father gives the pessimist all the presents he ever wished for and he fills the other boy's room with horse dung. He watches the pessimist look at the presents with suspicion, trying to work out the catch. In the optimist's room, laughter and whooping is to be heard. The father asks him why he's so happy. 'Well,' he says, digging through the shit and throwing it behind him, 'with all this horse shit, there must be a pony!' Cheesy, maybe, yes, there has been a fair bit of shit over the past few weeks, and I realise that since 'Germanygate', I've been sitting in the pessimist camp. In fact, not just since then. I've let myself go (oh dear - such a damning phrase - all lank hair and head smell) and I've been looking for the catch everywhere. Not completely without reason. The 'yoga school turns out to be sex cult' bit hasn't helped hugely, especially as I've definitely let myself get terribly wary around potential partners (yoga teacher crush turning into me being a potential initiation candidate for him has only served to underline that). But I can remind myself to be more optimistic, on so many levels. It was a big thing on the clown course, that. Stay optimistic. I loved the clowning. I loved having a little taste of success doing it. It's very moreish. Not total success - that just doesn't happen anyway - but a little flavour - enough to get a taste for that kind of interaction with an audience.So, back to the idea of being looked after... As if to prove a point, I just applied for a job on Casting Call Pro, because it looked really exciting - it's a short film and it's paid in tea and cake, but it looks like the kind of project you'll be glad you did for the rest of your life. As soon as I'd sent the application email, I arrived in an inbox I didn't know I had (a bit like Mr Benn when he goes through the curtain with today's costume on). In it was an email from a brand new company offering forum theatre work for some of the dates that will be cancelled. I may be too late to get that actual work, but if I was in doubt about being looked after, I can just stop right there. It's all going to be fine. Relax.
Thank you for lovely friends, gifts, chats, exchanges. For plans that will force me out of my bed in the morning so we don't have a repeat of today's 'not getting up' fiasco which is so bad for my sanity.
Oh... the facebook ban is working. I checked it one extra time today, but really only the bit I needed to - I'd put an ad up for tonight's impro drop-in (which rocked, actually - brilliant stuff) and I needed to check if there'd been any enquiries. So now I'm only looking once a day, when I post the blog, and I'm looking at everything in that one slot of up to 20 minutes. So until late last night, I hadn't seen all the fabulous birthday messages on facebook. They bowled me over so bigly that I just sat there open-mouthed. There were lots of odd, funny, lovely messages from such diverse people and I felt truly blessed. There were some lovely photo images (Grease - ta, Face; Rock star - Lyndi, you rock; dogs! and a song - thank you, Max). And so many more than I can mention. I'm not a fan of the birthday. I always feel a bit odd. But seeing this was a lovely, lovely end to it. Nice one, you people. For you all and your finger-tapping, I am grateful. You are very, very sweet peaches.
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