The glamorous life

Bah.  I didn’t hear anything back from the callback, which in this case, is not good.  I’m disappointed, but I had a feeling when I left that I just wasn’t that relaxed enough to really do it justice.  Crap.

I was on set on Tuesday, in a part I didn’t give a crap about, but at least it was some money, right? Everyone was really nice.    My ego was kept well in check by yet again for the umpteenth time in my career for being mistaken for being an extra.  I’m not going to tell you how much that used to piss me off, but at this point, I’ve learned to be philosophical. Yes, I’m black and I’m wearing a uniform but I’ve got lines, buddy, let me through.   And of course, I saw another actor who I did a small part with a decade ago and now he does big roles and I’m still doing bit parts.  Lovely.  I have a feeling that I’m just going to have to return to my rule of not doing small parts. I know there are so many actors out there who would love to be in my position, but it’s a little soul sucking for me. It felt good to be an actor, thinking like an actor, preparing like an actor and it just felt good to see my name on the call sheet. I didn’t complain, I just did my job and left with my dignity intact.  Sounds like I did a porno, right?  Nope, just another low budget TV movie – like the good old days.

Hubby took the day off work, though it turned out my call time was in the afternoon, so we spent a little family time together.  When I came home, after a perilous rainy drive on Hwy 1 (what the hell is it with this province and the condition of the highways?!  Can somebody put down some white road lines that are actually VISIBLE  at night?!!!), I came home and hubby was passed out on the couch, toys and bones strew around our tiny living room.  This is a habitual thing; I can still manage to walk the dog, do laundry, vacuum,do errands, take care of the kid and the dog, make  a passable dinner  but 2-3  hours with the kid and  he can’t clean up a small area before he passes out.  And it bugs me, cause I’m the one who ends up tripping over something.   I know, I know, he’s tired, too, but it just makes my day seem like never an end to it. (I hear you out there OHN:  Deathstar, there isn’t and end to your day now.)

So the first thing when I get home is can you help me pick up a few things?  It just flew out of my mouth and I just really wanted  to talk about my night and how I felt, but he was totally bagged and I felt sad and lonely. So groggy hubby picks up a few things and I finish my bedtime routine of making sure the heat is off and odd cups and glasses are in the kitchen. And I have the sad thought that even though I worked, everything seemed the same as it was the day before.  There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

There’s a lot of anxiety in the house about where we are going next.  I know hubby is really down about it and I’m doing my best, but it’s disheartening.   It’s not like we have a deadline or anything looming over us, it’s just that our choices are so few and I know sooner is always better than later.  And he wants ME  to pick one.  Once fall hits, it will be leaf raking time and I don’t think hubby can go through that again at the same house.  It’s tough to think that we both never dreamed we’d be where we are right now.  It seems as if the economics of our family building have put us about 10 years back. And did I mention my 49th birthday is  5 days away?

I remember the days when getting the gig was the goal for me.  Now getting an actor role is just about making a couple of bucks towards a goal for my family.  The bigger the role, the faster I can contribute to buying our own home.  I need to chant.  I need to be hopeful.

We are both being so much kinder to one another, and I need to demonstrate my commitment to my husband even more.  I vacuumed the basement yesterday. The dog hair was everywhere.   I know that sounds weird, but I NEVER  do it.  He always takes care of downstairs, but I think life is really getting to him and I sense his life condition is also in the basement.  He’s really miserable about this place. (I’m not sure if he gets that it’s just a metaphor for his life.)  I’ve been in a constant state of anger for months, but the one thing my Buddhism has taught me is that it will become my environment.  And it has.  So I need to change.  Hubby acknowledged and appreciated the fact that I cleaned the basement ( and now that I don’t have to watch the kid every second, just every other second) he actually mowed the front of the house.  Not that I cared  but he thought I did, so he did it, unasked.

Is it just me or do you find it irritating when your man complains he is tired because he gets up early to go to WORK. And he’s not a construction worker.  True, I do not get up when he does, but he gets to sit on a bus in peace and quiet and work in a quiet environment with adults and when I call  I frequently interrupt his GOLF game with the boys. They make phone calls is what they do.  I’d like to see how tired he gets when he has a toddler at you, who objects to a request /demand to change his stinking diaper before you gag, who won’t put on his socks and shoes voluntarily or who cries  and pitches a fit when you try to get him to his scheduled activity that you paid good money for.

An actor’s life. Yep, full of glamour.

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3 thoughts on “The glamorous life

  1. I feel this post, a lot. My husband helps out on the weekend, but his idea of being with the kids is to make the house as disgusting as possible, so it makes me resentful. I know he’s playing with the kids in a great way, getting down on the floor with them, encouraging the creative play process better than I do, etc. But the mess makes me furious sometimes. Argh.

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