Sure Footing
Early May was my last post. I don't believe anyone has been dying for more, but here I am.
The months since May constituted my recovery time from serious foot surgery. Some people's hips go, some people's knees. My foot. And all those tiny bones and formerly shredded tendons take a long, long time to heal. My medical status is of so little interest to anyone except me that I'll say only that many months is a long time in bed.
Now I'm having physical therapy, but am not able to walk yet. I will, however.
In the meantime I did something rather terrible to a very kind friend the other day. I think I've grown bitter, because most people who know considerably less than I do about the creative arts are making big money. And I'm not. An oft told tale.
My friend, who was once a wonderful, one-of-a-kind boss at Disney, has had a difficult time replacing the job he once held there. Finally, he came up with a good match. Company creates modern sell ideas. Modern. See, that's good (also my definition of what the company does). Contemporary constitutes current ideas. Modern can jump ahead and that's the definition of good creative.
Anyhow, I congratulated my friend and, then, without skipping a beat, slammed the company's Web site. That's cold, man. Especially considering how long he has looked for this job. And what his life has been like since Disney. I did a terrible thing. Writing this I realize that I'm going to have to apologize. I can't expect my ill behavior easily to be forgotten. And only a letter will do. No email.
Oprah's journal page this month asks us about our youthful dreams. How did they turn out. Here comes the source of my bitterness. (No excuses.) I thought I would be a star. It was a given. Also I am a great actor, so the star - not the real point - would just come along with my talent.
Guess what? I became a copywriter, a whore. Ultimately, thanks to my friend at Disney, I wrote a few scripts. But Page 6. Well, you haven't seen my name there. Liza does not have my picture on her piano. No one does as far as I know.
Now my lack of money and the wealth of everyday problems that creates has made me, sadly, bitter. I'm trying to take enough anti-depressants - got off schedule while I've been confined; even told my shrink I thought I didn't need the medication anymore: I'm an idiot - but can't seem to get back on track. Maybe the track's gone. Possible. I'm going to write a letter now.
Dreams. If they get away, you become bitter and hurt the few people who don't care that you didn't become a star. I did without realizing it, 'til this week.
posted by lvuback1 @ 12:36 AM
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