The insomnia is back, although I'm not sure it ever left...I can't really say that about too much else in my life. Ok, roll the eyes, cue the violins, call the shrink. What can I say??! I'm sullen. It's fucking 4:45 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm awake. And not because I never went to bed on Friday either. I did "go to bed" on Friday at a rather sad time of 9:45PM, only to wake up an hour later to a freeze-frame of Calista Flockhart's sad "Ally McBeal" face, courtesy of Netflix, on my juiceless laptop. And if you're wondering, no, this isn't bottom. I realized I was done Rip Van Winkle-ing my way through the night about two hours ago, but how I wish I could sleep...or maybe...no, just sleep.
For the past week or so, I have been holding a garage sale in my garage-less home. My apartment has become a Big Lots! for fine furnishings and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't slightly depressing. Strangers have been coming into my apartment and walking out with my furniture that I've accumulated along my way into adulthood; pieces that I remember picking out and getting excited over, that were maybe too expensive, but worth the money because they were "going to be with me forever." For example, that Crate Barrel dresser that I got when I was 26, which now belongs to some 3-year old in Pasadena who will draw on it in crayon and outgrow it in two years; or the Crate & Barrel nightstand I got when I was living in North Carolina trying to become a doctor which now belongs to woman who bought it for her baby that's not even born yet (which is ironic considering I kept condoms in there because I'd rather be safe than sorry...that woman, obviously, had a different life approach). Out of my door go my memories and my pride as an adult, all at bargain (by my standards) prices, to make ends meet. Soon, I, too, will be leaving my apartment, though I'm pretty sure it won't be on anyone's dolly. I don't know, I haven't tried listing myself on Craigslist yet...though after a conversation I had where one person argued, "I'll usually only pay about 30% of the value of an item," I'd be very concerned about what I, personally, would finally be sold for. To be honest, a few coins aren't really going to help my current situation.
For a few reasons, this has been sad as hell. Even though I look at what I've been so fortunate to have been involved with these past few months (the projects, the casts, the crews, the sets) and what may be on the horizon, as I watched "Mario" carry my refrigerator out yesterday with the last bit of Wondermutt's fur hanging from the bottom, on some level, I feel like a bit of a failure.
This past Wednesday was the L.A. premiere of Heterosexual Jill, the first feature film I ever worked on (I was a production assistant, and if you recall, it was also my acting debut as "Reclaimed Lesbian" thankyouverymuch). It was the first time I had seen the finished film, the cast and crew since February 2012, and it was such a thrill. I've said it before and I'll say it a million times--there really is nothing like seeing a movie you've worked on, completed and up on the big screen. It was thrilling and really so much fun. On my way home, as I was driving through downtown L.A., a film crew was setting up for what looked like a big budget movie car scene with cranes, cameras on cars, elaborate lighting setups, the whole nine. They did two takes, and I was right in front of the action at a stoplight (you might see my license plate...). I was completely fascinated, the whole time (the only other times I'm that giddy is on Christmas Eve before Santa arrives or when the bartender comes with my drink). When the police finally gave us the go ahead to drive through and I saw everyone reset for the next take, I was certain of two things amidst this time of general future uncertainty and bleak financial status: there is nothing I'd rather do than make movies and I have no regrets about pursuing that.
