Three Assholes In My Head
“It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday.”
While it is my birthday, this happens to be a line from Company, which is a musical, where the main character, Bobby (the birthday boy) is awaiting the doom of his thirty-fifth birthday. While he awaits this inevitable event he falls down a rabbit hole of alcohol and depression as he reexamines his life. Now, I’m not thirty-five -- twenty-four, actually -- and I’m not depressed, or an alcoholic but I am doing a little self inventory, and if I’m being honest I’m a bit disappointed.
Why? Well, maybe I’m just frustrated, or maybe I just feeling like whining about my lack of success in the last month or so.
Yes, here we are. We have arrived at the problem. I’m pissy because I haven’t gotten any of the two jobs I went out for this last month.
Really, you’re complaining? You signed up for this, pal. It’s 97% rejection you know this, so get over it. -- These are things I say to myself to put this all into perspective. Because this truly is only the beginning. However, as a the more stern, hard ass version of myself gives me a good talking to the more fragile, weak ass version of myself tends to surface to fight back. Because fuck you I can think how I want and I can feel how I want and it is goddamn disappointing when you are faced with rejection, especially when you’re doing everything --
Well, this is what you signed up for --
No. Yes. But also no. I signed up to be an actor, and yes, hard ass version of myself, yes auditioning and rejection are part of the job. However... I swear I had a point.
Then the third guy shows up, I call him Mr. Reason. Mr. Reason has a super sweet, kind way of speaking, very TV Dad. Cue “Full House” end of episode musical. Basically he says,
“Listen, you’re entitled to be frustrated. That’s part of the job too. And you’re new to rejection. It’s not something you’re used to. That’s okay. It’s growing pains. However, as you grow and as you have time off the stage, away from the camera, you need to ask yourself, are you doing everything you can in your power to get these jobs? Are you meticulously going over monologues, are you reading plays, are you getting yourself healthy? Or are you allowing yourself excuses?”
While awesome and insightful, or whatever you want to call what Mr. Reason is saying, I’m still a conflicted, complicated, contradicting, really wishing I could keep the alliteration thing going but, LAZY mother-fucker. And, yes no excuse. Lazy is not an excuse. Lazy is not the answer. Lazy is the fucking devil. It’s the bane of my existence. Lazy is what is perpetually standing in my way. He’s fucking Snorlax, massively plopped in the middle of the one bridge I need to get across. Well, I don’t happen to have a magical flute or six level thirty Pokemon, and 100 Ultra Balls to make this mother fucker mine. To own him. I got to do this shit the hard way. Which I guess is... I don’t know. Get the fuck up? Push him off the bridge. He is sleeping after all. In case this is all going over whoever-got-this-far’s head, I am Snorlax. Shocker, yes. I know. You never expect you’re the killer. Yet, it’s true. Some hard truth, but truth I’ve known for a while now, yet have such a difficult f-ing time doing something about it. So maybe this is it, or maybe it isn’t. It’s hard to tell. I come face to face with this mother-fucker all the time, but yet I always turn back. I cower away from it. Three Asshole, what do you think that’s about? Fear. Failure. Fucking dumb. A mix of the three, probably. You’re all right. Maybe I’ll consider doing something about it.
Oh, and from all three of the assholes in your head, Happy Birthday.
Make twenty-four count. I’d really hate to add a fourth asshole to this already fucked up bunch.
