The hardest part is probably all the things I run into that I have no clue about. You would think that with how much time we spent studying for nearly two decades, that would be impossible. But it isn't. There are things all the time that I run into that I have no clue about. More in the beginning than now, when it seemed like I was tripping on them every direction I took a step. But it still happens.
The best thing is the challenge of the balance. Everyone and everywhere and everything expects different things of you, faces you carry, ways you act, and dress, and are. During roll call, and table reads, and up before the sun, in bed long after midnight shooting. How you're supposed to be at home, as a roommate, out on the town with coworkers, and friends, the people you're dating, in bars and clubs, and luncheons, and meetings, just as much as at red carpet opening night appearances or invited back to people's mansions.
( She doesn't know how to touch the five words that her eyes linger down on each time. She wants it to be true, so much she doesn't check that her response becomes an instant reflection of him. She wants to write that Hollywood is boring without him, too, but that's not true. LA refuses to be boring at any time of day or night, but the words still prick a truth deeper than that. It's not Hollywood. It's her.
She wants to change to her first answer to the one she could never write to him, never say. The worst part, the hardest and most challenging part of LA, wasn't LA related. It was coming to this place, feeling like only half of herself ever arrived. It was having to build a self she'd never wanted to be, never thought of becoming, still didn't know what was supposed to look like, be made of, if it would ever be good enough to fill the void around it.
But it's not something she can write. It's barely a thing she can let herself think. )
I finished up an updated portfolio shoot earlier this morning. Headshots this time. That you have to take the hundred to get a workable half dozen/dozen, and still pay for all of them is, also, annoying. There's so much that goes on behind the scenes in every part of all of this. I'm feeling tired after it all and this last week, so hopefully, you won't mind this being a little shorter.
Allison
P.S. I'm always right. But maybe if you're good, you can apply, and I will consider being your god, too. Someone has to take pity on you for you reaching your glass ceiling early.
no subject
The hardest part is probably all the things I run into that I have no clue about. You would think that with how much time we spent studying for nearly two decades, that would be impossible. But it isn't. There are things all the time that I run into that I have no clue about. More in the beginning than now, when it seemed like I was tripping on them every direction I took a step. But it still happens.
The best thing is the challenge of the balance. Everyone and everywhere and everything expects different things of you, faces you carry, ways you act, and dress, and are. During roll call, and table reads, and up before the sun, in bed long after midnight shooting. How you're supposed to be at home, as a roommate, out on the town with coworkers, and friends, the people you're dating, in bars and clubs, and luncheons, and meetings, just as much as at red carpet opening night appearances or invited back to people's mansions.
( She doesn't know how to touch the five words that her eyes linger down on each time. She wants it to be true, so much she doesn't check that her response becomes an instant reflection of him. She wants to write that Hollywood is boring without him, too, but that's not true. LA refuses to be boring at any time of day or night, but the words still prick a truth deeper than that. It's not Hollywood. It's her.
She wants to change to her first answer to the one she could never write to him, never say. The worst part, the hardest and most challenging part of LA, wasn't LA related. It was coming to this place, feeling like only half of herself ever arrived. It was having to build a self she'd never wanted to be, never thought of becoming, still didn't know what was supposed to look like, be made of, if it would ever be good enough to fill the void around it.
But it's not something she can write.
It's barely a thing she can let herself think. )
Allison
P.S. I'm always right. But maybe if you're good, you can apply, and I will consider being your god, too. Someone has to take pity on you for you reaching your glass ceiling early.