I just finished a huge week of work. Freelance is very difficult to justify in a capitalist society. Even though I work sometimes in excess of 100 hours in a week, pounding through to-do lists and making things easier for our theater company or someone else’s, even though I am proud — even thrilled — with the amount of learning and progress I am making toward becoming a more complete web developer, even though I am conquering fear after fear to become a better person, I flinch when people ask me what I do.

There’s a certain degree of male self-importance here. A fellow actor asked me this innocuous question tonight: “What do you do?” Translated from actor-speak, that generally means “What is your day job? How do you pay your bills?” I felt a little shame in saying I was a freelance web developer, working from home. Through no particular fault of her own since we are trained to equate financial success with worth, I could see my value diminish in her estimation. I quickly mentioned that I had worked at some quite prestigious agencies before I quit to pursue my dream.

But I still struggle with it. And it does get in the way sometimes. I think my wife resents that she makes so much more than me, despite my semi-feminist belief that this is a good thing. I couldn’t make what she makes doing what I do, even if I commanded a proper salary for it. I’m just not in that kind of demand as a specialist. I also don’t really care to make that kind of money. We have everything we need, within reason, and if we had more money, we would just be wasteful with it under the guise of stress relief.

Often, I want to go back and live in a studio apartment. I crave that kind of simplicity. The feeling that at any moment maybe I would just move to Johannesburg or Taipei or Switzerland and just be me somewhere else. I know that’s a common fantasy, but the part I really treasure is the place from which the fantasies spring.

I’ve always required a sanctuary, and right now, that just is not possible. In the last few years, I’ve been saying all too frequently that in a few more weeks, my schedule clears up enough that I can take a weekend off and go to a workshop, or that I can finally start a regular D&D game with some friends. But what really happens is that I’m just on to the next ten-project quarter, desperately trying not to let anyone down, and failing most if not all those people in the process.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve managed some wonderful collaborations in the past year or so, ones of which I am undeniably proud. I just can’t help wondering if I would be more successful if I focused on one thing at a time. I’m not sure I’ve set myself up to make that happen.

This felt good. Maybe more of this.

I just want to think that I’m as beautiful as I think other people are. All of them.

I know all bald guys look alike. I get compared to just about all of them at some point, but this one’s pretty close. If I ever had to be a lookey-likey, this would probably be the one. I wouldn’t mind his career, either, BBC; I do stunts.

[[paragraph breaks are my humble addition]]

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Stop saying you love me! It’s a sure-fire way to lose my respect! I hate myself.

Thank you. I suck, yes, I suck. But, I rule.

From July 25th-

Starring in some undisclosed play and having a reasonable time before I needed to be on stage, I followed the spritely actress between the hanging laundry that formed the layered walls of the stage back to the cramped passage that led into the bottom of the tower.

It was starlight then, when it hadn’t been before and as she disappeared around a corner in the red candle light of the stone passage, I heard noise behind me. My feet hovering just above the ground, I noiselessly slid around the corner to see another cherubic actress chasing after the first.

She must have seen me and pursued, because she eventually caught me, taking my arm and placing her cheek against my shoulder as we walked. We were not paramours, but she treated me with an affection I craved in the dream.

When I awoke, that arm was asleep.

Not meant to imply anything about my current relationship, but past ones… certainly.

After:

• 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
• The Rover
• November at Windfall Theater
• Little Red Hoodie at Sunset Playhouse
• MACE Training Web Site

I don’t like writing. It’s as simple as that. I turn to it when I have things to express that I don’t feel I can trust anyone with. That’s all. I have learned to write only when it’s a desperate act: a deadline, a phrase stuck in my head, a need to expunge bile. That’s why everything I write has that urgency to it.

That’s something I thought of.

I want to write this on facebook, but I fear no one will get it. I should write more on that, actually, having contributed my real world name to some theater criticism on a blog, but…

What I want to write in my facebook status, that I cannot in good conscience leave for people to comment on is this:

I’ve been thinking more about directing because I’m simply not pretty enough to be an actor.

I know what people will say, and I know what people will think. But that is the truth. I have no interest in being pretty (though I want to be fit) and I think I can make good theater if I no longer have to worry about my own appearance in the making of it.