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Anonymous Showbiz Confessions Post #9

November 30, 2012

All of this week’s posts are written by my fellow Green Room Bloggers (not myself…or are they?), but I have published them all under my username to protect their identities. Hope you enjoy their confessions!

Being anonymous, I guess this is the easiest way I could ever write about my fears, my doubts. Because I do have them—I’m terrified:

I’m afraid that I will never have a place to call my own, a place that doesn’t come with a deadline to move out by. I want a home that doesn’t wipe out my bank account and leave me worried about how the hell I am going to be able to buy food. In the meantime, there are loans that need to be paid back and the rent is still due. And I’m constantly packing my bags, moving to the next town where there’s work/family obligations/theatre/potential opportunities. I’ve gotten really good at packing over the last few years but I’m tired of living out of my suitcase at the same time.

Will I ever meet someone who loves me—and theatre? So far, all my significant others haven’t been theatre people and they don’t “get” what I spend so much time doing theatre. Ultimately, it becomes the deal breaker. My relationships never last long enough to become serious. I mean, I like being single and I’m okay with it now but the concept of settling down with someone, having a house together (provided that I get past this phase of living temporarily here and there)—maybe even kids? I’m not sure I want kids but will I ever be secure enough that I’d have to make the choice? I can’t even keep a fish alive right now.

Speaking of staying alive—I’m lucky to have no major health problems and to be young enough to depend on my parents’ insurance. That won’t last forever. Besides, I could break a bone during a fight call and be out of work for months or something. Shit like that happens. I take care of myself, physically/mentally/emotionally but even without worrying about my health, I’m per-occupied with my physical appearance. I had an ugly duckling childhood, my parents shelled out thousands for me to have braces. There is photographic proof of the battles I’ve fought with my hair. Even today, with relatively good self-esteem, nice teeth and hair dye, I’m still judgmental about my looks. I think I’ll never play the romantic lead, my face is prone to break-outs and I could lose a few pounds.

But the biggest doubt is the question of whether or not I’m a good actor. Am I, really? I have no musical training, a certain lack of rhythm when it comes to dance, all true but acting—I can comfort myself with the reasoning that I’m just a difficult type to cast or that I’m just a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit but after certain auditions, I wonder if I’m just not a good actor and that’s that.

In that case, I think I’ll move back to my hometown to live there for the rest of my life, take monthly shots for my allergies, quit theatre, get married, become the town Historian and have four kids.

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