For what it’s worth.

The weight is back. That sky-high pile of shit resting on your shoulders, it’s back. I noticed when I was walking through town looking for a new place. I had my head bowed and my cap over my eyes, staring at the cobblestones passing like a record under a needle, hiding my frown for those curious enough to stare.

One week down, two to go, and I haven’t found anything so far. I have to suppress a sort of panic boiling up, telling me that what I do won’t be enough.
I have one application taken into consideration, given a "I’ll contact you" left hanging. My usual response: forget about it and keep looking. But where?
It’s a cold, drafty place with a price tag even under my budget. But, it’s located right smack where I want it. 2 minutes on foot from work, 5 minutes from capoeira training. Not that the latter would matter, I can’t afford the new class season that has been going on for a month. I got to wear my new belt, once.
And hey, it’s a place, right? At least it’s something, and there is very little I can’t "personalize" right into dysfunctionality. It’s a talent.

Have you ever experienced this? Something urgent hanging over your head with a whole bunch of side effects? It’s hard to describe. One moment you’re okay, the next your mind drifts towards the problems at hand and the sky turns a shade darker. It’s a feeling I wish onto no one. Not that it’s impossible to overcome, however. You tell yourself a few times your fate is in your own hands and if you’re flexible enough, kick yourself under the rear and get going like those "tough" you can’t help but wonder about.

 

In the mean time, I’m sort of screwed at work, too. Last year I helped out with a small theatre group, playing sound technician. Push a button, play a song, nothing big. Not getting paid but meh, it was only for two weekends.
Some time ago I was asked to do this again. "Sure, no problem," I said. Next thing I know, I get a list of dates, a month and a half long, at least four times a week. It’s a production of about 25 actors, a choreographer and a director who usually does TV shows. Mixing microphones, exact cues for subdued, singing and dancing music and so on.
Way over my my head as I might be, I don’t mind. It took me a bit but I now figured out the works and I’m ready for the actual shows, starting tomorrow. What the problem is however, is that this joke has cost me around €1000 already, and that’s not counting the free meals I get at work. A full week of followspotting Disney on Ice, a gig of the Queens of the Stone Age,… All gone, because I have a rehearsal to be with. Right now, when I need my money the most.

This does not mean I would have refused if I knew beforehand, however. I would have considered it, but I would have made it work like I’m doing now. Money or no money, there’s no beating the feeling of the bits of gratitude offered to you at a job like this. They know. Perhaps not that I need to take whole days off for a 3 hour rehearsal in the evening (I try not to mention that), but that I put in my effort as much as anyone else. This is a big thing, it’s sold out already and we haven’t even played a single show. An extra show was added, sold out within a week. The press came to watch us one night, and they just loved it. And this, in part, is thanks to me, who so knightly gave up about a week’s worth of income to learn something new and contribute.

I hate to toot my own horn, but a small "You handsome man you" is in order, I would think. As part of the "backstage" crew it’s not something I should be expecting, but at least I have myself to pat on my back. I rock.

 

Oh, and.
Fuck you.

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