All the Metaphors

I am unbelievably anxious. I'm not one to get anxiety, but this is definitely one of those times. I turned in my letter of resignation today, and have yet to find a replacement job. I have options, and a plan, but I figure that if I don't find a job right away, I still have a fallback. And it's not a BAD fallback, per se. Just not the ideal one. And I know that this is probably because I've gotten too comfortable being where I am. I watch my client all day, then go home and do what I do until bed, never having to deal with rent, or buying or making food, or anything. This is ultimately ensuring that the quench doesn't crack me, I suppose, if I'm going to use this stupid blade metaphor.

This is for the best. I put on my best Tywin Lannister face, and try to convince myself that this is the only real option. As nice as it is being cooked for and not paying rent, it also sucks not being able to date. And I know it won't be like Aurora, where I suffered from a lack of everything. I have new clothes, I'm up-to-date on my medical things, and I'll be doing this with friends and plenty of people around. It won't be half as bad as I'm scaring myself into thinking it could be. Also, I'll be within a short driving distance of my producer buddy, so I could potentially really make a name for myself.

Ultimately, this is the correct decision. This is the smart decision. I only hope that fate is kind for the next year. Though all signs point to no. At this point, I feel like the appropriate thing to do is grab fate by the nuts, give a squeeze, and tell it that the real decision here isn't whether this happens, but whether fate gets to keep its boys.

See, the main problem has been that when I send my scripts off for readings, I get glowing praise, with one or two things they're not super fond of. Then they slap me with a 5 out of 10. It's like each reader went to the Vander Zee school of grading fuckery, as I've not been graded so hard since college botany. Not that I have a problem with tough grading. Keeps the riffraff out. But this plan is effectively us trying to get into a wonderful moated castle. Some people are paladins. They come at things head-on and sink or swim by their own merit. I, however, am a rogue, and I'll play to my strengths, coming at this sideways. We're effectively constructing a ladder to cross the moat and summarily scale the castle, with the assumption being that an appreciation for our cunning and ladder-making ability will net us a spot at someone's table once inside.

As much as I would like to make metaphors from here until eternity, I'm getting back to work. I've got a lot of dialogue to polish.