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My December to Remember 2: Day Seven

News: Aaron Judge signs nine-year, $360M contract with Yankees.
China loosens zero-Covid restrictions.

Raphael Warnock defeats Herschel Walker in Georgia senate runoff.
AOC investigated by House Ethics Committee.

If you looked up “pile of shit” in the dictionary, you would see a livestream of me from 6:00PM Tuesday to 6:00AM Wednesday. I went out with a few friends last night and really tied one off. And I’m so not used to going out that I forgot all my major rules: Don’t drink on an empty stomach, and drink water between drinks. I did neither. I was on some kind of bender where I had to show off just how much I could pack away, listening to whatever kept me drinking and not really wanting to stop. Who would even stop me anyway?

Four bourbons later I threw a fifty down on the table and somehow made my way home. I don’t remember the Uber ride, I don’t even know if I fed the cat. At some point I slipped and fell backwards into the bathtub. I threw all my new bras off my bed and passed out for an hour, only to wake up and finish my night note for work (somehow) until I set my alarm and bid myself goodnight.

I woke up, still tipsy, somehow managing to take a shower, dress myself in the most casual attire available, and get to work. Turns out I had to co-senior again, and I had no choice but to suck it up, puke twice in the bathroom, and run the show. My co-workers who witnessed my shitfuckery were just happy to see me alive, and were making fun of how I accidentally texted the group chat, with my EP and my show host on it: “lol i’m a lil drunk.”

Yep, that’s me. An absolute fool. But I guess it was just the role I was supposed to play.

Here comes the jesters, one, two, *retch*

I’ve always been a bit theatrical. I liked the attention I’d get, feeding off the energy I’d be putting out. There were several moments like that today, and none of it feels fake. It’s just who I am. It’s all I can be. It’s all I want to be. But I wonder what it’s all building toward.

The thing I never want to be is the sad clown. To play the role of comedian, only to brood and cry when I’m all alone. Unfortunately that’s what’s happening lately. I can put on a happy face, do my performance like a ballplayer running out onto the field, but I feel like a zombie as walk home alone. I have no concept of time anymore, I just head from one point of life to another. Ask me what happened over the past month and I’d have no way to answer. People ask how I am and I don’t know what to say. All the world’s a stage, and I have no consistency in my performance.

“…But doctor, I am Pagliacci.”

Everyone plays a role. Multiple roles, in fact. We’re multi-faceted creatures after all. But the days of pretending can’t last forever. The real feelings have to seep out sometime. Like how I flat out announced just how much I don’t care about Aaron Judge’s contract while in the control room, despite it being a massive news (and business) story. Am I supposed to pretend it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard? I wonder what that would even look like. I suppose it would help my standing as a producer if performed better, but I’m feeling a bit too comfortable being type-cast.

I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try something new. I’ve been the fool for far too long. Some days I feel like a chump, a simp, nothing but a loser who’s only here for laughs at her expense. It would just be very nice to win one one of these days. To be the first-billed in the Playbill. To no longer be an understudy who never gets her big break. Was this my predestined role? Were we all meant to stay in our station forever? If a bartender or reverend can advance to the Halls of Power, can’t I ascend too? And can’t I do it in a way where it’s real, not just offering some kind of illusion of safety?

Ready to get the role I deserve.

I’m doing all I can not to compare myself to others who are doing what I want to do. I have to be confident that my auditions are going well, and I’ll get the part that’s meant just for me. I have yet to find what it is, as it feels very fluid all the time. But it’s getting there.

I’ve lived with this character enough to know her backstory, and experienced enough to know how she’d feel in the circumstances she’s put in. All I know is Sad Clown isn’t a good look for me anymore. I need not pretend to be such a tortured soul when I do have a lot going for me, with or without a co-star in my life. Perhaps I need to carry the lead all on my own for a bit longer. I’ve at least been promoted from an extra to a principal role. That much I do know. And hopefully when it’s time for the final curtain call, I’ll take comfort in knowing my performance at least won someone over.

Take a bow. You’ve earned it.


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