At dawn of Ash Wednesday, my devoutly Catholic mother sent me a text message, reminding me of ash wednesday, to go to mass, at least observe abstinence if I can't fast, and to most of all go to confession.
Forgive me dear reader, I have not been to confession for ages. I would like to also, for this moment, be in the spirit of PostSecret.com as I enumerate. Here are my little atrocities for the day. Today I confess:
That at the risk of sounding bitter, I have never had, nor will I ever have patience for random people who ask me if I was that girl on TV, despite efforts at being patient;
and at the back of my head I will always think they're stupid because they gush and whisper amongst each other, neglecting to notice the clipboard and the pen I lug around, or that "I am still on the pay roll" (long live radiohead...), or that it has been three years.
That getting into that show to get out of a lousy, 6k-a-month-not-to-mention-the-taxes job, or to see if anything was going to happen to my life at all was a decision, now a fact of my past with which I will never be able to reconcile.
That I believe Maria Resa, with cultish conviction, when she said these shows are not empowering.
That I believe, again with cultish conviction, that very few people get the "why" of the previous statement.
That every time some random person randomly asks me to sing, I still want to bash their heads for treating me like a four-year-old, or as if I were a puppy who'd roll over at their beckoning.
That spitting out "YES" always feels like a boulder coming out of my throat when I try to be polite in answering queries like "you're her, right?" or "Are you the Chai from..."
That the presence of the boulder is still bewildering to me now.
That the "get over it" they toss at me will not happen soon
because the "get over it" I toss to people isn't even happening, so what do you expect
that I rant now because twice today at work, in the middle of giving job interviews, I was asked these stupid questions and was expected to smile because they think that's what one does when one's tried to dip one foot in showbiz, and when they get disappointed it becomes my fault.
How many Hail Marys and Our Fathers for all these? Do I walk on my knees to the alter? When should I start?
