On perfection...

Yeah, yeah, it's been over a week since I last posted. 

I'm realizing that writing isn't about perfection, it's about writing. It's about not putting off a blog post for a week and a half because I "don't have time" to make it good...screw that...this blog is for us. If there are any critics reading this, get out the way. Go read my spec script. 

Something I've been thinking about a lot lately: what would I do, if I could do anything I wanted? Sing. But to an extent. Not to like, an American Idol extent, because then there's judgment involved. I would also make people laugh. But to an extent. Not to like, a stand-up comedy extent, because then there's judgment involved. I would think of a third thing to include in this series, but I'm already judging myself for this cheesy repetitive structure. 

I've resented everything I've ever had to work at. So I guess if there was anything in the world I would do, it would be the things I'm already good at. 

 I think the key to my happiness is finding the balance between excellence and personal freedom. I should keep the things I love for myself, and make something else the thing I let people judge me by. For instance, buying the correct brand of cheese for the writers' kitchen. I don't care if I suck at that. But don't you dare tell me my belt isn't high enough to sing Penny in Hairspray. 

Granted, the problem with this philosophy is that it's a great way to get bored and lead a mediocre life. So far I'm okay with bored, though. Friendships are great distractions. 

Is this a cop out, or a way to save sanity? Thoughts? Ideas on where to find Boursin Light? 

And PLEASE write in. Your words will be good enough, I promise. 

 

We got to dance onstage at the end of Hair on Broadway, no judgment involved. Exhilarating!

Bodyworks Plus Abs Plus Self-Loathing

I went to the gym today. I figured, I cannot fit in my pants, or most pants one can buy at the store. I either need to start going to the gym or stop eating entirely. But then I remembered I had eaten a huge bag of white cheesy popcorn after a beer pong tournament last night, and I was like, well, that answers that question. 

Every so often I think of my days in terms of major milestones, like, "And from then on, I cut dessert out of my vocabulary," or "I just made my mind up that I was gonna write my spec script."

"Today was the day I got obsessed with working out, which led to me losing 35 pounds!" sounded so promising.

So that's how I found myself at "Bodyworks Plus Abs" at LA Fitness. It only took two minutes of the class for those thoughts to re-emerge. "You are not these girls in the class who can do these things. Your body has never been able to do these things. You are a person for people to laugh at, not a person who can do the mountain-climb-knee-jump. Quit. Do it. Walk out. Cry. Really, it's only two minutes in. There's no way you are lasting the whole hour." And then the by-product limbs start hurting, like when the Nazi-woman wants you to do these deep lunges, and all I can focus on is the searing pain from that toe on my right foot with the potential fungal infection. In fact, let's upgrade "potential" to "definite" at this point. 

And then I start making deals with myself. "Okay, Jess, you want to be in Hair? You need to do the full forty jumping jacks." But then I start jumping, and I realize that my jumps don't look like everyone else's- they somehow have a slight infusion of palsy- and I think, no one will want to watch me in Hair anyway, that's for the sexy, limber people. Stop while you're ahead and play up the awkward manatee you are. 

About half-way through I ran out. I just ran. I went into the hall, and I saw some guys smirking at me. I SWEAR. They knew I couldn't hack it as a physically fit girl. They would never hit on me at a bar because I am not the type that those guys go for. They only go for girls that actually like classes like Bodyworks Plus Abs. I lingered for a bit by the water fountain just to make it look like I was not a refugee, and then I gathered up what dignity I had left and re-entered the class, praying it was no longer you-are-a-dog-on-a-fire-hydrant time. 

I somehow survived the rest of the class, but I did not get that feeling of accomplishment. In fact, not only did I feel like shit psychologically, but I think I tore something in my back. No joke. 

Why was I born an octogenarian??? Can someone explain how you get yourself to enjoy the gym?

Picking a blog title caused me great anxiety

It's so definite, you know? Like, what if I decide to change the content of what I write about? You are all going to hold me to this title I chose at two in the morning in a fit of creative desperation.

But I guess that's also a metaphor for how I operate in life. Hesitant, paralyzed, anxiety-ridden, until finally I take a huge leap forward and look around for approval, all the while appearing like I've totally got it together. 

Damn, even the word choice of "metaphor" is making me nervous. That was a metaphor, right? 

Like moving to LA, for example.  I spent my whole life telling myself I would graduate school and move to New York City and try to make it on Broadway (you have to emphasize the "way" when you imagine me saying that), and then senior year was one massive freak-out that my imaginary head-life was not in tune with how I would like my physical life to be, and I decide to start making smart choices and utilize all my faculties and go to LA and be a comedy writer first. Because, hey, two unstable careers are better than one.  So then I get to LA and get a great introductory job as a writers' PA for a sitcom (thanks, Yale). But then it comes time to actually write in my free-time, and I'm like, fuck, am I doing this right? Am I even a writer? And the more I ask myself that, the stupider my ideas become. 

So here's a self-validating blog for all of us out there who aren't exactly sure what we're supposed to be doing with our lives. Tell us about what you're considering to be your best shot at life post-college, and tell us about the variations on if that's working. Let's all struggle through this together.