It’s Wednesday night , so this series continues.
Picking up from last week –
I really hope this is somewhat interesting to you, ’cause after glancing over part 9 to remember where I was, I’m finding myself a little more grating than interesting! (Oof.) And then, being self-deprecating can be grating too! This is turning into a mess, huh?
Hopefully today’s post will be fun, ’cause I’m gonna talk about my best flaw – my stubborn craziness.
Since I’ve had some time to step away from this situation, it’s easier to talk about it as though it didn’t drive me bonkers every moment of every day.
It’s easier now to act as though, “oh it was fun and games. No one was that mad that I missed work. I rolled with the punches.” But that was not quite the case.
I’ve been a little hesitant to talk about exactly how much it bothered me to miss work, because people act as though you’re crazy, or like you really can’t care that much about some job while in a somewhat life-threatening situation. I did.
Whenever someone would check in on me and how I was feeling, the first thing I talked about was how angry I was about missing work – angry with myself, angry with my body, with the timing of everything. Just generally angry. I know there’s no use in stewing over bad situations. I did try to joke a lot with the nurses, and keep it light even back then. But I still had anger and sadness and frustrations going on.
Here’s the thing about life. A lot of people say things along the lines of “Who cares if you miss out on this show? At least you have your health.”
Life is not about just getting up everyday and breathing. Life is about experiencing things, doing what you love, and fighting for your dreams.
I know that one show, one job, one race, whatever, doesn’t always make or break you. And I know that you have to fix heart problems. And I know that missing a year of work is better than missing decades of work, ’cause you’re dead or something.
But knowing in your brain that you have to miss work now so as not to miss it in the future doesn’t make it any less painful. It didn’t make my stomach turn any less about calling out for the first time ever.
Even thinking about it now, I’m getting a little sick about it. I thought that I would never call out of a show in my life. Ever. I thought that nothing would keep me from a theater. To know that I was wrong about that so early in my career sucks.
And you know how you always hear about the stories of those people who are like, “I fell off a cliff, broke a bone in three places, and decided to keep climbing up Mt. Everest anyway.” Maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. And maybe that stuff mainly only happens in movies. But you know those kind of inspiring stories I’m talking about – the ones where people do things that truly seem super human…
I liked to think I was one of those super human people. Oh yeah, put me in a tough spot and I’ll become a superhero. No big deal. But nope. I was a boring girl who let everything happen to her.
I mean, I may have been sick but I still have free will, right? Conceivably, I could’ve just ripped off my heart monitor and said, “peace out, suckas! I don’t have to stay here.”
Sometimes looking back on it from the future, I do think, “Why didn’t I just say, ‘I’m leaving?'”
I’ll explore why I wasn’t stubborn enough to leave next week.