I Hate Myself

I do. And I've known this about me. How I need to suck it up and say, yeah, so what?!

You see, I'm a cliche.

I wait tables. I act.

I wait tables more than I act.

I wish I acted more.

And maybe it's a compliment that I'm always told how witty I am as I'm serving sangria in white wine glasses. What great comedic timing, they'll say as I replace their bread.

And tonight, I got a "I hope your auditions are going well!" Not because I was a terrible server, but because I could make this single diner laugh.

I don't want to be waiting tables. (Me and 2 million other actors in this town, I know.) And although some might say it's demeaning and what not, the hours are ideal, the pay is okay, and it's great for those of us who want to continue living paycheck to paycheck. (It's actually nice to be able to interact with people on a nightly basis. You're sitting at a table, waiting for food. You are my captive audience.)

But the entire town seems like it's been halted. I'm ready for it to start up again. I'm ready to be onset again. Playing pretend to remind people that we're all human, we all have a common story and we all feel.

You know. Something besides hunger.