just one of those things

Tonight, I played Lisa in a second draft reading of a friend of a friend’s play. I liked the opportunity for a minor performance. I want to think I did a good job.

I was annoyed I had to pick up a friend beforehand. I was annoyed the role fell to me. I wanted a moment of peace after work. I changed the music I was playing in the car because I was bitter they would enjoy it.

I don’t always trust my own judgment.

After the reading and after the talkback, I told the boy I’ve been dating (who is a formally trained actor) that I feel like I have a hard time accessing emotions, and as consequence, my voice fell flat. He disagreed, but I don’t trust my own judgment enough to believe him. I don’t want to believe I am capable enough for his remarks to be true rather than placating. Later, I texted him that I thought the play was above average rather than mid, which is what I had expected. Maybe I should hope the same of myself.

But I felt small during the talkback. The friend I was annoyed to drive, added in what felt like ten points of input, among the others doing the same, before anyone listened to my interruption. Neon flashed: they think they’re smarter than me. My thoughts had already jumped ahead. A late discovery in the conversation was something I had considered ten minutes before, and still, it hummed. Still, do I have anything valuable enough to say? My skin wanted to run.

I want others to think I’m smart, and often I feel they go out of their way to situate the laugh track as a spotlight. Pity, she thought she had a chance. Even at work, my rewards go unacknowledged. Glossed over because they’re expected and routine. A reoccurring problem, season to season.

So, I made myself dense. Less emotive. Less of a poet. I write sparsely, but I cry easily. No longer an English teacher. Fuck instincts. Fuck fucking your instincts. I want everything overly.

I used to say my wants were eating me alive. They’re pretty dull right now.

Where can I take them to be sharpened? I want to drive. I want to drive fast.

Walking out tonight, the fun flirt and I walked to our cars together. He had just revealed he has a new girlfriend. He asked about the actor. “You guys hang out, right?” He complimented us both.

He’s the second member of their group chat to ask me for clarification. After the first, I asked a third if I was ever a topic at Boy’s Night. Yes.

The boys are digging.

I agreed we’re dating, but clarified, as always, we haven’t yet approached the table, prepared for formal talks. I wonder if word is relayed, and he thinks I am uncomfortable with commitment. Really, I am uncomfortable assuming commitment. I am comfortable with him, but I can’t outgrow my anxiety. I don’t even know if it’s anxiety or just the truth. My gut is an unreliable narrator, but most days I believe we are both content in the easiness of it all.

I also used to say all I wanted was ease. The dream of ease was everpresent, and now that it’s arrived, I choose to take it as is. That seems to me the philosophy of ease.

I hope everyone made it home safe.