Cranky

I'm knackered.

I don't even know how to explain the type of fatigue I am currently feeling, I am dealing with on a day-to-day, hour-by-hour basis. Just the act of sliding one foot out from under my duvet and onto the floor is monstrous.

There is a reason that I tell my friends and colleagues about my six-month pain threshold. I've hit it, hit it hard, and am reeling from the shock right now.

For me, working on any given movie should take six months or less. That doesn't mean the making of an entire movie should be condensed to that amount; that's the amount of time I like to work on any given show, from my first day to my last. Less is preferable, but six months is when my spirits start to flag and my (fake) chipper tone begins to sound brittle and false.

I have just hit the six month mark on this show, and I can tell that I'm getting sapped. The lethargy, the unwillingness to force my brain into work-mode, the habitual tardiness ... all signs that I am about to fall into a heap. Actually, I do fall into a heap as soon as I get home.

Six months have passed and I am still on this show. I expected nothing less, as this is very common, but I had hoped for the best. (Hoping for the best and expecting the worst never seems to work for me- I always get what I expect rather than what I hope for.)

Add to all this work nonsense the fact that my best friend's grandmother and my friend's mother passed away last week, and the sturm und drang is at unimaginably high levels.

Plus, I think the new girl doesn't like me. Let me elaborate slightly. On this show, there were 14 people in production (producers, managers, coordinator, supervisors). Out of these 14, I was the only woman. I enjoy being the only woman. I get away with a lot, the boys do things for me, they're nice(r) to me, it's all good stuff.

Then this new girl starts. She's not new to the studio; she's been here longer than me. She's just new to our show. I get the distinct feeling she doesn't like me. And I also get the distinct feeling that this awkwardness is exactly why I like being the only girl. Only time will tell- we may end up best friends in a few weeks. Women are crazy, after all.

Pile on top of that whole mess two job interviews and a potential offer from a third, a frenemy that keeps asking me to find them a job, a long commute, an uncooperative boy, a confusing boy, and idiotic L.A. weather. Blend together until smoother than a twice-blended Frappuccino. Add a dollop of whipped cream. Neglect to give me a straw. Neglect to make certain that the dome-shaped lid is secured onto the frosty cup.

Sturm und drang never felt so bleak.

Yes, an overly dour post.

And I know that, in many ways, I am an ungrateful wench. After all, I have a job when so many people have none. I have my health when others struggle to breathe. I have a loving family that supports me. I KNOW. And honestly, really, I am thankful for what I have.

It's just these pockets of insecurity and mental instability that make me into this raving loon. I feel like everyone can see it, everyone can hear it in my voice, but it seems that no one does. That makes me feel like I'm going even crazier.

It is two weeks until my birthday, and I am hoping to have broken out of this weird funk by then. Otherwise, my friends are going to give me quite an unhappy birthday.

More on jobs and studios I'd like to work for soon.