2002-08-07 - 2:51 p.m.

If there's one thing I hate, it's uncertainty. Free-flowing, eddied, dipping and swerving vorteces of reality, contingency, only knowing where your right hand is in relation to your left hand, which is only spotted by comparing it to your foot located in your mouth. Wherever that is. I hate having to wait for more info before I can make a plan, but that info must wait on other info which is, in its own twisted way, dependant on my plan to begin with. Something has to, and eventually will, resolve itself, but fuck me if I know when.

It's the down time that gets me.

Right now, I have a plan, sort of, but I don't know how the hell to get it started. I've got work lined up, but I don't know which job to take. One Improv-based show in South Beach, looks really interesting, and pays, but I don't know how much. One show up in West Palm Beach that's Improv-based and very interesting and pays, but I don't know how much. They run at the same time, and I must choose one, but I can't decide until I know the pay scale. On top of that, I have more secular work lined up too, but I don't know how much of that work I can do until I know the rehearsal schedule for the two shows, and I don't know how much of that work I'll need to do until I know what the other two shows are offering. But none of it starts to resolve itself until the end of the week, and in the mean-time I've got a certain amount of debt to be paying off, but no money with which to do it, but I can't get a waitering gig until I know what my schedule looks like.

Normally, in such a unseless situation, I'd council myself to relax and enjoy my new free-time, but I have no money with which to do this, and I seem to be losing my ability to goof-off enjoyably. I feel a resurgence of depression, not horribly timed, honestly, but painful none the less. Some of it is a fear of Improv I've been developing recently, a sense of inadequacy I've been harboring and giving succor to in my mind. I think I'm honestly a bit of a megalomaniac: sometimes I feel destined for greatness, a cut above the normal, and then I'll feel terrified of my own hubris, and then I'll measure my meager accomplishments against the ridiculous standards I hold myself up to, which are a product of my own megalomania. It seems almost safer to hide.

But this too shall pass, as that one ring said. As soon as one of my variables, just one, becomes a constant, I can start defining myself. Of course, that simple recognition reveals something else: if all I need is one constant for the equation to justify, it means I must have an equation, a formula, worked out somewhere. Maybe that's the answer: knowing the constant nature of the variables. I am the sum of the things I could be, given an infinite amount of circumstances.

Sometime, when I have time, I'll take the time to graph myself.

�

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