Nothing in my life has made me feel like a bigger failure than getting up early on a Thursday to move apartments by myself. Not only was I leaving the place I called home for my first five months in LA because I could no longer afford it, I had no one I could call to help me move. There are only a handful of people I know well enough to call in such a favor, and they all either have day jobs or are on mission trips to Kenya or whatever good people do with their time while I'm moping over where to fit all my books in my tiny new room.
That feeling passed, thank God, when I made the decision to actually unpack everything at once upon arriving at my new digs and making it into my own space. I still need wall decorations, but it's my room now, and all is right with the world. I even got random phone calls from friends tonight who need me to do some on-camera work, and my boss called to see if I was available to go on a seven week tour all over the country catering a scotch tasting event. Also, I went to my make-up acting class and had a great time working on a scene. It was supposed to be a guy-girl scene, but through a comical mix-up I had to play an alcoholic doctor trying to convince my estranged husband not to leave me. Good times.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to do some writing for which I will actually be paid. Nothing succeeds like success, am I right? Suck it, failure!
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