I'm a little depressed today. After moving yesterday, I woke up today to the most excruciating back pain I've had in years. Managed to make it to the ibuprofen bottle and get things under control, but bending over is still a problem. Got out of the house and went to the bank to set up an account--only to hear that I needed to have a bill with my name and my address on it. The contract we signed wasn't good enough. Registered with a couple more temp agencies. The good thing was I signed up for a library card, so at least I'll have stuff to read and access to cheap movies. But I'm beginning to get disheartened in general. I want to do theatre, damnit. damnit. Last night a friend called asking if I would overhire as a stage hand for two weeks, £20 a night, but I told him I had a gig on Saturday--so he said he'd call me back and he NEVER DID. aaaargh. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT. If you've found someone else, FINE, just let me know. I'm just not cut out for this freelance stuff. It wouldn't be so bad, but it hit me today in Sainsbury's all over again how expensive it is to live, full stop. I'm just frustrated that once again it's Friday and I've STILL got no job.
And it's funny too: because Wednesday, with nothing to do but wait for the movers, after I had my interview, I sat down and banged out twenty pages of a new script. Which may be pretty good, but because I'm feeling so worthless, the chances of it being finished any time soon are close to nil. I'm supposed to be a writer...I am a writer. I'm just not a mailer-of-scripts, a rehearsed-reading, a submitted-second-draft kinda girl. Mysterious.