Almost Lisa: Pt 23, “Nodus Tollen”

 Almost Lisa: Pt 23, “Nodus Tollen”

 

"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away..."

A friend sent me a video from Broadway the other day. Two singers, in a blackbox (rehearsal space or hall), at the upright, with director and stage director looking on, in first rehearsals together, running through a duet. My heart nearly exploded inside my chest. I could feel the vibration of the piano through the hands of one singer, leaning gently upon it. I could feel her inhale and exhale, as the notes escaped her throat to linger in the air, mixing and perfectly blending with another. I could smell bad coffee and the dust of old costumes, just from that video. I know this environment. I lived for it for so much of my youth and into early adulthood. This is HOME. Until it was taken from me, never to enjoy again. I miss it every... single... day.

I try not to be jaded about loss, witnessing others living the dreams I knew I could have had. But the pain of standing on the sidelines, watching others do what I longed and trained for is soul-crushing at times, no matter how hard I cheer for them and enjoy their artistry. It's only one of many losses for me, anyways.

There's a sorrow inside of me, no one knows how to silence. At times the absence of the things I love is so loud I can barely breathe. As a child I would draw them out. As a young adult, I would make music with them. When my voice was taken from me, I learned to emote them. When my acting career was denied me, I decided to punch and kick at them. I even walked through fire for them. But now the walls have been removed. I'm standing on this empty stage where the set once st3r45ood, above the pit where the orchestra once tuned, the single spotlight fading... It is empty. There is no audience. It's so painfully quiet in this once beautiful world I love exploring. Where my Artistry allows me to connect, emote, express, understand, grow, expand... It's as if I'm being erased. One dream at a time.

It's been awhile since I've written. I find it challenging to find the words to truly express what I'm feeling. In many ways I'm numb so that it doesn't hurt so bad (the absence). But I do feel. So deeply. It hurts reliving the deaths of all the things I love, over and over again. Those things which make me who I am. That I fought, sacrificed, and worked so hard to obtain. And the shitty part? None of it is my own fault. How do I fix any of it? How to find peace?

This must be purgatory. This must be what hell on Earth is.

In 2023, our entertainment unions went on strike. A battle I don't think we stood a chance of winning from the start. It has now been nearly 18 months since I was gainfully employed. I live on LinkedIn and indeed looking for “real jobs,” only to find ghost listings and get pre-screened by AI technology. On the heels of a year-long pandemic shutdown, I migrated East to a secondary marketplace where average wages are abysmal and insulting. After taxes, gas, and food, I'd have nothing left to pay bills. So I hold out for that secondary career, trying to avoid standing for 8 hours in an empty retail store selling things I don't believe in to customers who seldom walk through the door, for “minimum wage. “

I walk into establishments (this worked well back in the day) to be told to go online, create another profile, another password... to get lost in a sea of applicants. Even at jobs well below my qualifications and experience. I get no response save for the mounting spam emails and texts to my phone which I then block. Twice, I managed pre-interviews with what were presumably recruiters who were incompetent at their jobs (go figure, they're working, I'm not). Both forgot to add me to email chains with management and to send zoom interview links. Both generally did not know the answers to any of my questions. So much of my time is wasted. It all feels broken and hopeless. I know I'm not alone in this struggle, either. What madness.

 

 

Yes. I'm VERY capable. YES, I'm often overqualified. My skills and experience translate perfectly for the right job. But I can't get close to a real, human recruiter or hiring agency for consideration. Many jobs hire from within companies, or fresh out of college. I've been busy for the past two decades. And I never anticipated the demise of Hollywood as we know it. People love the Arts & Entertainment. They need it. Creation is vital to Humanity.

During pandemic, I published photography books, wrote screenplays, tried to make connections to further projects along, etc, with hopes these things would eventually be fruitful. Then the strike happened, and all the opportunities dissolved. In this new marketplace, I have no connections or alliances. I'm a small town professional's competition. At times, I'm treated as if I've never been on set. I'm reading for tiny roles like I did back in 2005 at the beginning of my career. Celebrities, name Talent, and “influencers” are scooping up opportunities us trained, experienced, veteran journeymen once thrived on. The industry seems to be falling apart for the majority of us. I don't expect the public to care much. They don't get us. They don't know what were all about. And so many of them are suffering, too.

 

I've managed to book a few days on a few gigs over the course of 2024. No where what I'm used to or or what's normal. But I'm grateful to get those calls. Mostly, they've been fantastic out-of-town gigs with good crews and casts. Two happened back-to-back on top of the Crowdstrike incident which sent the airlines into a frenzy, holding passengers hostage, delaying flights for days. Oh how I adore technology. The first gig required 10 hours at the airport and 7 gate changes before taking off for a single day of work. The second- two days after my return- was far more reasonable a trip. Production treated me like crew on this one, flying me first class, and putting me up in a reputable hotel that I barely saw. My entertainment on the return flight was a 55-ish blonde in front of me who – at 10:30am- ordered a bloody mary like it was owed to her (and another to back it up). Looking around, I couldn't help to wonder what the hell everyone does for a living.

Another job landed me- briefly- back in Ohio. An opportunity to see my parents, two hours away, for at least a meal. I'd hoped to be there for the month on this particular film. If it weren't for bad production and unsafe working conditions, I would have had many more meals with them. This was the first job in my entire career I walked from. Later- after fighting to get paid for the week I was owed- I was told the (*new) producer had a mental breakdown. Like I keep saying: Filmmaking ain't for everyone. I really hope he's okay. But damn... my parents are in their 80's. Time is not our friend.

 

I think a lot about Love these days. How easily it always poured through me in my youth and adolescence, straight through my 20s and even 30s. Until I got sick. Until the pandemic. Until I left Home in California. Until the strike. Until I became still for far too long... I honestly don't know if there's space in my life now for it. I have to get my house in order before I even consider it. I'm not okay. My goal is to get “okay.”

We have just entered a New Year (good riddance 2024). I'm taking inventory of my reality. Expenditures are limited to basic necessities now. I barely drive anywhere or leave my house (just as well, I cant think of anywhere here I care to go/do). I see almost no one (not that I've found much community here). Despite a medical condition which requires constant oversight, I had to cancel my insurance. Thus, my 13 year quest to regain my health is over. This is dangerous, but the mortgage comes first. My days have become painfully short. I'm running out of reasons to get up in the morning and I'm A FIGHTER. No one's expecting me anywhere. I'm not “on the callsheet” of life.

I'm stuck in a functional freeze...

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