Last month I worked on a film. I spent a few early mornings trying to wake up with Red Bull and a quick shower. Then the driver would ring my buzzer and I'd run down to the car. I was the first in the carpool and it was 4:45am. By 8:30am I'd often be in full makeup and costume and acting....or at least acting like I was acting. In a complete daze.
I had such a great time on this gig until the ONE scene I had to do in about twenty takes because I had a complete inner melt down. Fascinating. I don't know if it was the Red Bull, the other actor I was supposed to 'hit on', or the charming, skilled, and, um, famous man I was to talk to at the end of the scene but I suddenly had one of those actor moments....or people moments....I suddenly 'woke up' and realized JUST WHAT I WAS DOING.
I've heard of things like this happening to folks on stage, but for some reason, live theatre doesn't seem as frightening to me. The audience is farther away and it is easier to make some grand gesture to cover up your volcanic insides. If you freak out physically they might just think you were supposed to... especially if you do it with confidence. Point at something and raise an eyebrow. On camera, you are supposed to act like real people...subtly....but everyone 'behind the scene' is in such a hurry because every moment is so expensive. And the camera guy can only hold that 30 lb. thing on his head while on one leg for only so long. And you do it! You can breathe! But then you gotta do it again 'cause a plane flew overhead and the boom not only picked it up it made the sound guy rip off his headset and curse. No pressure.
So I start trembling. I'm supposed to bring this drink up to my face and flirt while saying some clever little thang to the 'bar tender'. EVERY TIME I stumble over the lines I've had memorized for months and EVERY TIME my head starts to shake and my hand tries to follow it with my 'drink'. I would just be playing along and it was as if suddenly I blinked and had Super Vision. A voice in my head would say, 'what ever you do, do NOT tense up. DO YOU REALIZE YOU ARE TENSING UP?! DO YOU REALIZE YOU'LL HAVE TO SHOOT THIS AGAIN?! THEY ARE ALL DEPENDING ON YOU AND WILL ALL TALK ABOUT YOU BEHIND YOUR BACK IF DON'T STOP TENSING UP!??......oh....and that is not whisky in your glass, it is iced tea.....' Complete panic.
We finally got through the scene and I think they all just thought I sucked for a second. Not a big deal. Everybody sucks for a second, I can handle that. But what happened on my inside was like I had a superhero trying to climb out of my throat.
Maybe I should have just let her out.
In the same week, I was on a train going to Long Island to visit Greg's parents. It was my first trip there on my lonesome and my first visit without Greg. I was really looking forward to it but of course I was a bit nervous. Will they treat me the same without their son around? Will they like me as much? Do I buy my own dinner? Should I have brought flowers? Wine? Canned goods? Normal questions.
I'm by the window, the train slows down to pick up passengers. An elderly man makes his way over to me and sits down...a little too close. I oootch over closer to the window. Then the smell hits me. I see heads turning in my direction, I see people getting up to leave, I happen to glance down and see a dark brown stain on his white, polyester, pant-suit leg. I almost gag. I close my eyes and try to pretend I'm not there. I breathe out of my mouth. I give him funny looks and pray he will decide he'd like to stand in between cars. It never occurs to me to ask him to move or get up and go past him.
I didn't want to hurt his feelings.
After twenty minutes and the crowded car full of empty seats.....everyone huddling at the opposite end of the car....just staring at me as if I was some sort of miracle.... I look at the man and ask if he could move over to the empty side. He didn't speak English. He only scratched his head and bared his toothless mouth. I then notice his arm has something brown smudged on it.
THAT'S IT! I get up and move. I have no choice. My legs are doing it for me.
I think the crowd let out a choral breath and I took out my lavender lotion and rub everywhere I have exposed skin. Including and especially my upper lip.
The entire time I sat by him I was on the verge of taking action, but something held me back. I think I was afraid if I admitted JUST WHAT WAS HAPPENING I would completely freak out and scratch all of my epidermis off Silkwood style.
Maybe I should have freaked?
A few days later, I had an appointment with my therapist. I've only seen her a few times and every time I arrive at her door I am reminded of when I was a latch-key kid and I was facing my front door after my walk home from school. I ALWAYS had to pee when I got to my porch. I would inevitably fumble with the keys, slam open the door, drop my books and RUN for the toilet. I don't know why I never learned to urinate before I left school, but then again, I've always liked a challenge. I choose the path that has NEVER been traveled 'cause I'm the only one who misses the 'No Trespassing' signs.
So of course, I find myself in the predicament again in front of my therapist's door. Only, for some reason the door won't open. And I've already ridden up the elevator holding my crotch [the operator thought I was seducing him....KIDDING...I was alone....] and I had already envisioned and told my bladder I had about 20 seconds to the bowl. But....the....door. Was. Locked.
[I just came back from the bathroom to finish typing this by the way.]
I was going to go right there and then.
I searched corners of the tiny, cubed hallway. Every wall had three or four doors all facing each other. I spot one that looks like it goes to the stairwell. I open it and somehow miraculously choose another door as if I'd known what was inside. It was the little closet that leads to the trash shoot and right below the shoot were two recycle bins. No lids. I barely have time to rip my underwear aside and I squat bracing myself on the wall. The door slams shut and I'm in complete darkness [trash doesn't need lights]. Thank you Lord. I'm sorry tenants....and porters...and garbage men. I leave the dark little room and head out the second door...into the hallway...to find my therapist with a phone to her ear and a trash can in hand... and she is heading for the door I just came from. Like a flippin' sitcom.
I gesture to her office, quickly slip through the door, run in and sit down. My hands are in my lap. My knees are together. I stare at the floor.
'She is going to wonder why I was coming from that room. She is gonna open the door to the trash shoot and smell pee and know exactly why. If I don't say anything she will think I am a pervert or something. She might call the police.' As I contemplate jumping out her window she comes in and I tell her everything. She thinks I'm hilarious and charming for my honesty. That is cool, but I don't think I would have even let myself remember that moment of my life let alone tell her... the person I am paying to analyze my actions. And here I am telling people through my blog JUST WHAT I DID.
There you go.
When to be aware and present? When to remember? When to distract? When and why? We are interesting creatures. I give myself that.
Who am I again??
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