Today I said something at work that must have been particularly bitter, because my boss stopped me and asked:

"Rosie, do you want out of your contract?"

It startled me, because although I do want out of my contract, I didn't think it was showing so much on the surface.

"Well," I said, thinking about it for a moment, "yes, but I agreed to stay on 'til the end of my contract, and that's what I'll do."

"I might be able to cut you loose," she said, thinking rapidly. "Perhaps after the whale play, I could just do Stage One and BDMP by myself. It's not like it's hard, and we have Alec. But, no...wait..."

"Look," I said. "I knew what I was signing. If you need me until the end, I will stay."

But I don't want to.

"What will you do when you're not working here?" she asked.

"Just freelance," I said, and she was already nodding, expecting that answer.

She is afraid to freelance, I think. She has hefty car payments. We talked about it once. She pays more for her car and her insurance than I do for rent.

But still. If I can make it freelancing when nobody knew my name, then she could make it freelancing, too.

She has a stronger sense of duty than I do, too, I think. The 'if you say you're going to do it, you do it even if it makes you miserable' mentality.

I agree with sticking things through, but to a point.

I don't mind being poor, as long as I'm happy.

I was also agonizing out loud about going to school next year. I'm thinking about going to the local arts college for metalwork or sculpture, but I'm still wishy-washing.

"Eventually you gotta focus," she told me. "You can't be a jack of all trades for ever. Eventually you gotta be a master of something."

I kind of agree, but I still WANT to do everything. Everything!

I think she was getting a little impatient with me (it seems to be the theme of my life).

"You can't muck about forever!" she said, exasperated.

"Muck about?" I laughed, but she was serious.

"I've seen your basement. You muck about."

Muck about.

How come those two little words are still echoing in my ears?

They hurt for reasons I cannot pinpoint.

Am I just mucking about?

I love my artistic pursuits. Am I just a hobbyist? It depresses me to think that I might be.

So I live in a chaos of my own creation. Does that mean I am not serious about what I do?

I once claimed I was never serious about anything when I laughed off a marriage proposal from a man I barely knew.

He was serious.

Am I ever?

Ye gods, I am simply depressed and self destructive.

It is times like this I am glad I no longer have a liquor store across the street, nor the money to pursue said liquor.

My grandfather was an alcoholic. I hear it in the worry in my mother's voice when ever she calls and I've been drinking.

"Is this just a pipe-dream, Rosie?" my boss said. "Or is this reality?"

She sounded so much like my mother that I said so.

And yet, I don't know.

Is it a pipe dream if I've been thinking about doing jewelry for years?

It was the other post-secondary education I was considering, besides theatre.

Is my whole fucking life a pipe dream?

Who's to say I'm awake right now?

I need to go to bed.

.

Rosie.

Before&After