My phone rings. I check the ID. It's another propmaster. He knows it's my last week on this show, and is hoping to scoop me up before someone else does.

I don't answer. I let it go to voicemail.

I am not sure I want to work for a while. The show he's calling about...It's huge. It's massive. A miniseries of literally epic proportions. But the props sound...boring. For me, endless stunt weapons. Endless aging. Nothing interesting to build.

I'm staring down the barrel of a year long commitment, and I don't know if I want to do it.

In mild desperation, I email the other propmaster in town who has a big show. He gets back to me promptly, precisely, as I knew he would. His show is too far out. He can't make promises. He doesn't know how many people he'll need.

Fuck.

I listen to the voicemail.

"--calling about your availability--"

Maybe I could just not be available for a while?

But somewhere in the deep recesses of my head, the poor artist whispers:

What if this is the last time you get work? What if we starve to death?

I'll call him back tomorrow.

Before&After