It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind...

I drafted a different post. Something felt wrong. I kept looking at it, leaving it, going back to it. For me, this is not natural, so I knew something had to be up with that. Wrong time, wrong format, wrong tense. Whooooo knows.

It could be the moody autumn feeling day (which, after the hottest summer I've remembered is VERY welcomed) but I'm feeling grossly introspective and painfully nostalgic. I get really nostalgic most Septembers, for new school clothes, for trips to Staples and smelling binders, the first day wondering if there would be a new cute guy, or a new best friend. But mostly I think it was new beginnings and infinite possibilities carefully encased in "first day of school excitement".

The three years of the George Brown Theatre School program were always fraught with anxiety and wonderful re-acquainting with my wonderful friends. Many of whom, to this day remain my closest, nearest and dearest family. The first or second week of school we would all (the whole school consisted of roughly 60-70 people) klammer excitedly onto two cheese-wagons and road trip to Niagara on the Lake for the Shaw Festival. The first year we attended, as First Years we were SO excited to show off our new dance moves to total strangers on the street that we willy-nillied ourselves over to a grassy knole in a park and "Ruffty Tufftied" our asses off. In retrospect this was AMAZING and densely embarrassing.

This year, I believe it's hitting me REALLY hard because I have made a HUGE decision. The paramount size of this decision... No. You know what?? It's not a DECISION. Decision sounds too concrete and death-like. One DECIDES to jump off a cliff...

NO. I've made a CHANGE. As this has been a tumultuous year of change (OMG so much more on that later), it is THE BIGGEST CHANGE to date.

I'm one of those lucky bastards who actually got to recognize her passion and follow it. I am eternally privileged for this, and it made this change SO MUCH harder. After 17 years of doing everything humanly possibly to be an actress, because my heart SCREAMED for it: for the poetic words, and the way they felt to speak and gravyed over my tongue, for the dark, slightly chilled, theatre, which even in its silence emanates life and pulses hypnotically to me*. After 3 years of on and off depression, while I strove endlessly to work, I peeled myself off my floor (literally) and gently told myself I needed to stop. Why you ask??

What kills me is I don't think I've ever stopped (or will stop) being desperately in love with theatre. It's the life outside of the actual jobs that has ripped me a part. I've always said that actors are strange creatures (well, for many, many reasons) but especially because we are the only people I know who have to be constantly and unnapologetically vulnerable AND possess armadillo skin, both to book jobs, and continue living when you don't.

On top of which, if, like 99% of actors without consistent or well-paid work, the actor is serving to pay rent (which is EXACTLY what it's is... serving, or SLAVING. The "good" tips barely make up for the soul-suckage that is waitressing), it takes a WHOLE OTHER kind of 'tough hard bitch skin' to get through a night of cocktailing. Again, ironic, because the next day at your audition you have to be a soft, sweet, darling (pour example).

 So after four years of working (sometimes on, and manytimes off) and picking myself up, brushing myself off, and convincing myself that I'm not just a server over and over and over (and OVER). I said "I'm better than this disgusting abuse, and I deserve more for what I'm giving". So I quit.

GASP! And I didn't miss it! How is this possible?? To strive, dream and hold to that love for YEARS... almost 20 years! How can I just shake it? Well. Truth be told I'm finding out that I can't. But I DO value myself far, far more than putting myself through the nightmare of giving up part of my life (and SANITY) to serve beer and be told "you're great! But not this time".

So, as stated in my initial BLAWWWG I'm on a search. I want to be "happy". I'm closer, I think than I was, my life is much fuller in many ways... but with this nagging nostalgia which has gripped my throat all day, I know that I'm not there yet. There have been various bastard things that have tipped me off, like remembering how I LOVED going back to theatre school each fall for three years, my first pro gig was in September, and then this (below), posted outside of George Brown a month ago reminded me of my optimistic, beaming self of yesteryear, and I wanted to cry.

WHAT HAPPENED?? I REALLY want to get back in the saddle. But I know now that I will not allow myself to be there without a strong bridle to keep me there. I need more than just wishin' and hopin' (read: working my motherf*%!ing ass off) until an acting job occurs that takes me out of the dungeon of a restaurant.

So what now? I'm working for a SALARY (whhhaaa??) at a large architectural firm in Toronto, and I've enjoyed my summer weekends for the first time since I was 14, AND discovered this CRAZY idea of something called a LONG WEEKEND (?!?!?! There's one of these like once a month!!!!) and I'm breathing...

But the "bug" my friends, has bitten and made a little nest in my heart long ago...

Welcome to the adventures of "THE PERRIE HAPPINESS PROJECT".


xoxoxox Per



*When I was in high school I would take a script and go and sit in the immense theatre in my school and just listen to it. I think it's the closest I've come to zen.