The winter has been bitchin to say the least. While the
weather has been depressing, it seems that death has been in the air. I lost a
friend earlier this year, actually two. One was a hair dresser buddy shortly
after New Year’s. The other was someone I had lost touch with, a young man whom
I quite liked that had gotten cancer that progressed quickly. Oh and then there
was an acquaintance I met once known as Phil. You have been reading quite a bit
lately. He talked me down from a literal ledge I was in during the hot New York
July where it seemed the heat sweltered to the point where dogs could talk.
On top of that work has been slow. It always is in January.
Translated, the demon of financial insecurity has come to April’s home. On top
of that, people have been approaching me for shows and jobs. When I ask if they
pay they skirt the question. Turns out they want me to work for shit or work
for free. I am not being greedy, I want to eat and pay my rent. Or people act
like they are doing me a freaking favor all the time by paying me shit or
having me work for free. It’s fucking torture to be recognized on the street or
to get a fan letter and know that your rent check may have bounced. On top of
that, I would say fuck it and get a good day job but I have two problems. One
is that people know who I am and I will have jealous coworkers harass me. Or
better yet, I won’t get hired because they know that I will leave once I get a
TV show. I like the telegram thing, but in January I sweat.
On top of that there has been some career angst. Someone who
was supposed to get me paperwork took their time. When this happens it means
the project has been shelved or you have been dumped. They got it to me, but
waiting was making me ill. On top of that, a literary agent rejected my book.
Basically, I did what he could do for me on my own, and he didn’t feel the
sales were robust enough for a bigger publisher to nab me up. Translated, I had
done his job and he didn’t have the juice to further me. I should have been
somewhat flattered because he wrote the letter of rejection keeping the door
open. But I was like fuck being a capable, smart, intelligent, woman. Fuck it
all. Being a smart woman sucks sometimes it really does. Then I submitted a few
pieces to some magazines. I have been writing more because most of my show
dates have been cancelled. One chick mag rejected me flat out. What, I didn’t bitch
and moan enough? Mcseriously.
Monday as I debated killing The Ground Hog I had a show. I
was stopped by a man on the street. He had looked at my calendar and my shows weren’t
listed. He asked why. I didn’t want to tell him I was wallowing in self-pity
and depression. That would make me look crazy. At that moment it clicked. It
was selfish to be depressed. The show ended up rocking. I felt better. The next
day I still felt good, high from the show. Wednesday it started to hail and I
thought, “The only thing stopping me from killing myself is that I don’t have
the perfect outfit to die in.” Then I had a thought. January was over. The ugly
sister of all the months was leaving the party. I could press restart.
And so I did. My rent somehow got paid. I also had a novel
idea to improve my surroundings, clean my house. In addition, I am also taking
a different approach to my writing and going a different route. While I don’t know
the result yet I am letting go. Instead of asking God for answers I am letting
Him direct me. I am also not letting self-pity fester in my veins by living in
inaction. I am taking action. While the results might not be instant I know
that they will come. There is a temptation to rest in that I don’t know the
outcome so why bother? The answer is sometimes in life, you aren’t supposed to
know, that’s what makes it so spectacular. That is what makes a surprise so
special. That is why when I enter someone’s office or home as a singing
telegram people are happy. No one expected it. And if a crystal ball predicted
it, the experience wouldn’t be so exciting and amazing on both ends.
The future is uncertain and dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s
bad. It is uncertain and dark because we do not know. I have been the fledgling
starving artist. I have been the reality star. I wrote a book. In the fear
based gut that I was given because I am a woman there is the part of me that
says it’s over. My fame is fading. My fans will forget me. I will die a fat,
ugly, cat lover eating ice cream with her bare hands in government housing.
Truth is, I am not fading. I am just getting started. Maybe I am temporarily
down from my mountain top. However, it is because I am getting ready to climb
another one.
When I am angry and depressed, I cannot spread my message of
peace, love, tolerance, and equality. When I yell and scream, people do not
hear me. No one wants to listen. Anger is bad for you. I wish I could remember
my own advice.
The other comfort is that
everyone is tired of the winter. We all can’t wait for it to be over. Maybe I
can’t control the weather. However, I am responsible for how I feel. I am sick
and tired of being sick and tired. So therefore, I must feel grateful.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram
Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
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