is this bad?

Lately, I've been wondering how I'm doing. I mean, people keep asking me, and I try to tell them, but I don't know what to say. Usually, its a pat answer: "I'm doing alright, happy to be finishing up classes for the semester." But really, I don't know how I am doing myself. I've been rehearsing with Ben for Sarah's scene, and honestly, I feel as if it has brought me to life, something acting has always done. I never realize how much theater grips me until I start acting again. When I stop, I forget, in theory. More like, I sort of bury it, but its still there, reaching for me. So in a sense, right now, with rehearsals almost every night, I'm more alive than I've been in a long time. But for some reason, there's a little difference somehow. Melancholy, despite the breath of life rehearsals give me.

It came out in its true colors yesterday, as I waited for a phone call inviting me to a callback audition that, apparently, I'm not invited to. Yesterday I realized how actors have to be tough. Some can't handle the rejection when a director isn't interested in them. I'm different: I can't handle it when I reject myself. Telling myself I'm not going to get a phone call, why should I believe I will? I don't care what the director thinks of me, what I care is what I think of me, and yesterday was crushing, because I (no one else) killed a dream... again. Before the director started making any phone calls to anyone, I decided he was not going to call me.

But this feeling was there before the auditions. Yesterday was only a catalyst. There was something more hidden in me, before those auditions. I don't know what it is. I can't listen to Jordan's Beach Boys cd, because I get depressed. I know, that's an oxymoron. But it bothers me knowing that no matter how much I listen to the Beach Boys, they are the only ones in the room that are cheery and carefree. They can go to "Bermuda, Bahama come on pretty mama", but they can't bring me along no matter how hard they try. And its not because of them, its because something in me is not letting me. I can't explain it. Maybe I just need winter break to get here soon.

In other news, I discovered where I got my name. I've always thought I was named because my mother had a dog named Meg growing up, who in turn was named after Queen Margaret (the one who died last year) of Finland. Or Holland. Or Norway. Whatever, It didn't explain why my parents picked the Irish spelling Meghan over Meg short for Margaret, and why my mom originally wanted to spell it Meghann. But then, my mom told me I had to read a book called The Thornbirds, because it was a "really good love story" or something like that. And I discovered that the main character's name is Meghann Cleary, whose nickname is Meggie, a name I've often heard my mother call me. Incidentally, though my parents couldn't have known this at my birth, Meggie and I both have long hair, had childhood issues with lice acquired in a crowded school, and are left handed. So, my parents are redeemed!! They didn't name me after a dog after all! Still, it would have been cool to be named after a queen. But I don't like Margaret as much as I like Meghann.