Material Girl.
There's nothing like walking your dog through the most affluent part of town - past mini-mansion after mini-mansion - whilst squeezed into a jacket you've outgrown due to recent weight-gain and can't afford to replace, for firmly putting you in your place.
(Poet.)
(Don't know it.)
To do this was the psychological equivalent to spending the morning underlining the words 'you're a shitshow' in red pen. Being out with the dog was pleasant - it always is - but when you're in an area that's drastically at odds with your current financial situation you can't help but feel fraudulent, like a toddler clambering about in their parents' shoes, pretending to be an adult.
It didn't help that I had a letter this morning summarising last year's earnings that practically blew a raspberry at me as I opened it. The fact my clothes barely fit and I spend much of my time juggling next-to-no money about only compounds this. Consequently, I found myself questioning my life choices ("Would I be better-off if wasn't an actor?") and while I knew those thoughts were rubbish, to mull them over while surrounded by houses big enough to straddle sixteen postcodes didn't do wonders for my morale.
I hope that one day things won't be such a struggle. I know it's a question of perspective and people have it far worse, but it's during those fleeting moments when I buy into the status symbols of society that I wonder will I ever fit into it: what's it like being a real person? Answers on a postcard, please.
(Poet.)
(Don't know it.)
To do this was the psychological equivalent to spending the morning underlining the words 'you're a shitshow' in red pen. Being out with the dog was pleasant - it always is - but when you're in an area that's drastically at odds with your current financial situation you can't help but feel fraudulent, like a toddler clambering about in their parents' shoes, pretending to be an adult.
It didn't help that I had a letter this morning summarising last year's earnings that practically blew a raspberry at me as I opened it. The fact my clothes barely fit and I spend much of my time juggling next-to-no money about only compounds this. Consequently, I found myself questioning my life choices ("Would I be better-off if wasn't an actor?") and while I knew those thoughts were rubbish, to mull them over while surrounded by houses big enough to straddle sixteen postcodes didn't do wonders for my morale.
I hope that one day things won't be such a struggle. I know it's a question of perspective and people have it far worse, but it's during those fleeting moments when I buy into the status symbols of society that I wonder will I ever fit into it: what's it like being a real person? Answers on a postcard, please.
