Judgment Day.

I’ll be participating in the 2006 Blogathon, and like last year, I’ll be mirroring my entries here to OD.

Once again, I will be blogging for Planned Parenthood. Women’s rights are in danger, and their work is now more important than ever.

You can sponsor me by making a pledge at the Blogathon’s website. At the end of the ‘thon, you will receive a reminder to donate the money you pledged directly to Planned Parenthood.

Please sponsor me by making a pledge to Planned Parenthood in whatever denomination you feel is appropriate, and watch this space for more details.

I’ve been through a lot of changes since I last wrote. I left my job and moved back to New Jersey, those are the biggest changes. I signed up with a temp agency, but most of my time is spent focusing on theatre. I’ve been going on a lot of auditions and thinking about investing some time in some more formal training.

This industry can be tough on your psyche. I send out 5-10 resumes a day to casting directors. Almost none of them agree to meet with me because of how sparse my resume is, which I don’t understand, because how am I supposed to get credits in the first place? Once in a while they’ll schedule an appointment with me, or more often, I’ll find out about general auditions that don’t ask you to sign up first. On those days, I get up in the morning and spend an hour on a bus that takes me into New York. Then I wait in a room for three hours with a hundred girls who are thinner, prettier, younger, and more talented than I am. I finally get called into the room, I spend 90 seconds giving my audition, and they say “Thank you, we’ll call you if we’re interested in seeing you again, have a good day.” Then during the hour-long ride home I pick myself apart and yell at myself for every little thing I did wrong. I find new things to hate about myself every day. Once I’m home, my mother wants to ask me questions and hear the details about my day, but I don’t want to talk about any of it. All I want to do is to go to bed and curl up in a ball while waiting for the phone to ring with offers of callbacks that never come. So then my mother and I end up fighting because she either can’t or won’t accept that I’m a hermit who doesn’t like to talk about things. There’s a lot of rejection in this business, and only the most thick-skinned of all can keep it from affecting them. I’m not thick-skinned though, and it does affect me. It’s worth it, though, because on the rare occasion that it does work out, I get to be in a show. I get to go through rehearsals and work on a script and build a character and perform in front of an audience, and there is nothing in this world that I love doing more. I would go to hell and back a hundred times to be granted just one performance.

Things are looking up, though. One of the first auditions I went on after moving back was for a small film being produced locally. I didn’t hear back from them for such a long time that I had forgotten all about the audition, but a couple of days ago they called me back and offered me a role. It’s just a few scenes, but it’s a memorable character and I get to do some fun accent work. Like I said, it’s a small film — non-union, no pay — but it’s a role and it’s a great way to learn about movies, since I’ve never done any film work before. It’s an opportunity to flex my acting muscles, add a line to my resume, and network with some people who might be able to lead me toward some more work. This is good. This is all very good.

I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym. I’ve never been ‘thin,’ but I was always healthy and curvy and sexy, but I let myself gain weight and I’m none of those things anymore. And nobody wants a fat actress.

My mother’s actually paying for the gym membership. She has more of an obsession with my weight than I do — sometimes I think she would do anything just to make me as thin as she was at my age. (If I have to hear one more time how she weighed 103 pounds on her wedding day, I’m going to be sick.) So she pays and I’m not complaining about that, because I do like to be active — at least in Philadelphia I was walking three miles a day to get to and from work, but here in the suburbs there’s just no way to walk everywhere. I just don’t like her constant focus, her comments. This is my problem and I’ll handle it as I see fit. Her constant commentary just makes me feel even worse about myself than I already do.

I’m extremely self-conscious. I don’t like it when people notice me in public, especially not about things that relate to my body or my weight. I used to stop at various places near my office for lunch, and the second any of them started to recognize me, I stopped going. The second a sales-lady in a clothing store comes up to tell me what I should or shouldn’t wear or tries to help me find a size, I toss everything I’ve picked up on the nearest rack and leave the store. I don’t want to be noticed.

When I joined the gym, the package I signed up for came with two free sessions with a trainer. I was assigned to a girl a few years younger than me who helped me design a program and then went around to the various machines to show me how to use them and to help me find the best weights and seat positions. She wrote it all down on a card so that I can replicate the routine every time. I’ve been going for six weeks with no trouble.

The other day, I was at the gym going through my routine when another trainer came up to me and told me that the seat was on the wrong setting. I showed her the card the first trainer wrote for me and she shook her head and said it was all wrong. She took me around the gym and changed all of the settings. I thanked her and returned to my routine, but a few minutes later she came over to me and told me my technique was wrong. I fixed my technique, and then a few minutes later when I had moved on to another machine, she did it again.

Now I’m paranoid. I’m terrified of going back there and thinking that she’s watching me. I don’t want to be there if she’s there, and she’s the head trainer so she’s always there.

Last night my mother mentioned that I hadn’t been to the gym in a few days. I told her I would go in the morning. And I did — I got dressed and got in the car and went to the gym this morning with every intention of sucking it up and working out no matter who was watching me. But when I got there I could see that woman standing inside and I just couldn’t do it. I kept thinking of her watching me and it was like my shoes were glued to the pavement.

So instead, I sat in the car for an hour and read, then went back home and pretended like I had just worked out. But I didn’t. I lied.

I’m not proud of myself. Not just because I lied about it, but because I let my fears get in the way of something that’s good for me, of something that despite my mother’s meddling, I actually do want to be doing. I just don’t know how to get over this self-consciousness, this fear of being watched and worse, of being judged.

I know. I’m ridiculous. It’s okay.