August 26, 2021

Moral(e) F***kers

chauneandron.jpg Chaunce and Ron - part of "the project"

I just got back from Toronto. From a night of being in virtual tears and a night of unexplained anger that may have been unjustified, but not so much so. I'm not cut out for this show, this thing I produced, this product that I'm not happy about. It has nothing to do with most of the people involved, although it has something to do with a few of them, but I won't name names because even though I am willing to spill kerosene all over this bridge and watch it go up in flames, I don't want to shout Burn Baby Burn. I should be bigger than all this, although I'm not sure I am.

Last night when all was said and done and the CEO of this company made his thank yous, he thanked everyone, including his best friends dog and the man who delivers his morning paper, except me. EVERYONE. Never even realizing that he forgot, I didn't want to remind him. Because it's not that I need the accolades, I know what kind of person and worker I am, it was just the icing on the cake. The shittiest cake I've ever had the "pleasure" of tasting.

My morale was down. Not down. Rock bottom. And then I realized I have morals that don't match the morals of this show, or the people or the way he ignores me after I did more work than 2/3 of the people he thanked. And I am so over it. I just want to get paid and move on. It's sort of a relief, knowing that unless he pays me an exorbitant amount of money, which I know he won't, that I won't be back. MY CHOICE. MINE. And that feels good.

We had an interesting conversation at lunch one day. We is not important, although this man, this CEO was one of the diners. We talked about our breaking point, that point that O.J. hit, that Scott Peterson hit, that point that turns a man into a killer. The can't turn back but tomorrow I wish I would point. And I don't know mine, nor do I ever want to know it, but I do have a breaking point of sorts, one that makes me mean and hateful and unforgiving. And in a series of three days, two people have driven me to that breaking point. This man being one of those people. And the other, well, that slug from a previous blog finally got in touch with me in the most cowardice of ways. An email. One that says he chooses me out of his life. He's getting married now, and has to move on. Lose his friends. And that's just as fucked up as a man who can't remember I exist enough to thank me.

Fuckers. No matter where they come from, that's who they are.

Posted by jamye at August 26, 2021 08:10 PM