This morning, eating breakfast with Annie and the Corbster. At an IHop, of all places, a chain restaurant Corb absolutely abhores.
"...so I have this meeting this afternoon with a theater group about directing a play," I was saying, after gulping down my tomato juice. "It's for another production of Drowsy Chaperone."
"Oh, God," said Annie, clearly not the biggest fan of Drowsy Chaperone.
I stabbed my fork in her general direction. "I know! And that's kind of the thing. I mean, I put my name in to be considered for directing the show, because this guy who was in my last production is on the Board for this group and really wants me to direct it. But I have to be interviewed against other people that are being considered, and all I've been thinking this week-end is, why am I doing this?"
Annie bit into her low-fat pancake. "So, why are you?"
"That's what I've been asking him," said Corb. "Yesterday we were going through the pros and cons, and Ted could only come up with one positive reason to do it. Everything else was negative, like, he's done it before, it wouldn't be for much money, it's farther away, work is getting more demanding..."
"I've always been a slave to duty," I said. "Someone needs me to do something, I do it."
"But I thought you wanted to get away from that."
Hmmm. Corb had a point. Or, to put it more plainly, as a friend said to me recently, Ted, sometimes you need to tell people to fuck off more. "But it would be bad to back out at the last minute, don't you think?"
Corb put down his iPhone and stared at me with his steely blue eyes. "I think it would be worse to go to the interviews for consideration if your heart really isn't into it, and then change your mind a week from now. It's better to back out now than to back out later."
Well, that was a good point. And the truth is, I really don't want to go back into directing community theater again. At least, not in the near future. I'm in a state of determining what I want to do with these next few years of my life, and making myself happier as a result. I know I want a bigger place to live, I know I want a more fulfilling job, I know I want to get more serious and settle down with Corb, I know I want to do something with the stories I've written that no one is reading except me and a few of my close friends.
Directing community theater is not a part of that equation.
Egad, I just hit upon my equation.
"I'll let them know I'm not going to be there today," I replied, and lifted up my coffeee cup. "I've got too many other things to do."