Six 12–15 hour days on set.
Wardrobe. Make up (obvious truth: some make up artists better than others). Props.
Heat. Dust. Dryness. Relentless sun.
Completely exhaustion physically and mentally.
Blowing out the crotch in your pants from zipper to back of belt in one of the most surreal opportunities in front of the camera ever, just after the 1st AD calls you up from (literally) warming the bench outside the saloon.
Always wear dark boxers.
“You have a nice face. It matches your butt.”
I think that’s a compliment?
Sleeping in a folding chair. Or trying to.
“I worked with you on another show right? You do stunts right?”
“No. But I should.”
Later that day…
Stunt when never having done stunts before. Wha?!
Well I guess I do stunts now.
Thigh chafing. Bruised hip. Squinty, watery eyes.
Making choices. Being present. Being alive. Hyper awareness.
Return props. Change out of wardrobe. Off with the makeup.
Barely a step above minimum wage but would do it for free but don’t tell that to casting and production.
Complete and utter exhaustion.
Living the dream.
Finally. After 38 years of fear and self-sabotage.
NEVER. BEEN. HAPPIER.
“Jeremy, welcome to the show. Are you here tomorrow?”
Yes. Yes I am. And I’ll be one of the ones who’s living.
WELCOME. TO. THE. FCKING. SHOW.
[originally published Sep. 15, 2014 via medium.com]