The phone call

Okay, I’m gonna be drop dead honest, and some of you will want to throttle me for not being specifically honest with the individual you, but them’s the breaks, and I will maybe explain later when you buy me lots of alcohol (or maybe not.)

For the past two weeks I’ve driven to work every morning and had huge crying fits in the parking garage. I sob. I create mountains of used Kleenex. And I pray. I pray, I beg, I plead to God to please please please DO SOMETHING HERE. Fix my life. I hand it over, it’s Yours, please get me out of these circumstances.

The thing about being a screenwriter, aspiring or not, is that a lot of your life revolves around the lottery phone call. The one call from out of the blue where so and so that you worked with once, or so and so that you sent a script to once has FINALLY read the script and loved it, or FINALLY got the financing together and hey boys and girls, we’re making a MOVIE in the backyard!

And I realized during the last fit last week that I’m expecting the same thing from God. I send up the flotilla of prayers, and I’m expecting him to deliver the metaphorical lottery phone call that will save me from my life. I’m expecting it INSTANTLY. When the reality is, God aint your Genie in a lamp. He’ll deliver you in His time, not yours. And it’s never instantaneously.

Which isn’t to say it doesn’t happen. Because He did send a phone call, in the form of a short term job, a different job, one that starts later this week. My way out of this particular Boring Circle Of Hell. And there’s nothing to guarantee I won’t exit into another antechamber of hell, a different kind of hell. But at least it won’t be here.

And for that, it’s a Praise God indeed.