I think you can all guess which spirit the above passage describes. Yesterday's rejection fest didn't end when I got home. I got a call from a friend shortly after I walked through the door, and she told me I didn't win an award for which I was nominated. I've been nominated for the same award several times in the past. Each time, I have lost to a very deserving person, and this year is no different. However, I really didn't need to receive that news last night. It just managed to spread a pall over the rest of the evening. This morning, I am Dickens' Phantom, scattering gloom wherever my ass happens to land.
I never begrudge deserving people success. I may joke and complain about it, but, in the end, I can suck it up and admit defeat graciously. However, I really thought I had a shot this year. Meryl Streep won an Oscar a couple months ago. The year 2013 was supposed to be my Iron Lady year. Me and Meryl, taking home the gold. Now, I'm just sitting in the audience, listening to another person's acceptance speech.
I hope I don't sound bitter and angry. I hope I sound witty and sarcastic. It's a more attractive persona. Perhaps next year, I will deliver a stronger performance. Perhaps next year, I could play Julia Child or Margaret Thatcher.
This year, Saint Marty has to watch Kathy Bates win for Misery.
|I'm smiling and clapping in my seat|