Nice.

Look.

Fuck you.

That’s what I have to say to you people. I am not desperate for work, and I’ve circled the block enough times to know that if you’re told that there’s a part available to you for a show, and you read it in the workshop, that if you are going to cast someone else, you should send me a fucking email. A text. Hell, call me. I don’t care.

I am really sick and tired of being left out of the loop. You can’t continue to do this to me and have me pretend to still be your friend.

I wanted to be your friends. I wanted to be a part of this company.

But I don’t decide. You do. And you just started to decide things without me.

I don’t need the part. Hell, I don’t want to perform in that tiny, awful space. But not even an email? Really? An explanation? Since I’m like, you know, your fucking friend?

I wish I could send the following messages back to them:

–Wow! I’m super impressed by how effectively you were able to find and cast a stranger who looks just like me except prettier and thinner. Really uncanny!

–OMG did I miss auditions?!

Fuck you. I’m so mad I don’t even know how to not get sad about it.

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