CV's and Show reels

Seriously is there anyway a 32 year old restaurant manager will ever become a TV presenter? Or am I really fooling myself. Four months ago I did have the confidence, I did the show reel. I looked at myself in the mirror and said "Yes, you can do it", and I walked down O' Connell street with a cameraman and felt in my element.
But now I feel like a scared person without confidence. This is so morally bad and I don't know when this crept up on me. I hate this feeling of despair and rejection, frustration and pity. Everyday is like a long tunnel to walk through dreary and depressing. To look at me, I look full of joy but I am screaming inside. I want to cry always and do cry non stop and try to keep myself busy so things will miraculously turn around, and so I can forget about these feelings. How did it all happen?
I bundle all my CV’s and show reels into the boot of the car. Make my boyfriend shower and come with me. We drive around town to all the production companies. I burn my jeans on a heater in a Ranelagh hairdressers asking for directions and now I have a burned mark right on the back of my jean leg. I am lucky I survived. The place was worse than the David Daven-Power freak show at the recent FF Ard Feis.
Dropping in my CV’s has made me ultra sensitive now, regarding peoples names whom I have addressed my letters to, as I now find that those people have left. Some letters I have addressed to people as Managing Directors (apologies Dennis O’ Brien!). Seriously Marie!
In a matter of 5 minutes back in the car I no longer look so pretty, carefree and joyful. I manage to start a row, cry again and nearly crash the car. I drive to the nearest Tesco’s and buy cigarettes -’So you can forget about the bloody squash racquet we’re saving for - I’m spending all our money on smokes‘. I drive Dan home, row and leave. All I eat all day is one biscuit and 4 cigarettes.
I head off to Mums and give her the weekly Spanish lesson and take the dart to Raheny. After crying so much my contacts are so cloudy and of course I can’t see a bloody thing so I end up winking at everybody to try and clear my eyes. The guy in front of me thinks I’m as odd as anything. I get off and wait for my Uncle Martin to start our canvassing. A car comes by flashing its lights and as I walk towards waving like a lunatic I realise that it’s not him! Martin is in the car behind. Getting over my mistake we head towards our destination- canvassing heaven-houses houses and more houses to drop in our leaflets and tell the world about insulation grants! Unfortunately I never changed my shoes and end up walking in 3 inch heels around estates for 3 hours! My poor blue suede shoes are knackered.
I love canvassing and meeting the people, seeing the gardens and feeling the air.
My dad collects me at the Burlington Hotel and we have a wonderful father-daughter chat for ten minutes on the drive home.
After the morning I put myself through I am thoroughly rejuvenated.
This whole depression crying thing is a nightmare. It does absolutely nothing. Now I am rejoicing and ready to tackle the world like a new woman. Dan is relieved. Not only do I hurt myself and hurt him but it is not good for both of us. I hate moaning but I hate this poxy self pitying more.
Roll on presenting here I come…………