Why walk, when you can run?

It's official now: I'm not doing that show anymore. They said my sneakers made them think I was some college kid slash amateur writer, so I learned how to walk on chunky shoes. The boss was kikay, so I learned how to be kikay. I worked on my Filipino really really hard. I watched all the teen romance comedies I could put my hands on. I spent my Saturday afternoons watching both shows. My ringtone proclaims my work, and I sent it out to all of them, for crying out loud. All that effort put into dressing up and trying to make small talk and being really really pleasant until your face just hurt from all the smiling. I worked hard on every script I turned out. I don't care if it took three, four drafts until it was unrecognizable anymore. But for some reason, they just really hate me. And I don't know why. Is it because I was younger than everyone else? Is it my sneakers? The way I talked? What does it have to do with writing?

Since summer, it's been one long game of waiting it out. Even my headwriter doesn't know why they just keep on bringing me down. Every idea, every concept, every script. It's hard to work a job wherein you have to worry every time whether the one you're working on is going to be shot down on the sole basis of because it was yours. Last December, following another script trashing, I went very very near to just tearing everything down, drop everything and move to Thailand. The other writers talked me out of it. But now I'm just tired of "let's just give it a try." Haven't I tried hard enough?

Now I don't have to wait it out. I'm free Tuesdays now.