Thankful.

I am thankful for friends who don't forget about me, even though I don't always make time for them.
I am thankful for the people I work with, and how this new crew welcomed me with open arms.
I am thankful for those who have my back when they were among those who didn't like having me around.
I am thankful for finally achieving the kind of financial security where I don't have to worry about the occasional dry spell.
I am thankful that there hasn't been a dry spell in a while.
I am thankful to those who continually check my availability even though I'm continually unavailable.
I am thankful for the craft service guy who tries to order my favorites for second meal.
I am thankful for the caterer who knows my breakfast order and has it waiting for me when I walk up.
I am thankful for the cheery script supervisor who manages to laugh no matter the situation and makes the day go faster.
I am thankful for the boss who doesn't yell, even when he's frustrated.
I'm thankful for the colleagues who see the hard work and hours I put in despite some rumors that say otherwise.
And I'm thankful that those who do believe those rumors are smart enough to leave me alone.
I am thankful for the opportunities I've had in this life.
And I'm thankful that, pass or fail, I've been able to grow from them.
I am thankful that I have an outlet to vent and a way to express myself though the ups and downs of this business.
Though my identity may be anonymous, my experiences are not.
And I am thankful that I am able to share them with you.

Rub A Dub Dub.

The water pelts my back. Shockingly cold at first, but it doesn't take long for it to heat up. Almost too warm, but I know it will even out in a minute. Like a new director, my shower has always gone from one extreme to another before settling on a happy medium.

I turn to face the spray, letting the water wash over me like an urban baptism. I put some cleanser in my hands and rub it on my nose and cheeks. I smear some on my forehead as well and I can feel a layer of dirt, oil, and dried sweat come off my skin. The signs of a long day working in a field of dust. I rub away the lines around my eyes, formed by squinting at the sun as it dipped further into the horizon, wondering if we'll make our day.

I take my loofah and squeeze on some girly scented soap an aunt gave me last Christmas and begin to lather it up. I work the sponge down my arms and notice that my new "tan" from the day is easily washed off. I wash away the aches in my biceps, triceps and joints acquired from carrying lights all day. I rub away a knot in my shoulder from where coils of banded sat when I walked the pieces to a cart. I move the loofah down to my stomach and scrub away the indigestion from catering and the regret of having a third slice of second meal.

I continue down to my legs; my thighs, calves and ass feeling the burn from pushing carts up hills, driveways and lift gates. I feel the lactic acid building in my muscles as if I had just done a hard day at the gym instead of a typical day at work. I finally end at my feet, tired and sweaty from standing all day, it feels good to give them a bit of a rub and a squeeze at the arch.

I straighten out to face the spray of my shower head once again and I being to rinse. My hands follow the same path again, this time helping the water remove any film left clinging to me from the day. As the bubbles rinse off my body, with it goes the aches in my back, the fatigue in my limbs and the weariness from my face. I stand there under the water that has suddenly turned too warm again until my skin turns a bright pink and I can see the day swirling around the drain at my feet.

The long hours, the hot sun, the demanding gaffer, the interdepartmental drama, the clueless producers, the dickhead actor, the barely edible lunch, the soreness from my aging body, the exhaustion from my face... All of it gets cleansed from my body tonight, and every night I come home from work. I shut the water off and watch the rest of it spiral down the drain, with a gurgle at the end like a door slamming shut.

I emerge from my shower, no longer the beaten down, dusty, aching girl who went in. Instead, I feel clean, fresh, and new. I spread my towel out behind me like butterfly wings before I wrap it around myself and smile.

Today is already gone. Forgotten. Swirled down the drain.

And tomorrow is a new day. And I'll start it with a clean slate.