I am going to have to re-think this idea of doing something with my life. It's not my strong suit. I'm not cut out for the peaks, the valleys, the highs, the lows, the Laverns, the Shirleys, the severe depression or the oragasmic happiness - ANY OF IT!!! of following my dreams. I am pursuing one of my passions and I am a fucking wreck.
First off, the catharsis is going to kill me. I dug deep and wrote some jokes about growing up. Then I killed at several open mics with the material. The jokes were about my racist Grandma. (Which Grandma? I'm a white woman. Pick one) Apparently I unearthed some issues and I got really insecure about it a day or 2 before I went up at Zanie's in the Female Funnies showcase for my 3rd time. Was I thrown off my game with Succeeder's Remorse? (I made that emotional disorder up but I'm going to work it into the lexicon) I always want to feel confidant at Zanie's because it's one of the few windows of opportunities I have at this stage in the comedy game.
I didn't get to feel that way that night. I 'm not seasoned enough to know if it was the venue to do more controversial material but I was going to vomit if I had to do my older material. That is a growing pain of being a comic, honing the same material over and over again. but I felt very unsure about putting up new, more controversial material that worked in front of comics, in front of civilians. I had an alright set but it wasn't that euphoric experience I had at my first Zanie's showcase. I got my cake but didn't get to eat it. I ate something but it wasn't cake. You get the idea. And then the next night I was so wrung out and woke up sobbing in the middle of the night.
Lack of sleep, that is my dilemma.
I am not getting enough sleep. I get up too early, even when I get up late, I'm up too long and do too much and don't get it done anyway. I don't even make it to half the late open mics and still I am exhausted. I'm 41. If I'd have sorted this shit out earlier instead of playing tip the bottle, hide the salami and chase the dragon in my youth, I might get 8 or 9 solid hours now because I'd already be a big comedy star, resigned to mediocrity or dead. It's also so my spiritual imbalance and lack of discipline. I do not try to make myself lay right down after I get home form an open mic. In bed next to me, where a man used to be, is a stack of books and notebooks that I read from or write in in the quiet of night. Very poetic. I'm far from poetry the next morning though, running around my apartment screaming, "Shit! Shit! Fuck" as I try to find my earrings and a hat to fit my giant head and my house keys with 30 seconds til the last bus I can get before I'm late to work arrives at my corner.
And I'm pissed off all the time. I got into an argument with an 86 year old woman at my office day job yesterday over a lost and found box. I would like to think when I'm physically and spiritually fit, that I know better, that she is old and tired and cranky and gets a pass. Afterall, I'm not as old, but tired and cranky. (In my defense, she was a real bitch.)
And I'm dehydrated. Water, water everywhere and coffee has water in it right?
My pee clinks in the toilet bowl like ice cubes in a glass.
And then last night I had a realization -
people who do nothing and do not look deep within themselves have nothing to say so do other things and look deeply and tell people about it. Keep digging.
and I learned a lesson-
It's tough to get laughs from the same set of tired comics that were at the last open mic so don't sweat the silence.
and I loosened up-
I ranted at the host, I made fun of myself and kept a smile on my face.
I drank water and slept in.
This morning I was rewarded with awareness of some goals I have for myself that I had forgotten in the pressure and anxiety of these past few days of emotional upheaval. I wanted to give up like the old days.
But because I hung in there, I got to see a glimmer of hope.
And I got see the truth: That old lady is still a bitch.
