I read about them.
Book deals.
Working with their/my idols.
Writing for respected comedy outlets.
Appearing on nationally syndicated shows.
Today was another eight hour marathon of traffic.
I sat all day in sweat-soaked jeans.
It might as well have been piss.
I suppose we all feel this way sometimes.
Watching people mow past you.
Smiling for them while they do it.
Reflecting on your own choices.
Trying not to cry.
When I was 24, all I wanted to do was put up comedy shows at The Annoyance.
When I was 25, the theater closed temporarily.
I waited for it to open again, so I could put up shows.
In the meantime, I did independent shows at rental spaces and formed a band or two.
But I waited around because I had set a goal.
When I was 31, the theater finally reopened.
I put up a few shows.
And realized I had outgrown the desire to put up shows.
The point is: I didn't set my goals high enough.
Instead of believing in myself, and taking a risk on the unknown, I chose to wait for the familiar.
And because I waited, I remain sweating in a van that needs a tune-up.
Last year I was writing freelance comedy pieces for a company that is doing well.
They were grooming me for a full-time position.
Then I went on tour for five weeks.
When I came back the position had been filled.
And the freelancing ended.
"You know, you had that job," my friend said. He's a writer there.
"But then you went on tour."
Today around 3pm, I pried myself out of the van-sauna at a loading dock in the suburbs.
Sweating and spacey, I accidentally walked right into my open driver's side door.
Some women in the loading dock began giggling.
"It's hot out," I tried to explain.
They whispered something to a guy in a hard hat, and then they laughed again.
"What are they giggling about?" I asked one of the dock guys.
He was noncommittal.
"Are they laughing at me? I'm not into that."
"No, no, no," he lied.
For eight years I was a bike messenger.
I kept a blog about it.
Then I wrote a show about it.
It ran at Second City.
People liked it.
We took it to New York.
It won "Outstanding Musical" at the New York Fringe Festival.
Someone wanted to turn it into a pilot.
I wrote the pilot.
They thought it was too dark.
They wanted to make the main character a buffoon.
An idiot.
I pulled the plug on the project.
After eight years of bike messengering, my knees began to ache.
I had to switch to driving.
For two years, I've watched my body get softer.
I feel my clothes getting tighter.
I look different.
I hate it.
The real burn is that driving is more exhausting than biking.
When I get home, all I want to do is lie down.
So that's what I do.
What else am I doing this year?
Drumming, recording, putting out records, touring.
Directing a short comedy show, teaching comedy.
Pitching ideas to a local paper, reading my written work in public, maintaining this blog.
We passed the half way point of the year I think.
I'm finding that this blog is a collection of first drafts.
A couple of months ago my friend John complimented me on the blog.
He said something about looking forward to it taking the next step.
Me, too.
Can you imagine?
The next step!
I guess I'll lay here and wait for that to come along.
Hey, there's another one of my friends on the TV.
Verdict: Loss
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