I’m a little surly tonight.
I just got back from the Funny Bone, where somehow it leaked that I was making a move this August.
Somehow it also leaked on my website. Two sentences ago. By me.
I’ll be honest with you. I’m scared. I’m scared of paying a lot for rent. I’m scared of moving to a town where I know nothing or no one. I’m scared my job won’t be the same. I’m scared the comedy scene will hate me.
And what do I find from everyone I know minus maybe four people?
Does my mom give me support? Do the Pittsburgh comedians wish me well?
No. All everyone can do is tell me how much I’m going to have to pay in rent and moving expenses and how hard it is and how I’m slapping them in the face leaving when they’ve all done so much for me.
It’s not discouraging me from moving, or even really making me think a second about not doing it. If anything, it’s showing me how badly I really do need to leave this place.
Do the comedians really want me to keep getting $50 every month at some crap bar in Ohio? Does my mom want me to stay living in downtown Pittsburgh forever? I guess they all do.
I’m not chasing some impossible dream. I’m moving. People move all the time.
I’ve planned this move since before I started comedy, but suddenly, everyone who knows me for 2 years knows better than what I’ve dreamt since I was 13.
My mom’s a bit different, but while it’s very flattering that she wants to keep me around, it’s not very flattering that she’s awfully willing to sacrifice my happiness and keep me in this Charybdis of Hope.
Yeah, you go and you look that up.
Maybe I won’t make it. Maybe rent will be too much and I’ll hate the city and all of you will be right and I’ll send you all awards.
If this happens, do you think I’m moving back here to admit defeat? No.
Is it because of my pride? No.
Is it because of gloating douchebags? Yes.
If I don’t make it wherever I’m going, I’ll become a soap whittler in Idaho.
Your awards will be in the form of whittled soap.
Maybe I should take it from everyone I know. Maybe I should become a little housewife stuck in a dead town wondering if I would have made it if I had gone where I’d always wanted to go, but neglected because there was a chance I might not make it. Maybe I should end up like 99% of people in the world.
Or maybe I should just take a chance since I’m young and I have enough money and energy and love of a challenge.
All I need to do now is find an apartment.
:) I’m sorry. I had to let it out somewhere, and since I haven’t updated since the Carter administration, I figured here was the place to do it.
It was either here or the top of a clocktower.
For a bit of comic relief in this post, allow me to do an impression of our new pope:
I hate the following things: Women. Most men.
Peace, I’m out.
I’m a little surly tonight.