Wet Weather, Dry Month

It's pouring outside. More rain than Seattle. No joke.

February has been wet as far as the weather goes. As far as stagetime goes, it's been the Sahara.

There's a chance I might get up to Hollywood next Tuesday. That would put bookends on February if this were a leapyear. Since it isn't, looks like my next chance for performing will be next month.

Sometimes, it just be that way.

A number of forces have conspired to keep me off of the stage. Important ones. Family matters. Work matters.

Work matters?

Not these days.

But that's another story.

After going to Hollywood on the 1st, the following Tuesdays were occupied by SUV-hunting, preparing for a demo at work, and Jordan's birthday. Aside from the work-related one, I have no regrets. And even the work-related one shouldn't be something to regret. Even though I'm heading for the exit in my current position, I've still got to be responsible.

Anyway, that's the story of February.

I've still been thinking about the dream, man. No worries about that. This isn't a sign that I'm headed for the exit in Hollywood. It's on my mind. I'm writing. I'm singing, dancing, burping, farting... honing all of the necessary comedy tools.

Now if I could only find my way back into the spotlight...

Without giving-in to the urge to go to the Comedy Store in La Jolla.

Hmmm... let me sleep on that. Never say never. What's my problem with that place again? Let's face it... it's just a stage. So Mitzi pissed me off. So what? I thought she used me, and the other comics. So what? We drank her liquor. We used her, too. Who do I think I am?

Hypocrite alert!

Anyway, it's not about her. Or the Store. Or the Improv.

It's about the never-ending battle to shape my own damn character.

And lately, it's been a battle.

I don't know where the "Ommmm..." of a few weeks ago went. I'm hanging onto the hope that I'll grab it back again. But that's only if I don't try too hard. Anxiety rules these days. Dad came to town, which was good. But leading up to his visit, there were bad memories. And even when he was here, and the anxiety of something happening before him getting here went away, there was still the anxiety of the memories. And of my dad not being able to sleep, needing to drive around Oceanside in the middle of the night.

It's easy to be enlightened on the mountaintop. Staying strong and focused in the midst of emotional turmoil is another story.

Add to the memories some of the current anxieties over my job, and finding a new vehicle for Stephanie...

Damn, I know... I know... I know... it's not life and death. Still, it's gnawing at me. The more I type, the more I realize how silly it is. And yet, it's been gnawing at me.

Maybe this blog post will help.

I'll have to sleep on it to find out.

Or maybe I'll have to perform again to lift the cloud.

Who knows?

Definitely not me.

As my dad said to me years ago... "You think too much."

Of course, thinking is good. But not when it's the equivalent of a dog chasing it's tail. Or, worse yet, a snake eating it's tail.

Time for bed. Sweet dreams... I hope.