There’s something tragic about being funny ‘for a living’ as opposed to ‘being funny for fun.’
Most notably, that I felt funnier before. Suddenly I feel all of the pressure and judgement bearing down on me, and so instead of my hilarity and quirk, I sound more sincere and professional when I type. Much like now.
I take comedy seriously. What an oxymoron. (A term that always reminds me of that harsh skin bleach of our teenage years, “Zits? Oxy-Cute ’em!” Except an Oxy-Moron would be an idiot with bad skin…. yes, that’s the tangent my mind flits through in the split-second after one word is uttered.)
Now that I sit with the ever looming deadline of my FIRST EVER ONE WOMAN SHOW breathing down my neck. Nay, not breathing down my neck, that sounds too romantic. It’s been many a month since a Maple-syrupy breath hit my neck – and that is far too pleasant an imagery to tarnish with the heinous terror that this show is tantalising me with. It’s more of a “phoning me in the middle of the night to heavy breathe and then hang up” kinda relationship.
That said, I’m thrilled that I’m doing it. In THEORY. In reality I’m too afraid to even type out the layout of the show. That ever present procrastination habit when you have SO much to do, that you decide to alphabetize your spices in the kitchen. That didn’t take me very long; Pepper came before Salt. Eventually you become so overwhelmed at the concept of what you had undertaken (WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, WERE YOU HIGH?) that you just go to sleep. Because as Earnest Hemingway said “I like sleep, my life only seems to unravel when I’m awake” (although the credibility of that is not certain, I found that quote on the internet. Perhaps Ernie blogged too?)
But, said the man with no hands – I don’t have a point.
Am I scared? Yes.
Am I excited? Yes.
Which one am I more?… Yes.
Am I focusing on these questions? Yes…
Comedy is the love of my life. I adore humour, I adore wit. There is very little I enjoy more than an intelligently thought out premise. Very Little, but not nothing. (People who say comedy is better than sex are probably Catholic schoolboys.)
However at the moment it’s transformed into this heavy breathing monster in my closet. And unlike a fabulous, sequined-bedazzled male go-go dancer – some things in closets can be scary. But once it comes out of the closet I’m sure I’ll see it in all it’s awkward Camp-ey (see what I did there) glory.
There’s no backing down, anyway. Yes, Really, Angel is happening. I’m strapped to the train tracks and the train is coming. Although, this is South Africa, one could always plan for a Metro-Rail strike.
I have an incredible team (Siv Ngesi and Nik Rabinowitz) I have incredible support and more weathered comedians offering me advice and cautionary tales. I couldn’t be in a better position (unless we take this back to ‘breathing on the back of my neck’ analogies).
I know it’s totally normal to feel scared, unprepared and apprehensive – and I’m just talking about being human in general. Add to that a giant dream, where people are going to have every right to judge me and write reviews, and WHAT IF THEY SAY MEAN GIRLS THINGS ABOUT ME?!
I’m one of those ‘last minute’ type of girls. I’ll probably write the best set DRIVING to the festival. After all, it’s 9hrs in a car… But in the mean time, I sit staring at my current jokes, judging myself. But I know I’m not alone… besides I have the late night heavy breathing calls to look forward to.
I must go. I have to alphabetise my shampoo bottles. (Spoiler alert: Conditioner comes before Shampoo*.)
*(The ‘poo’ in shampoo was placed into this blog because Christopher Steenkamp loves a Poo joke)