Note: I’m writing this in a sort of interview style taken and given by myself (myselves?). Please pretend there are two of me for the duration of this post. The interviewer Me (ER) is straight-shooting and focused. The interviewee Me (EE) is a little less stable of a character, but better looking.

ER: So, comedy. What went wrong?

EE: You know, it’s not always easy to pinpoint what’s gone wrong in a process when it breaks down. Sometimes, especially if the process in question is personal in nature, a person doesn’t even know when said breakdown has happened, or that it’s happened, until one day you just wake up and realize… Wow, there’s no more process.

ER: But why quit?

EE: Well, that’s just it. I’m not sure there really was an official quitting point. It was just, “Oh, I really don’t seem to want to do this a lot. In fact, I never really want to do it. In fact, I am seized by headaches and foul moods whenever I think about having to do it.”

ER: OK, so what’s the big deal? I mean, what exactly is the crisis about doing or not doing comedy?

EE: Because I really want to do it.

ER: Well, then, why don’t you just do it?

EE: … Look, how long is this interview going to take? I’ve got a nature walk planned before Happy Hour.

ER: Right, OK. Well, let me ask you–was this the first time you’d quit doing stand up?

EE: No. I had quit before in 2008 when my grandmother passed away. I had been living with her and sort of taking care of her (obviously not very well). At night, I’d go out to the open mics and various shows. When she died, I had been getting into stand up a lot and was really starting to love it. I even had some material about her. That was awkward because I couldn’t really do it anymore because she was dead, and I didn’t know how to talk about her death onstage. It was sort of paralyzing. So I kind of drifted away for a year and a half. I also had to move out of her house and get a full-time-ish job. That really put a damper on things.

ER: Was that painful?

EE: Yeah, it was. Having to get up in the morning and go to a soul-crushing job every day is always painful. Nobody should ever have to go through that. Nobody.

ER: No, I meant being away from comedy.

EE: Oh, that. Yeah, well….sure. But it was more surreal than anything else. I was this comedian stuck in a parallel universe of my own making. A bohemian masquerading as a breeder. Except there was no breeding. Just blocked expression. Like, I’d write but wouldn’t get up onstage and do anything with what I’d written. Although, that’s kind of how it’s been for the entire time I’ve “done” stand up. Definitely more off than on.

ER: So you wouldn’t say you were a prolific performer.

EE: No, not at all. Most of the time I’m avoiding the whole scene. I have a lot of social anxiety. Like really real social anxiety. Like fresh- squeezed, locally sourced organic social anxiety. Not that imitation social anxiety flavoring people are into at the moment. The cute kind that people claim they have ‘cuz it’s fashionable and makes them look like emotional superheroes for overcoming their alleged fears of exposure by showing up and doing whatever it is they do. Like mine makes me actually Not. Show. Up. Old school. Home. On the sofa. For days. Weeks. Months. Watching your dreams drift away from you like untethered dinghies at sea while you convince yourself that you’re okay and that you just need a break, the whole time knowing that you’re basically letting the state come in and steal your babies so they can sell them to the highest bidder. You got that, Goddess?

ER: Wow, yeah. That sounds rough. But that’s a pretty complex metaphor you just used. You seem to like writing. Is that true?

EE: I love it.

ER: Then why not just be a writer?

EE: Because then I wouldn’t get the joy I get out of performing for people.

ER: But….Sorry?

EE: It’s complicated.

ER: Right. So that was the first time you quit stand up. What about the second time?

EE: Well, that would have been around April or May of 2014.

ER: OK, tell us about that.

EE: Who’s “us”?

ER: OK, tell me about that. What was going on at the time?

EE: I was living in London. I had moved there from Seattle at the end of 2012 to check out the comedy scene.

ER: And how was that experience?

EE: Well…gee. I guess it was good? Was it? I don’t know.

ER: Well, was it good?

EE: No. I mean, yes. But more no.

ER: I’m not following you. Did you do any comedy in London?

EE: Yes, a few times. Maybe less than twenty. Or less than ten. Yeah.

ER: So, you were there for over a year and only got up ten times?

EE: Yeah, basically.

ER: Was it all bad?

EE: No, some of it was very good, very fun. But I had been sinking into a depressive funk for a while and life in London was difficult. I wasn’t really finding my “tribe”, you know, like-minded folks. Although I was pretty reclusive for a long time, which didn’t help the matter.

ER: But London’s a great city. There’s so much to do. How could you be a recluse in a place like that?

EE: Well, that’s just it. There’s so much to do. And it’s so fast. It’s like a speeding carousel that just spins and spins and it’s hard to know where to get on sometimes.

ER: Another metaphor. OK, so if you could sum up in a few words what you think the main factors were in you quitting comedy this last time, what would you say?

EE: Existential angst, self-doubt, depression, fish-out-of-wateritis, living in London, working in London, being a foreigner in London, being American in London, having to work at night to make ends meet, London’s size, social anxiety, personalized anxiety, generalized anxiety, self-destructive tendencies, ennui, lack of purpose, crippling fear.

ER: Anything else?

EE: Yeah. The intervals at gigs are too long. I hate that. And I hate the word “interval”. It’s “intermission”.

ER: OK, anything else?

EE: Yeah, English bacon is all wrong. It’s not bacon-y enough. Too pork-y.

ER: Yeah, I agree. OK, so what’s the next move?

EE: Nature walk. Then, Happy Hour.

ER: No, I mean the next move creatively.

EE: Well, I’ve decided to maybe sort of go back to stand up. Third time’s a charm. Hoping anyway.

ER: Oh, great. So what are you working on?

EE: Well, I’m not exactly writing an act at the moment. I have too much material to be able to do that at the moment. After all, it’s been over three years. And you don’t really stop writing. So, I’m filtering some of my thoughts into this blog, and hopefully boiling down a few remaining ideas into something I can start playing around with onstage.

ER: Great. So, the blog is a catalyst?

EE: Hopefully. It started out as more of an excuse to not get onstage immediately. Sort of a stalling device. It’s turning out to be really useful for that.

ER: Right. Are you sure you want to do stand up again?

EE: OK, interview’s over. My Happy Hour awaits.

ER: What about the nature walk? You said you were going on a nature walk.

EE: Well, perhaps if this interview hadn’t lingered on as long as this, I’d be able to. But I’m exhausted now, and Happy Hour doesn’t last forever, does it?

ER: Well, thank you so much for talking to us.

EE: Who’s us?

ER: I meant me. All the best.

EE: Thanks. Come back when I’m a star.

ER: Right. Bye.

EE: Bye.

[AWKWARD HANDSHAKE]