I have to shake the role of “racist, Southern cop” off every night after I walk offstage. It feels heavy on my shoulders and across my back.
To be clear: The emotions come from realizing I’d been making this comic daily for an entire year and not because I was listening to The Cure at the time.
You have to be quick in this group.
I ran/walked four miles anyway, but every step felt like a battle.
I went to a party. I got drunk. I was obnoxious.
I can be good at something without enjoying it.
This is sort of a lie because thinking about someone else’s problems often means not having to think about your own.
I sort of agree with the cut (the show is TOO LONG), but this still blooooooows.
Sometimes doing theater isn’t so bad.