A glowing ball of energy. In my hands. Well in my hands to the degree that I am holding it in a position. And if I don't move a muscle, it won't go anywhere. At least it's kinda pretty. I'm older now. Hooray. Successfully weathered the annual ritual of aging without the darkness pulling on the corners too much. Instead of the focal point of a depression, I seem to be managing to turn the event into the impetus. As we learned in physics, the static coefficient of friction is significantly higher than the kinetic one (or whatever the term was for shit that's already moving), so I'm just happy that the big ball of life has lurched back into motion. Part of it was the realization that I have a show in 3 weeks, and I haven't been on stage in 2 weeks. That got me out the door to the Big Deuce last night. While I was cut from the show, the thing that matters is not that I got on stage, but that I made it to the club without caving to the desire to sit home and stew things over. Doing. It is the most important of all the things. But I still have a show to get ready for.
At this point, I'd say that I have seven or eight minutes of material that is worth doing. My plan is to hone enough new material so that I only need five minutes of old jokes to fill my ten-minute set. I have a few ideas on the back burner right now, but I don't get the sense that any of them are good enough to make my set. My problem is that I haven't sat down to write in a long time. I've only explored ideas in my head briefly and jotted down a brief note of the idea in the hopes that I will write something funny based around the idea. But the last few ideas have been sitting lonely on my whiteboard for a few weeks. It's time to plow the road.