I’m so torn about whether to update this shit at all.

I’m responsible for it. The contents are all from my head. But, most of them are bullshit, hyperbole, rants, ridiculous over-the top crap. Like comedy. Real, but hyper-real, so not real. On stage and in some corners of cyberspace, you are inviting people in with the agreement that it’s performance. Only with that understanding, can you be free to really say anything.

Should I write about how some friends took me to Vermont, my first nude beach yesterday? And, that it was way too fucking cold to be naked (at least for me, but not for the guy who looked like Jesus with a formidable set of cajones). Or will this be seen as suspect, deviant?

I wanted this site to be public, as an experiment in self-publishing. But, I didn’t invite everyone here. Inevitably, some guests crashed or were invited by friends of friends of friends. But, then some people crashed without trying to figure out what was going on here. Do I write about that, or is the geni so far out of the bottle there is no fucking point at all?

Of course, I want most of all to pen some kind of screed, but I don’t have the guts.

Alrighty, then. If you’re here, everything worked.

I’ve been reworking the software to add some levels, move stuff around and generally make this bullshit more manageable.

Been thinking a lot about Harriet the Spy. If you have ever read the book you will know why. Or maybe if you were just a dorky little girl with a journal and an imagination and insufficient social skills (all bonuses for people who grow up to be dorky stand-up comics and/or writers).

Damn, I didn’t mean to stay up this late. I promised to be somewhere 45 minutes away at 10:30 a.m.

THANK GOD! I am actually sane and not a threat to anyone. Thank fucking god. Because otherwise this free time, the anger and the isolation, would be soul crushing. Nothing like getting a reminder to value your own mental health.

I have family and friends and a pretty cool “hobby,” all of which give me a lot of great positive feedback and support. I had a fun time at the Comedy Studio last night, which isn’t always the case. I laughed at the other comics, and I got a pretty fine response from the audience my own bad self. I got M. checking in on me, 24-7, and then acting like I don’t notice. My family, who together possess awesome levels of experience and knowledge, have been great in reminding me what’s important and right.

And who knew there was such a variety of under employed, unemployed, differently employed and regular employed all looking for an excuse to ditch and go to the museum or movies or drink beer?

These are the things that have kept me sane enough to work long hours at a high level of compentency and just give a shit in general. These are also the things that remind me about what is real and important in this little life and to keep on plugging. Too bad there weren’t more people like the collective “us” running the show.

So, thanks to everyone who watches my back. And, thanks to all of the folks who have commented or emailed or posted on their own sites, because through the vast power of the Internet they heard about me, even the ones who disagree. Because, hey, getting ideas out there, creating new characters, starting new chains and talking them through is the whole point. There are a whole lot of writers out there on the ‘net, which is pretty fucking cool. (You gotta love the symmetry of the Internet and Googling being both my undoing and my grace, don’t you think?)

It’s so weird, but now that my words, on this a comedy induced, inspired, related, created, website, have been determined a “threat” worthy of my undergoing an evaluation for fitness to work, it’s harder to write. It’s not just knowing that several pair of unloving, uncomprehending eyes are on my words, it’s just the feeling of taint.

My writing and my sense of humor are fact mechanisms for staying sane. For that fundamental truth to be misunderstood is perplexing, but more. It’s frustrating, but more. It’s like talking louder to a visitor who can’t understand your directions in English, simplifying when you realize the language gap, but then, smack on the forehead, you figure out the guy’s deaf and can’t hear you anyway.

Assuming I do get back to work, there are people now who will by necessity monitor my behavior for signs. Somewhere, I will be working with someone who thought this necessary to report. It will be difficult to trust anyone, since by policy they must all be complicit in my having to be evaluated.

The central irony of this situation is that at one point I wrote freely, because I was unknown. No one was aware of me or my thoughts. I hadn’t gotten on stage, and I hadn’t met friends in comedy, which is essentially a writing community. Then, I got up the guts to start a ‘blog, to self-publish (as a friend, living in Poland, with a poetry ‘blog said, one day he just decided that he had to take his poetry out from a shoebox under his bed and let other people see it.

Initially, the vast viewership of my site was me, alone. Then, like many, many other comedians, I linked to their sites, they linked to mine. The writing was and is in many ways still for that group. They understand the hyperbole, the desire to create characters or caricatures of the real world and all of the affect. Slowly, I invited friends and family to check my site out, becoming a little proud of creating something from nothing and teaching myself some rudimentary web design and programming. Slowly, like my friends in comedy, I found some of my words clicking with other people, who I didn’t know. Like one blogger/comedy friend, who got some stuff on the radio or several who have been in humor magazines or online ‘zines or newspaper columns. Their words, our words, and our names are all we have, because we have all taken something from inside our heads and brought it out there for show and tell. I think writing/comedy is one of the weirdest art forms, because in some ways there is no physical reality. The marks on page become something inside someone else’s head, and that turns into a physical impulse–laughter.

Now I’ve made teeny-weeny inroads in getting my ideas across and an entry in March, actually one sentence out of context, written as hyperbole, becomes the cornerstone of why I am at risk.

Meanwhile, the same dogooder, protecting me from other workers missed this sentence, written far more recently (June 7):

(The scoreboard idea is my compromise from writing that those folks could be stabbed with meeting quality, jailhouse shivs. Ever since that blogger got fired from [a famous Eastcoast University] for various unprofessional wackiness, I figure no reason to cause unnecessary suspicion over the quality and quantity of my psychotic nutbaggedness.)

Pity.

I should have thought of this before the mad amount of traffic burst onto my page. Ah well, maybe someone will come back.

I will be performing tomorrow night at the The fabulous Comedy Studio, 1236 Massachusetts Avenue, Harvard Square, Cambridge. Should be a fun show, as always there are some great, talented folks to check out.

As a bonus, I have a little extra time to rest up and think of a strong set.

So, I sat all morning by the phone, waiting for the call with the next steps… No call.

While sitting I realized I spend too much time at work. I care a lot about a job well done, but popcorn for dinner, because you state late to finish someone else’s project?

I almost missed Gaugin despite an MFA membership. He is my favorite painter, bar none, I think. I’m going now to the museum. Lemons/Lemonade, right?

Scylla and Charybdis, that’s what I’m saying. I am of several minds whether to write at all, knowing that there is essentially blood in the water (forgive the vivid, corporeal reference), but I have to ask myself in the end what will serve me best?

Here’s the deal. I have a job. At that job, I spend an enormous amount of time, and for the most part I believe the quality of my work is frequently unparalleled. I have a bizarre attention to detail and comprehension of context, both of which generally serve me well. And, I have workaholic tendencies. For better or worse, I am more than willing to roll up my sleeves and work until the work is done, regardless of the hour of the day, or far too frequently, night. Several people seem to appreciate that trait, quite a few enjoy working with me.

I have gone to lengths to not mention my employer here by name. The stories, the diatribes are actually intended to be non-specific; they are amalgams of people and personality types, not actual walking beings, and software, systems and meetings, those are universal themes. I have generally minimized any specific mention of work and the actual entity anywhere on the worldwide web, except if I had something positive to say. (I would link to such an example on a public bulletin board, but if you keep reading you’ll easily discern why that ain’t happening.) I have met some truly wonderful people, who I will always respect enormously, no matter what I think of the organization overall. I have made friends, I have worked on good works and for that I am grateful, because really, sometimes that’s all you can get.

Moreover, I do not provide co-workers with my website URL or use my website email, and, unlike most people with whom I work, I rarely use my work email for personal business. I also don’t advertise my writing (or comedy shows) at work, although I have invited to shows people who I have thought, perhaps mistakenly, were friends. (Good God, think of the trust issues I might have had before that I had entirely separate emails, etc., and imagine them now.) I try as best as I can to keep work and my private life separate, although it’s difficult to be fanatical in a world filled with ordinary people not robots.

But, here I am right now, pondering my future right now. Why? Because I am on administrative leave, pending an “evaluation” (presumably of the psychiatric kind). Apparently this site (full of who I am as a character, as a writer, as a stand-up, dedicated to my writerly view of the world (and I mean view, not action plan) and more than anything else helping me to create a voice worthy of publication, sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes successful overall in creating something from nothing) anyway, this site has been found by my employer and deemed threatening. I don’t know who felt threatened or how they found me. (Although, by performing publicly, I cannot be truly stealth.)

I will say this one thing, even though as a stand-up performer and writer it goes against the grain of everything I have done in the name of art and communication, I apologize to anyone frightened or intimidated or concerned about me as a violent threat. My response, feeble as it may seem to anyone who perceives such things, is IT’S A JOKE. IT’S A FUCKING JOKE. This site, my writing, my life, my stand up, it’s all about finding humor and creating something positive from this little whorl on the planet. Get it.

I thought about removing the site, but for now it stands, while I think through some decisions.

Here’s today’s random phobia — I’m in my car in a parking garage, roof down. As I am paying, the chick in the booth is really quick to raise the gate, but then she’s slow in taking the money and counting back my change. It looks like all the cash register-type stuff is done, but she’s moving glacially (probably because she’s talking into a telephone headset). It’s been so long since the gate was raised, I’m convinced it’s on a timer and is going to crash onto me right as I pass through it. While I wait, I envision the ensuing decapitation.

Here’s today’s random nice thought — I think I like my beau, because he takes my ridiculousness at face value. Earlier I left him voice mail in which I said I was “looking for my baby” and then I formally introduced myself and babbled something stupid about needing to introduce myself, because I couldn’t be certain there weren’t other callers referring to him as their baby. I’m pretty sure he won’t hold it against me.

Here’s another random nice thought — (Jesus, two? I’m a regular ball of flaming sunshine.) Anyway in about the span of a week two different friends from two different past periods have been in touch. Always fun to hear from the past and find out what’s up in the current.

Here’s a random stupid observation — As of today, 42 people have voted as to whether I should stay or go (It’s running about 75%/25% in favor of my getting the hell out of Dodge). Of course, 42 is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Which, incidentally, I took as a good sign when I bought my house. And, 42 is the age of a certain boy I like. So, there you are.

Here’s a random Internet tidbit (courtesy of fark.com — From the NY Post:

Luke and Katrina Grant have tied the knot � a month after he stabbed her in the chest during a drunken attack. Katrina, 36, of Warwickshire, England, needed 12 stitches after Luke, 22, attacked her for having pre-wedding jitters. “People think I’m crazy, but no one knows him like I do. I love him. He’s worth a second chance,” she said. Bill Hoffmann, Wire Services

Ahhh, womens, they sure be crazy when they in love. Thank god I’m impervious to human emotion.

(I also liked the mouse chewing and the bathroom crucifix. While I welcome a miracle, I wouldn’t want to have to tidy up for the parade of tourists.)

Finally, here are a couple of random things for anyone interested in these hear newfangled weblogs — From Time magazine, “Meet Joe Blog.” And, by way of Paul, my jesting/jousting nemesis on the bane of my comic existence (apart from open mikers), there’s Project Blog with folks doing this kind of shite for charity. Sounds like a good idea, but I’m on the fence about the requisite sleep deprivation. (I wonder how fast I could lose my job if I decided to blog for the non-profit that pays me. Somehow, I don’t think they’d groove on my complete blood red hatred of the goddamn DEMONware conversion. Not that losing my job would be a bad thing.)

Oh, and what’s up with the random blank post below?