Thanks to this comic blogger and comedy colleague I started perusing former Facts of Life megastar, Lisa Whelchel’s website. Lisa’s given up showbidness for Jesus, and through her prayer guide ‘blog thingy, I found the motherlode of happy, joy and wonderfulness — a bunch of wav files with the variety of them songs over the 9-year run of the wacky hijinks of those girls from Eastland Academy (or whatever the fuck the name of the fictional school was).

Just hearing the them music from They Facts of Life Goes to Paris helped my spirit to soar and the first smile to cross my face in a week or so of worry.

So, it’s kind of like Lisa prayed for me, you know. She got religion and a website, which made my friend link to her, because damnit, she be all goofy and shit, and then I got to hear the theme music. All is right with the world (at least for a minute.)

Here’s how I know I’m not the Unibomber, just a misunderstood artiste —

I know intellectually that the flood of work computer traffics is probably due to a slew of people parsing my every word for a clue to my mental health. Striving to decode what isn’t there, namely the actual, serious intent behind the words. Bwahahaha, jokes on them, I know more than anyone that these are idiotic ramblings without weight, gravity or substance. Horsefeathers, I think that’s what we have here.

But, the part of me that is all writer, all ego ridden, communicating fury, stand-up comic, Barnum and Bailey spectacle, what is that person thinking about the increased traffic? That wingnut “artist” is thinking, “Huh, they keep coming back every day. Maybe they are enjoying the read.” Always look for the fan base no matter how ridiculous, right?

And that’s how I know that (a) I’m OK and (b) I possess just that overactive imagination that a friend does a comedy bit about, namely how he always gets in trouble for it.

Did you hear the distant thunder this morning?

Postponed my psych evaluation after talking with a lawyer. At the end of the day, being told that you must be evaluated as a risk for workplace violence is too fucking huge. Enormous. Gigantic. Dare I say, monstrous, to take lightly.

Many things I am, but violent prone ain’t one of them, and my name is going to have to walk away from this dust clear and untainted. My non-psychotic head recognized as such.

So, now I have called HR and uttered the phrase that you just know is all rippling and repeating all over the place: “On the advice of counsel…” And, now, I guess, since I’ve hit publish, the dozen or so sharks with company IP addresses who have been circling this little backwater of the Internet know too.

And so it begins.

Twice now I’ve tried to go through every post here to clean things up, recategorize and generally deal with the bullshit raining down on my head. That means that twice now, I’ve dozed off while reading my own words.

I almost feel sorry for the people who seem to be going through this little crap heap with a fine-toothed comb. (That’s a helluva mixed metaphor I got going on there, I know. Poop comb.)

Anyway, I wonder how many times they dozed off?

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?