Taking a cue from Gethsamane, I couldn’t stay awake on the phone with M. last night–mind willing/flesh weak. Maybe it was because it was 3:30 a.m. here. Or maybe it was because I don’t speak Aramaic.

I felt bad, though. It’s interesting how much we seem to be alike in how things affect us. That should make me a better listener. But, instead, sometimes, it makes me have no idea what to say. In that, if I knew how to handle that stuff myself, I could help you, but I can’t.

Thanks to be exhausted from work, and mildly depressed by trying to sort out my position in the grand scheme, I haven’t gone to any comedy shows in a couple of weeks. The list of people who I want to see perform is now infinitesimally small compared to the one of people I don’t ever want to see. In the next month, though, I am going to have to try harder — go out to more shows, do more open mikes, since I did in the end acquire a spot in the Boston Comedy Festival. I’m in the line up for the Walk for Hunger Benefit Show on Sunday, April 25 at Nick’s Comedy Stop. Thank god (intentionally small ‘g’) it’s not a benefit for something I’m a against, like the GOP. That would be a tough situation — my desire to perform over supporting evil, very Faustian bargain. It’s the first night of the Festival and a benefit, so maybe there will be people there. Part of me might rather be in the competition, but on the other hand, this show will probably be more fun. Once again, I haven’t been asked onto the women’s show. It’s amazing to me how many women shows have happened without me; I guess I ain’t lady enough. Boo hoo.