Few days down and a few to go.

I can feel myself missing the fresh produce and my California lifestyle, not least of which involves M. It’s good I wandered out of my comfort zone to remember what comfort is.

Guiltily, I broke from the pack this afternoon. Truth is I am one shit companion in the running with the pack gestalt. I ain’t saying I’m some cool, lone wolf, but I fucking do love the illusion of freedom.

Headphones on and a random shuffling of songs on the iPod were accompianment to a calming stroll through the ancient ramparts of an ancient city.

I”ll have some pictures some day, but with shit wi-fi it might be back when I’m ensconced in Silicon Valley, where wi-fi runs free in the streets or at least works a bit better. (It’s the same crappy connection that’s keeping me from properly editing the previous post.)

It was a guilty pleasure, as I escaped on my own at the expense of Dot, from whom I wasn’t actually looking to de-pack. She kindly got cajoled into helping a guy from Boston with a videotape idea he had, and I completely opted out and went on my merry way.

The thing is the guy isn’t someone from the Boston comedy scene I particularly like, because I don’t particularly trust him. You throw on top of that that I don’t live in the burg no more so don’t have to care one bit about whatever power or cache helping him might remotely have. Nope, completely a formula, for me anyone, to walk.

The other thing is that one little mantra around the M. and D. household is time is currency, too. Don’t give it away unless you really want to and know what the commitment means. I say “no” now in this stage of my life, and I regret less.

Still and all, poor, much kinder Dot, willing to lend a hand, didn’t get her own tourist shit done. For that, and any way I might’ve helped, I have a twinge of regret. (But it’s smaller a twinge compared to the glacier-sized remorse I would have felt for killing a day helping someone who could give a flying shit about me. (The Bostonian in town, that is, not Dot.)

I’ve seen a few shows, which is cool, sticking to my gameplan of keeping on the fringes of the fringe, rather than getting some of the main market, hype, good-reviewed fare. Nope, I dig the crazy underdogs.

I’ve also done the Naked Comedy Showcase. I hope my family and loved ones appreciate that I traveled 8,000 miles away to perform to another country rather than sully my name locally now that it’s a “pofessional” type show rather than a private fundraiser as I had done before.

After this adventure, I am a reformed woman. I shall not venture the nude comedy route any further, unless something so monumental and life-changing was about in the universe, like burkas became an absolute law, internationally and universally. THen, I might protest.

Without that, the thrill is gone. From a transcendent experience that helped me free up some stage fright to an awkward gimmick, I think I”ve run my full course.

Godspeed to those who pick up the baton and keep the torch alive. (Or some other series of quasi-grand sounding mixed metaphors.)

I’m dozing at a decent, well before sunset time so I’ll take that as a sign. The sign could either be that I’m tired and need rest or that my writing is so excruciatingly godawful that I’m snoozing midsentence as the dullness of my prose sedates me.)