J is for Jokester


Confession time. I'm going to tell you something I've never told my husband, or my parents, or my diary. Seriously, not a soul in the world knows this about me, and I'm about to broadcast it on the internet. Because, you know, that seems like a legitimate life choice. Let's call it honesty, and pretend everyone's laughing with me.

Ever since around the time I entered college and went to my first live comedy show, I have wanted to do stand-up. I find myself writing material in my head at night when I can't go to sleep. I've even thought about sneaking out and just going for it at an open mic night (but, seeing how I've told no one about my embarrassing ambition, that would involve a web of lies I'm not quite ready to commit to). Sometimes I imagine what it might be like: the dark room, the bright light in my eyes, a smoky casino, everyone laughing because they're drunk and don't know any better. Then I imagine how it would really be: eye-twitching from extreme nerves, stammering, talking too loudly, booing, me throwing up into a microphone I'll have to pay for.

My ambition for comedy is laughable (both literally and figuratively), but I felt emboldened to share this with you after reading this blog post, in which my old friend Miriam is going for it with strange ambitions and learning to play the cello like a boss. Her realization about "putting thoughts and ideas 'out there'" struck some sort of chord that made me think this was a good idea.

It wasn't.

But I'll put it out there anyway.

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