This morning I woke up older than ever, but full of hope. I sat up in bed, fresh from a cookie-and-cheese-abetted dream and five hours of sleep, and decided I wanted to learn how to edit video, and create digital effects. (I can’t possibly know the source of this impulse.) I had all of these thoughts without the typical accompanying thought that often goes something like, “I just need to purchase this unreasonably expensive piece of equipment/software/fountain pen/jeans jacket, to make it all happen.”
I grew excited about writing again, and the prospect of reclaiming several languishing projects. I thought about unfinished jokes, and looked forward to pursuing comedy more aggressively as soon as possible. I decided that everything I’d once considered an adorable post on this site was now a TV SKETCH™ or a COMEDY ACT™ or a BOOK PROPOSAL™ or OTHER AWESOME AND POTENTIALLY PROFITABLE THING THAT MORE THAN TWO DOZEN GIRLS AT TEXAS A&M UNIVERSITY WILL SEE™®©. I pointed to one of my cats and said, “This time next year, you’ll be eating steak au poivre and flourless Belgian chocolate cake! And we’ll have our own hot tub and genie.” I pumped my fists in the air, did twelve push-ups right on my mattress – and not the girl kind, leapt out of bed, slipped on a small pile of vomit (not mine), hit my head on the bed frame, and died – a winner, and a martyr.
