Last night was my third attempt at being funny on a stage here in Melbourne, and I think it went reasonably well. (I am by no means experienced at this whole thing, and so there are times where it goes well, and that’s good, because I’m learning what works, and there are nights where it goes less well, and that’s also good, because I’m learning what doesn’t work so well, but those nights are also a little bit less awesome. Which, y’know. Is probably true of many things. “The days when I know what I’m doing are better than the days I don’t know what I’m doing. In front of an audience. Yay!”)
It’s really great though, because everyone is really supportive, and they’ve all been there, and it’s a really lovely community.
The best part though is that I live in a house that’s the after-party house.
I LOVE being the after-party house.
There’s just something really beautiful about waking up in the morning, and having to be quiet because there’s someone asleep on every couch in the living room.
In my head, I imagine that it’s kind of like…very primal. It’s just people coming together, sharing shelter, building community.
It’s like when you’re seven, and you’re hanging out with your best friend, and you just…don’t ever want to go home. So, even though you’ve spent all day with the person, you’re still begging to sleep over.
We don’t ever have to grow up. (We just have to do more paperwork and pay bills.)