Dear Poor Lucky Me,

I’m not usually a “f*** the police” kind of gal but I’ve got something I want to get to the bottom of:
Why do I have to vigilantly pick up my dog’s poo, but police horses can poo all over the place and no one is walking behind them with a big plastic baggie?

I mean, is that an injustice or what?  If I teach my dog to just poo in the street can we call it even?

Signed,

Not Fair

Dear Not Fair,

Poor Lucky Me

I went on stage again yesterday.

I didn’t die, I didn’t throw up, and despite my best efforts to get hysterical I remained relatively unruffled. In fact, my calmness kept making me feel uncomfortable. I thought about going into the bathroom and slapping myself in the mirror like people do in the movies but I didn’t want to freak anyone out in the public restroom at Piper’s Alley.

The last time I went on stage, I felt like I was mountain climbing without safety ropes.  It seemed like at any minute I could grab something unstable and plummet to my death.  But this time was different.  It was more like going to Yellowstone.

When I was little my parents took my brothers and I on a driving trip to Yellowstone National Park.  It was a great adventure to drive from Chicago to Wyoming and we were awestruck on arrival.  Wildlife roamed the park: Bison, moose, and eagles were common sights.  But the most exciting and terrifying part of the trip were the grizzly bears.  Everywhere we went were signs warning happy families that they could be mauled to death by bears unless they packed up their picnics and learned how to play dead.  Visitors were assured that it was impossible to out run the grizzlies. Climbing tress would also be useless because the predators are so fast and tall.

Even though my backpack was full of Bear Warning pamphlets and my head was swimming with ideas how I would realistically look dead and unappetizing, I still wanted to go hiking.  The idea that I could encounter a giant grizzly around any corner was more thrilling than threatening.  I knew a few survival techniques and I could count on my companions to act right and avoid bloody maulings.

Yesterday’s experience on stage made me feel very capable and sure of myself, because I knew I could rely on my teammates and on the skills I had learned.  In the end it was like we did round a corner and see a bear, but we all played dead like pros. I don’t remember very much of what I said, but I do remember the sweet sound of an audience laughing.  And I’m hooked.

**My mom wants me to include how funny I was and how cute I looked.  She thought it was weird that I didn’t cover those essential details.

I have another improve performance on Sunday. Despite a series of nightmares where I’m on stage with no pants, or with my dog (and she isn’t following any of the improv rules) I’m very worried that I have not worried enough this time. The last time I went on stage I put in dozens of high quality worrying hours. The show was a success and I can’t help but feel like all the hard work I did worrying really paid off.

At least I’ve got a couple of days to put in some good time, although I really wish I had started freaking out weeks ago. See, I think I spent way too much time running out my anxiety at the gym when I should have been sitting on my couch watching my hair fall out from stress. Damn. Well I guess if I bomb this weekend I’ll have hard evidence and a better system to follow for next time.

Ok, here’s goes everything.