I went camping on a small island with some friends last summer and we enjoyed s’mores, as you do.  I really like s’mores, but this was only the fourth time in my life I’d had s’mores.  All four experiences with s’mores would only be positive for me, although I am aware that it’s not uncommon for people to have bad experiences with s’mores.  And while I’m a fan of s’mores, the Swedish authorities are not fans of s’mores, which is why I keep writing s’mores instead of what it’s actually called.

By the way, ever hear that Beatles song, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”?  Great song.  Underrated band.  But I digress.

After taking I mean eating s’mores, I sat on a rock at the edge of the island and stared at the sky.  It was mostly clear that day, except for one large cloud, roughly square in shape, and as I watched it became a screen against which shapes and colors were projected.  Gradually, the clouds morphed into two Celestial Beings, one of whom communicated one word to me, telepathically:


I knew what it meant.  All the negative aspects of my life, all my vices, all my bad habits, everything I’d fought against in order to be a good person, I was told to embrace those things about me.  Stop fighting.  I felt this enormous weight lift from my shoulders as I realized, it’s okay to be selfish.  It’s okay to think of no one but myself.  Hot on the heels of this revelation, however, came another: I wasn’t talking to just any angel, I was talking to the perfect angel.  I’ve heard people say that s’mores lead to conversations with God, yet here I was, talking to Lucifer.

You just want me to be that way because it would put me on a road to You, I told Him.  He chuckled and put His hands up.  <Hey, you got Me.>  One might think the Devil would be furious at being rebuked, but why should He care to be denied my soul?  I’m certain there’s no shortage in that department.

I’ve thought about this experience many times over the past year, but especially in the last few months.  Noticing that my reactions to posts on social media were, more often than not, “Fuck them AND their mother,” lead to me realizing a break would do me some good.  The idea of succumbing to the darker sides of my personality becoming more tempting, it’s better to just focus on work.  (A moron accused me recently of sitting on the couch all day on Twitter, of all things.  I wish!  I have three goddamn jobs.  To be fair, I do spend a lot of time on my couch, regardless.)

So what does this hilarious post have to do with a standup comedy blog?  I’m getting to that.  Jeez.  In the movie Stranger Than Fiction, Will Ferrell’s character realizes that he can hear a narrator, that he’s become the main character in someone else’s story.  Not knowing what to do about it, he’s given some advice- do nothing.  Literally.  Just sit on the couch and wait for the plot to happen to him.  Indeed, he doesn’t have to wait long before a wrecking ball smashes into his apartment.

I feel like that’s where I am now, pre-wrecking ball.  That if I just keep my head down and plug away at my jobs, suddenly I’ll be inundated by gig offers and podcast invites.  Except I know that’s not how this works.  Nor should it.  In theory, my phone should be ringing off the hook!  (Remember when phones had hooks?)  I mean, I’m a brilliant comic with twelve years and eight countries of experience, ran about sixty comedy clubs, people should be falling over themselves to hand me offers!  Except I’m just as brilliant and deserving as any other rookie, with zero ambition and social skills so poor I couldn’t mingle my way out of a wet paper bag.

So my social media fast continues.  Spring is springing, I have a full-time job and for the first time in so long I can’t remember, I don’t have Imposter Syndrome.  Maybe in Autumn, by then securely employed, I’ll be more into grinding for gigs and chasing the dragon.  Although by then I expect the thirty thousand clubs currently active in Stockholm will have been whittled back down to three.