"Get your ass to Mars."

     Most likely this won't get read by many people. I only know a small handful of people that are even on google+, so I'm sure this will end up being an exercise in talking to myself, or parler à moi-même, as the French say. I have a way of thinking, a way of speaking that can be arduous to translate to text, so if you get lost in the foggy landscape of my thoughts, do not be afraid, said the archangel, it is a place I often find myself wandering. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, probably.

     I'm having a baby. Not me personally, but then you knew that. You're so smart. The first trimester is pretty stressful, anything that can go wrong usually happens during this time. And because you're a masochist like me, you're going to research all of the terrible things that God can do to children. I'm not as terrified about the baby as I initially thought, I just want the baby to be healthy. 

     I'm sure you noticed that I mentioned God a second ago, and it was capitalized no less. That shit is usually just for believers. Do I believe? Kinda yeah. I'm not big into the whole church thing and rituals and all that. I guess it's that as much as I cheerlead progress and science, I need to believe that there are some things science cannot explain. I need to live in a universe where magic exists, in some form. But that's my hang-up, not yours. 

     If you are reading this, than most likely you know, but if you don't, I also do stand-up comedy with a few other people. I would put their names, but I'm not sure if they're cool with that. I do love the comedy, and it's more work than most of you realize. There's the writing of the material, the set list, flow of different bits, and that's the easy part. The hard part is all the self promotion. The famous comedians have agents that do all that garbage for them, because we're no one famous, we do all the legwork ourselves. I just want to do the stand-up, but the others want to branch out a bit. The main other comedian I perform with suggested the blog to me, he knows I harbor a secret writing fetish, so here ya go. Another guy that performs with us suggested doing skits or sketches. I thought, yeah there's that real famous comedian that does sketch comedy. What's his name? Oh that's right, he doesn't exist. No one does that shit outside of Saturday Night Live, and that show hasn't been funny since the nineties. But he's salivating to be an "actor", so who am I to stifle someone's creativity? 

     Apparently, I seem to be getting some sympathy pregnancy symptoms. Mostly it's the sleep. My unborn child has already developed a loathing for anything close to REM. The restful state of sleep, not the band. How can anyone hate Michael Stipe's oddly soothing way of whine-stuttering into a microphone. Due to this declaration of war against sleeping for more than three hours at a time, I wake up every morning feeling like I just crawled out of a grave. But not in an avenge my own murder kind of way, but it's as if a wizard has forced me, by magic, to rise from the cold earth and entertain at parties or something. 

     I hope to keep this blog going if anyone ends up giving a shit. I used to keep one on myspace back when that was a thing, and it was pretty satisfying. I lost my train of thought.

     "That's me in the spotlight,

      loosing my religion."