The Comedy Club

Alright, so picture this:

It’s 5:45 in the morning. You just woke up a half hour late, and by the time you get to sticking your bagel in the toaster and brewing your morning cup of coffee, you realize just how much is swimming around your head:

It’s been almost five months since you were first put on the waiting list with that therapist’s office.

You still need to find another place to live in the next two and a half months.

Pretty soon you won’t be able to walk to work anymore.

No matter how much sleep you manage to get each night, varying degrees of grog characterize nearly every waking moment of your existence.

OH MY GOD. WHAT. HOLY HELL IT BURNS. WHAT. SHIT. OW. OH MY GOD OW.

And in the blink of an eye, the dripper you’d only just poured boiling water over decides to become sentient, crashing to its side under the devastating weight of coffee grounds, bubbling liquid, and broken dreams.

Right. Onto. Your. Hand.

Suffice it to say, it’s been a day. I’m exhausted. My hand’s wrapped in gauze and the lidocaine’s starting to wear off. I’m so annoyed. I’m determined not to let this become anymore than an unfortunate blip in my week.

More to come. Stay tuned.

-Ben