Failing

Which is the point, but it sucks anyway. Completely bombed, not any laugh. This was the moment I had been dreading, had to face it. In some ways it's worse, because I'm not sure what I learned from failing, except that I sucked. In other ways not as bad, there was a lot of compassion there. Or empathy. Cried a bit (walking to the bus, not in the room.) Crying a little now. What if I don't learn anything, and have to endure six more hours of feeling this shitty? There are 24 hours more of class, this was the end of week one, but we cover other stuff in at least 2 1/2-3 hours of each class.  It's tough when it's just you, no props, being told "be funny." But I'll endure it. I'm not quitting. Even if I have to endure the humiliation of never finding "funny," there's something going on in the room that's beautiful and worth experiencing.

There was a notable shift in intimacy between beginning of class and the end today. The other class begins this coming week. It involves a performance, as a learning experience. I don't believe we are expected to suddenly be brilliant, and that is somewhat of a relief. Clown stories tomorrow. I want to sleep. I'm tired. I need to shower, but the bathroom is occupied, and it will be gross by the time I get to use it. He always leaves every surface dirty and flooded in water, I'm not sure how.  (It does no good to ask him to do otherwise. And I'm too spent to want to clean it up now.) Sigh.