3 november

Before leaving for work, she noticed that her cat, curled tightly, fit perfectly on the frisbee she’d recently unpacked from the junk box. It was like a pot pie made out of cat. A plate of catterole. Catterole? Too much. Why did she even come up with this stuff?

Sometimes she was fairly sure that she had an excellent future ahead as a comedian. Of course, a lot of people seemed to talk about the importance of “being discovered”, but she really felt like discovering yourself was more important. How can you be a comedian if you don’t know it? Like someone will just walk up and tell you ‘Hey kid, you’re a comedian! I’ll take you places!’ and all the time you thought you were a clerk.

You have to know who you are. This she found to be a core tenet. There were probably a handful of others, but who’s counting? If you know you’re a comedian, you are. You can make it happen.

Keep in mind, nobody here’s saying comedienne. That’s gross. Knowing who you are means figuring out what you’d agree to be called. Comendienne is not an option. Please.

Her cat didn’t seem to mind being the main ingredient in a fresh catterole, but she silently promised a better option. It would come. That was the point of going to work, after all. Occupy yourself with something requiring mechanical engagement but allowing mental escape and you’ll be free to come up with all kinds of good lines.