the lights are on, but no one’s home

I’ve been staying home the past few days, instead of eating a quick dinner with the family and heading out to a show or an open mic. Last week, I was hardly at home. Sunday I had a show, Monday I was at an open mic, Tuesday I had a show, Wednesday I was with my comedy writing buddies, Thursdays I was home, Friday was the first night of a competition, Saturday I competed, and Sunday I stayed home. I know I’m not like the other comics. I’m married. I have a family. I can’t go to the after-party or even the after-party even though I’m sure it would be fun. Even when if everyone’s asleep when I come home, I feel like a teenager sneaking back in. WHICH I NEVER DID AS A TEENAGER, MOM!

A large part of comedy for me is networking, it means sticking around and saying hi, I’m Mona. I’m a comic, I’m not here as a fan or someone’s plus one. Hi, I say, I’m Mona. Sometimes it’s to passing cars but at least they know who I am!

I’m trying to make a footprint in a city that has such a concentrated pool of hilarious people, people who are way funnier than I am and who have been working at this craft much longer than I have. I am meeting tons of interesting, diverse men, ladies and one who was a man and is now a lady.

But I do this at the expense of staying at home at night. I do this at the expense of being at the gym. I do this at the expense of watching a movie with my husband and whispering into his ear, “Can you refill my glass of diet coke? It’s empty.” No, I don’t do that. I just shake the empty glass so the ice rattles around loudly and I give him the look like, “WELL?!”

I’m still new to this world and I’m trying to find that balance of where I feel alive on stage with the interior of the room filled with laughter and where I feel like I’m still a great mom and wife. I feel so great on stage, even my worst set is better than anything I’ve ever done and I have to get to a place where it all works and maybe I won’t find it soon, and until then, I’ll have little people waiting for me at home, including a six-year-old who knows my schedule so well and asks me as I’m packing up my purse, “Mommy, you have to go tell your jokes!”