WOAH, it's been a while, huh. I meant to call, I swear, it's just that I got busy, and well, you know how it is.

I know, I always turn to you when I'm upset.  When my emotions have taken hold.  When there is no one else to turn to.  But you are always there, silent and waiting so patiently. 

So here I am again, waiting for your open arms.

Writing, ah, the last bastion for my extreme emotions.

And this time, the emotion is fucking ANXIETY AND FEAR AND NERVOUSFUCKINGNESS OH SHIT I'M FUCKING NERVOUS AS FUCK.

This is an emotion I don't think I've fully expressed, and that is likely because I've never written after being put on the list for three open mics this week.

OH FUCK OH FUCK.

Calm down.

I need a paper bag. And I don't smoke but I need a cigarette.  I don't even know where to buy them here.  Oh man.

But yes, I moved to Atlanta (technically Decatur, but it's considered a neighborhood of Atlanta and I live very close to Midtown and all the other great areas of the city).  And I love it.  Still haven't found a job.

[Mark is at dinner with Emily's family, though now it is ending.  Everyone stands up and farewells are exchanged.  Emily's grandmother approaches the young couple, about to fly away from the nest.

Geema:  Good luck Emily.

They hug.

Geema (to Mark): I hope you find a job.

They shake hands.

Mark:  Um, thanks.]

Instead, I have found a way to induce the feeling that a panic attack may come at any moment. 

First show is tonight, ten minutes.  I have the material, I know it well enough for it hopefully not to sound rehearsed.

I've been thinking a lot about how strange this whole thing is, me moving to Atlanta.  One day I was just lying in bed trying to stay asleep despite the light breaking through the curtains.  Emily had just left to go to ballet.  Then I woke up again when I heard the door slam just seconds after drifting away in my semi-conscious state.

Emily stood over me, with a letter in her hand, trembling.

"I think I just got a job in Atlanta"

Three months later and I am here.  Pursuing something I thought would take years longer to actually try.  But instead it took less than two weeks after arriving to my new home.

I don't have much hope that tonight will go great, or tomorrow really, but once I get some experience and get over the fear of being in front of a bunch of strangers and trying to make them laugh, things will get better.

And even if this whole thing, my latest pursuit, goes nowhere, well, I'll be a better person for it.

After all, would one rather regret doing something they wanted to, or regret never doing it at all.

Wish me luck.  

I don't believe in luck.  

Or wishes.  

So never mind.