alison spittle's comedy life - confessions of a worrier princess - white board

Trying to explain how I wrote the position
It's hard to get up, and the process of writing jokes is that I wait for inspiration to blow.
I put out the flyer instead of making a joke.
This is a long process of humiliation.
You wrote the material for an hour, tested it in front of the audience, realized that you only had 20 minutes of available time, and then wrote it again and repeated it until it was finished.
This is my third show on the edge of Dublin, and while I'm putting off time, I feel good about it.
I think it's much better than my previous two shows.
It has more confidence in what it is trying to achieve.
It feels easier to write and connect, hopefully it will show up.
I think I will write this blog about the day of my creation, here is a real description of what I did yesterday, preparing a comedy show for the Dublin Fringe Festival.
I'm sitting here with a box full of notebooks and an open laptop in my hand, and it's been seven hours.
I was woken up by the road work outside the bedroom window and the drilling shook my toilet, which was a strange feeling.
Brushing my teeth I decided to leave home, have a cup of coffee, take a walk, in which case it was impossible for me to work.
When I was looking for the key, the drilling stopped and it started to rain heavily, and I decided that good coffee was a waste of money anyway.
My apartment is on the third floor and it is directly facing the window of the apartment across the road.
I rummaged over the sofa and put it on the kettle.
A young lad leaned against the balcony on the second floor, smoking in a vest, he was the only one with flowers on the balcony, and the rest of the balcony had clothes hangers.
I watched him for ten minutes. he never found me. I felt like a spy.
In the apartment next door, there was a happy three-year-old who jumped behind the sofa and kept reaching out to get the window handle.
I saw an anonymous arm pulling the toddler out of sight.
Two minutes later, the baby will be more daring than ever to go back to the window and the arm will come back, just like a higher bet peek game --a-boo.
Then, I wonder if a toddler can get out of the window? Its fingertips can reach the handle, but is it high enough to go out baby, I hear they are like cats.
Then I search "cat bone density" with Google ".
The cat's bone density is a bit too wordy, so I looked up the cat's video on YouTube and I wasn't mad at the cat, so I looked up Barry from the clip.
I took a quick look on Twitter and there was another terrorist attack, and then I asked myself if I could survive the terrorist attack, I thought of every possible terrorist attack, and I would die under any circumstances.
Then I feel sorry for the dead and then I feel guilty for feeling sad for the second time and wonder if I am a neuropathy.
I Googled the "psychiatric test" and came to the conclusion that I was not.
I replied to a work email and so far I feel smug about my work and go for breakfast.
The laptop is still not open.
I felt sleepy after breakfast, so I watched one episode, when I digested, and it turned into two episodes.
It's afternoon.
I checked the ticket sales at the Edge Hotel Dublin.
I look at the social media accounts of other more successful comedians and I spend two hours laughing at the Twitter accounts of other comedians.
I refreshed my ticket report and there was no change, and I cursed breathlessly.
I opened my notebook and scanned the notes from the previous day and I found it difficult to read my own handwritten content.
I suddenly remembered that my bathroom sink was disgusting and needed to be cleaned.
I took off my rubber gloves and the whole bathroom was shiny, opened my notebook and listened to the recording of my previous standing show.
I was scared to hear myself and started painting cartoon birds with a hat on them, and speech bubbles abused me.
I stared out the window looking for inspiration, the man smoking on the balcony and he caught my eye.
I can hear the key open my front door and my partner is at home.
I ran happily to the hallway and my partner came home, but also half worried that the "awould" lad had offended me, stared at him and was crossing the road with a knife, ready for revenge.
I told my partner that I was trying to write a work email all day and that we should invest in blinds.
20 minutes later I told him that I didn't work at all, I watched two episodes without him, and jumping in front of the box was the ultimate betrayal.
He told me not to worry. we watched movies at dinner.
Then at eleven o'clock P. M. I will think of something interesting and take out my notebook.
I write something and then I get excited and think about my topic.
I swear to buy a white board. it's more organized.
I keep writing until it doesn't make any sense and then I know I will do the same thing tomorrow.