prolonged, uncomfortable laughter

I was talking to a coworker today. I said something mildly amusing. I mean, it was kinda funny but not THAT funny. He laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Again, it was not that funny. But he’s laughing and looking at me, dead in the eyes. I chuckled slightly, but that was all the comment warranted, if that. Anyway, it was really uncomfortable. The eye contact was what made it bad. It’s like in the movies, when one person sings a song to another person, the singee just looks into the eyes of the singer in a state of enjoyment, bliss, whatever. I could never do that, no matter how in love I was with the singer. It’s just so awkward, for some reason. If I were ever in that situation (and what are the odds at this point, really?) I think I would close my eyes or act like I was having a seizure or something. And the coworker isn’t interested in me romantically (I don’t have the equipment he requires), so it wasn’t a false intimacy sort of thing. It was just an uncomfortable, heh heh, sort of thing. The kind of situation that invariably ends with me giggling uncomfortably, which is just plain bizarre. I’m not a giggler.

I’m in a weird mood now that my time of craziness is over. Both readings went incredibly well. The Plan B reading was a small crowd (only about 30 people were invited, and about 25 of them showed) and the Please Remove This Stuffed Animal from My Head reading was also small (this was accidental – I didn’t push it like I would have had I not had another reading five days beforehand). I’ve mentioned the procrastination thing before – sadly, it worked for me again. The stuffed animal play ended up being the most complete thing I’ve written thus far. Granted, it was only 15 minutes, but even after rehearsals and a reading, I’m not fucking with it. It’s done. Highly unusual. I usually tinker and tweak and rearrange for months. Something about the time constraint made me just belt it out right the first time. And I really like the play. It’s the first overtly political thing I’ve ever written, though it’s somewhat veiled in the cover of absurdity. Somewhat, but not really. Guess I’ve never been known for subtlety.

It was really fun being a playwright for five days. I took some vacation time from work so I could get all my shit done, and I gotta tell you – if I can figure out a way to do this play shit for a living, I’m there. It was totally great. Totally insanely busy, but totally great. Totally addicting. Guess I need to set some more crazy deadlines so I’ll keep writing. Now I get how people can work super long hours – if the plays were my job, I’d be working all the time. In a cabin in the woods, concurrently writing my manifesto. With a dog farm. Good scotch. And cheap red wine.

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