I'm 32 years old. Not only do I not own a home, but I live in the middle of an e-commerce company. I literally live in a railroad studio apartment (i.e. the bedroom is also a public walkway) between the warehouse and embroidery/design room of a company that sells merchandise on the Internet.
I have a 3 1/2 year old son who lives in Texas. I haven't seen him since Christmas, because I don't get along with his mother.
I have consumed large amounts of alcohol on a regular basis, consistently for the last 13 years. I ruined my cousin's wedding reception a few years ago by vandalizing a memorial at the bar/restaurant where it was being held.
I'm so forgetful that I was thinking to myself the other day, I wonder how many people have witnessed my absentmindedness and decided quietly to themselves that I am high on drugs. The first times I consumed alcohol (hooch) and hard drugs (crystal meth), I was duped into doing so.
Speaking of duped, I've been arrested for being exceedingly naïve, playing the part of a pawn in a check-fraud scenario that I now find too embarrassing to describe. My almost incomprehensible foolishness cost me around $5,000; loss of freedom for a time (falling under the supervision of an anal retentive, bureaucratic parole officer); a clean criminal record (which still contains a bogus "petit theft" conviction); and my temporary sanity (submitting a deranged book proposal to my then-girlfriend and my literary agent, both of whom thereafter kept their distance).
Though I hold a college degree, I for some reason work as a delivery driver for a dry cleaning company. I bring people their clean clothes, I pick up their dirty clothes, and I tell them about our referral program. Sometimes I go door to door telling people about our delivery service, with the hopes that someone will sign up, and I will get a $25 bonus.
I am dating a very attractive woman right now. She is intelligent, educated, classy, and interesting; she sings jazz, freelance writes, and used to perform ballet professionally.
Anytime I date someone like this, I can't help but start to feel that I don't have any room for error. Unfortunately, the web of neuroses that mental/emotional viruses have been spinning throughout my mind since my childhood make error-free living a tall order. I fear my identity is founded in large part on habitually fucking up, on self sabotage.
I try to remind myself now, that though I am a comedian, my life does not need to be a joke. I move from randomness and impulse toward stability and a sense of peace. Sometimes, if I distract myself enough, I accidentally forget to end with a punchline.
