days, and people still appreciate me. They still laugh.
Being onstage is my safest place. It’s the only place I’ve
ever felt like nobody’s going to jump up and beat me, and if
somebody do beat me, there’s so many people in here
they’re going to stop it.
And it’s onstage where my voice is heard. I’m not being
shut out. It’s where I am accepted.
I just shot my special in a theater that seats four hundred
people. ͳey had to turn lots of people away. ͳose people
came to see me. Whether it was to see me succeed or to see
me fail, they still came for me.
It’s a safe place, like I’m being loved and admired. I know
it’s not really that, but it’s the closest I’ve ever really had, so
far.
I didn’t start out with the intention of writing about all
this painful stuff. I just wanted to write a funny book.
I don’t normally like getting all deep into painful shit. I
like to skip across the ocean of emotion. I feel like that’s
better.
But once I started working on this book, I got into all this
shit. If something comes up, I’m going to talk about it. I’m
going to tell you about it, and if it hurts, that’s too bad. I’m
going to be like, “Yo, that shit hurt, but let me tell you
though.”
That’s who I am.
I feel like, honestly, that’s the only reason I’m still alive.
Because I’m willing to talk about my stuĉ. Whether it’s
onstage, or with friends, or in this book.
I think that’s why I came back to comedy, after being out
ann
(Ann)
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