My last few days in the Bay Area are great. I secretly pretend that I’m a much bigger professional comedian than I really am, fresh off his biggest tour, with nothing else to do but relax in his nice Berkeley apartment. Technically, it’s Chris’s apartment, but I ignore that. I try to rest up at “home,” but it doesn’t take long before I nearly break the shower knobs, and get a CD stuck in the computer. The illusion is quickly shattered, as I destroyed my responsible friend’s apartment, as thank you for allowing me to stay there for free for a few days. It’s good to know that even in my wildest fantasies, I’m still a wreck.
When Chris comes home from work and finds me passed out on the couch watching TV Land, we manage to straighten everything out. Nothing is broken; I’ve just been reduced to a state of constant paranoia. To relax, we go out for a quiet dinner and have a nice time catching up and talking about the New York punk scene back when we both lived there a few years ago. That seems to be the tone for the weekend. As exciting as it is to be in a new city, I’ve about had my limit. Feeling burnt out physically and mentally, I spend a lot of time hanging around the apartment, opting to stay in and watch Saturday Night Live by myself instead of going out with Chris and his girlfriend.