I’m paying money, lots of money, to feel bad and uncomfortable

I have spent $1820 in the past year to:

  • Be yelled at.
  • Not be able to think of a word.  Any word.  The exercise is to say a word, to the group standing in a circle.  Any word.  And I can’t do it.  Moron.
  • Feel old.
  • Have my toes pretend-sucked by a sixty year old within an hour of meeting him.
  • Wonder if people like me.  People offer up compliments at the end of class – “I loved your old man character, he was hilarious yet so grounded!”   “The way you supported the hell out of your teammates during the second beat was amazing.”  Will anyone say something they liked about what I did???  Oh god, oh god.  Fuck me, I’m an idiot.  I hate myself.  This sucks.  Screw you all.
  • Have pretend sex on stage with a douchebag twenty-two year old in front of fifteen others, after knowing him for, oh, a minute.
  • Feel inadequate and socially-inept around people I could normally run conversational circles around.  Who am I going to sit with at lunch?!?
  • Slow-dance awkwardly with a foreigner who doesn’t understand tact or filter, and who I’m positive is always on the verge of commenting on my acne or stretch marks or belly-fat.
  • Sweat profusely in front of a large group of people.  I mean, dripping puddles.
  • Have “wearing a bathing suit in high school gym class, a rental 1953 polyester bathing suit from the mean locker woman guard no less” body-terror flashbacks, as in not one, not two, but three classes, I get lifted up in the air and carried around stage.  Females over 23 pounds don’t like to be lifted.
  • Cry.

And I’ve loved (almost) every minute of it.

All of this can be yours – take an improv class.