It's Day 1 at the Fringe. Ground Zero. Numero... the beginning. I can tell because all the comedians look vaguely healthy and my bedsheets smell fresh.
It's still a new day. Anything could happen. It's like Schrödinger's Festival: Every show has won and not won the Edinburgh prizes. Every hot new piece of talent has been spotted and not spotted by a producer. Every comedian has punched and not punched a reviewer in the face in the middle of Brooks Bar.
I could go on, but you know. Basically, I am saying that everyone has potential at the moment. Everyone has dreams intact, optimism and probably some fruit in their fridges.
In the same way that the unborn child has limitless potential, everyone's run has limitless possibilities.
But unfortunately for that baby and everyone's shows, it has to come to this great stage of fools. Almost literally. Depending on how confusing my metaphors have already gotten.
And this arguably cruel Edinburgh environment might wreak havoc on it's self-esteem. (I mean, for some of the comics that's what already happened and literally why they're here).
The only real downside of the first week of Edinburgh is that you might not have completely memorised your show. (God I pity those idiots. I definitely know mine. Stop looking at me like that).
Everything else about the first week is great. Everyone has energy; everyone is excited; everyone is thrilled to see each other (especially when, due to the randomness of gigging, there are people you haven't seen in ages); and everyone feels pretty jammy they're here at one of the greatest arts festivals in the world, trying to make a living. (Except for those fools who haven't learnt their shows and are panicking. Idiots).
OK, so say, just hypothetically, that I hadn't completely learnt my show? I mean, so what? That's what the first week is for, right? Hammering it all together? (Don't worry, I totally have learnt my show, and anyone who says I haven't is lying).
But just for arguments sake, for this blog, even if I hadn't, what's the worst that could happen?
OK, other than being a staple of cheesy sitcoms, right before they 'CUT TO...' the explosion-on-fire-disaster; this is a question that separates the men from the boys. Or the well-adjusted from the hypochondriacs.
How do you cope in a crises*? (*If not crises in the traditional sense of the word, then at least: incident that could lead to professional embarrassment if not career damage).
How do you cope in a "crises?" Do you project the worst thing that could possibly happen, and then freak out on your imagination? Or focus your mind on that whole positive energy thing people keep talking about, and expect the best?
Because me, I'm quite a negative person. My glass is half empty. But I'm desperately trying to change. Not just so I don't freak out at the start of Edinburgh (hypothetically) but because I'm bored of making my life more miserable than it needs to be. And, if nothing else, I'm sick of my middle name being so highly ironic.
Joy is my middle name, and maybe I should start acting like it. Well, lets not go nuts, that's not going to happen. But you know, maybe I could start being at least a bit less cynical. Other people make positive thinking sound like it really gets results, so you never know.
Let's start with 're-reframing' this situation - oh yeah - I read a book on this - be impressed.
'Not learnt your show' - re-framed as, 'room to ad-lib.'
'Freaked out about the money you're spending' - 'fiscally maverick.'
'Terrible memory' - 'oblivion emancipation.'
Anyway, it doesn't really apply to me. I definitely know my show.
Catie Wilkins - Joy is My Middle Name @ The Edinburgh Fringe
2-26 August @ 19.45
Underbelly