Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! So, little update on me, this insanely cool thing happened last month, which is why I haven’t been responding to your messages. My schedule has been HECTIC with different activities, like cooking pubes in to pies and seducing male suitors in to an orgy with different old ladies, and between the two, I must have lost track of time! The swedes don’t really abide by any set schedule outside of the nine day Midsommar fest. It’s a never ending party here and I’ve only recently became acclimated to the elders hurling themselves off cliffs. Talk about culture!
I should probably tell you I made the Midsommar Harold Team. I know, right? That’s exactly why I moved out here! To find a sense of community I couldn’t find anywhere else in the world! Sure, when I came here, I didn’t exactly know what I was looking for. I reminisce on the days when I was a lowly American tricked by a Swede to come to this Summerfest where all my friends died. I can’t help but think about how ignorant I was back then. I didn’t have any hopes or dreams I just kind of came here on a whim without googling how many people had gone missing around the time they visited. Thank god for spontaneity! I finally found my real family!
The cycle of an improv team member lasts until they’re 72 years old and then, at that point, they kill themselves because there’s no use in living if your bones crack while pretending to be a dog. I’m definitely nervous about death, more so nervous about never doing comedy again in my life, but everyone says once you get to that age it’s an honor to die so I guess I just have to trust the process. You know, yes, and!
It’s amazing. I’m chasing a dream I never knew I wanted. Plus, you wouldn’t BELIEVE how prolific they are when it comes to comedy. Everybody takes their time listening to their partners. When the elders stand at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, you have to wait for them to sit down before you, yourself, can. When somebody in the commune murders a newcomer, we all cover it up. Like, what supportive team players.
Did I mention everyone is good at the game slot? Whenever I’m having a mental breakdown in the barn, all the one to thirty-six-year-old sisters come to my aid. We all sleep in the same barn which is really good for strengthening our group mind on stage. They rally around me and mimic my object work while I’m having an anxiety attack until one of them eventually sweeps the scene. Last time I was thinking about some serious trauma I should definitely be working through in therapy instead of through comedy, sister Sara looked me in my eyes as we practiced breathing exercises. Ugh, the love I feel! It’s like a cult within a cult!
Now that I’m on the team I sort of have my eyes on winning May Queen next year. I know it’s big ambitions, but I really think I could out dance all the other women on my team. Comedy isn’t about competition, but I’ve been really practicing for next year, starting all my scenes out by dancing. Oops! I know we aren’t supposed to preplan, but I can’t help it! Sometimes the drugs they slip us takeover and I’m experiencing life outside my body.
Anyways, I guess I’m writing because I thought it’d be amazing for you to come out and spend Midsommar with me next year. A few girls on the plains were hoping to find a good mate and I couldn’t help think “wow! Max would be a great father AND sacrifice!” Really hoping you consider the opportunity. If anything, it’d be great to see you in the audience. I saw you RSVPed “interested” on Facebook and just wanted to follow up.
As the Swedes say, “hasta la midsomma, baby!”