This is it. The final countdown. This is my Knute Rockne pep talk to myself. I woke up at 5 o'clock this morning after five hours sleep. I didn't wake up groggy, yawning, stretching and blurry-eyed. My eyes popped open and I sprang out of bed. I am too filled with adrenaline. Sleep is not even on the priority list. I have 87 hours before I appear naked on a stage in front of several hundred people, most of whom I know. Don't get grossed out. It's only a metaphor. What's a metaphor you? Old joke. Who cares? All the negative is flushed. I don't care that this has consumed me for a year and a half. I don't care that it took six weeks to get one costume I paid $160 for. I don't care that it also took six weeks for the other costume maker to make two costumes that I can't use. I don't care that I finished the costumes myself earlier this week. I don't care that I've forgotten the lyrics to the same song for the 15th time. I don't care that I blew the lyrics to a song I've been singing for thirty years. I don't care that I won't get a full dress rehearsal at the venue in which I am performing. See, it's all flushed.

None of that matters now. I went downstairs in my pajamas to rehearse the two most important numbers in the show. I nailed them at 5:55 in the morning, and I can't sing in the morning. Oh, yeah, it also doesn't matter that I've awakened wanting to hurl for the last seven days. I'm scared out of my mind. I will have to face most of these people again if this fails. That's why failure isn't an option. Can I control that? Of course not. What I can control is the amount of effort I am still putting into this venture. I was listening to bits on my headphones this morning. Over and over again. No such thing as too much prep. I have complete confidence in my material. I have envisioned the success of the show in my head a thousand times. I've rehearsed my bows for cryin' out loud.

Steve Martin used to do a bit that has as much truth in it as it has comedy. He said, "before I go on stage, I like to put mashed potatoes in the bottom of my shoes, so I just feel funny." I don't think he literally wore a side dish (by the way, better in your shoes than on your hips), but the preparation is accurate. There will be things going wrong the day of the show, right down to the final minute. Doesn't matter. What matters is that I feel funny before I walk out on that stage. Damn, I revealed a comedy secret. Fortunately, there is no code like there is with magicians.

I doubt I will sleep much for the next three days. No worries. There will be plenty of time to sleep Saturday night, and Sunday morning, and Sunday afternoon, and Sunday evening, and Monday morning, and Monday afternoon. Maybe I'll get out of my pajamas in time for dinner Monday night. I am ready. To paraphrase a sports metaphor, I am going to leave everything on the stage. If I fail, I will have no regrets, because I have done the things within my control. What's the saying? Success is 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration? Or 20 percent inspiration, 80 percent perspir.... Or is it 90 percent perspiration, 10 percent.... Or 90 percent inspiration.... Aw, screw it. Success comes from hard work. A bit more prosaic, but obvious.

See you Saturday night. Perhaps for the last time, as I may be moving to Tibet on Sunday.