Natasha adds a thumbs-up emoji, then puts her phone facedown on the glass coffee table. It’s been weeks since she became a full-time aspiring comedian. She’s finally living the dream.

She waits to feel something. Something grand and purposeful. A sign that she’s on the right track.

But all she can focus on is the steady hum of Atlanta traffic outside Suhani and Zack’s curved living room windows and the occasional clank of the ice machine.

Did any of her role models ever mention that living the dream is kind of anticlimactic?

It’s almost noon but she’s still tired. She’s so tired of being tired. Getting into bed early, like that WebMD article recommended, hasn’t helped. Whenever her head hits the pillow, every thought possible comes to the forefront of her mind in an endless spiral.

From her duffel bag, she removes a pen that reads fluoxetine in bold blue letters. Dad used to get so many things from pharmaceutical companies—pens, tote bags, notepads—and he handed them out at home like Christmas gifts. A teacher once questioned Natasha when she showed up with a Xanax duffel bag and Natasha spent too long trying to convince her she wasn’t selling drugs at school.

Anuj texts her. Just FYI, don’t be too worried about the video I uploaded to your YouTube channel from the contest night.

NATASHA: Worried? Why would I be? Thought I was okay?

ANUJ: You were. Just haven’t really gotten any views of the video. It probably just takes awhile to get on people’s radars.

Nobody cares to see her stand-up comedy? Even when she thought she was pretty decent? Maybe she wasn’t decent.

No, she can’t think that way. Anuj is right; these things take time. Any minute now, she should be getting a call from the Midtown Comedy Center telling her that her performance that night was good enough to get to the next round.

And Alexis Diaz’s improv class starts in a few weeks. A few weeks! It’ll be Natasha’s chance to really connect with her role model. She pictures Alexis stroking her chin and saying, You’re a natural, Natasha!

The reverie pushes Natasha to get out the black Moleskine she uses for comedy notes. The first page reads adolescent inspiration and has a list of memories she wrote for potential jokes:

Sneaking behind Mom and Dad to log onto AOL Instant Messenger and talk to boys

The beautician’s horror at my eyebrows the first time I went to the threading salon

Poking Karan’s eyes with my nose during our first kiss

She stares at the pages until they become blurry. Even though those are her ideas and they once seemed like they had potential, she now feels an odd sense of detachment from them.