Going to the Melbourne Flower Festival last year was what originally inspired me to host my Melbourne Comedy Festival show in a beautiful, bespoke space this year. I went back on Sunday and it was just as beautiful as I remembered, but I didn't enjoy it as much because I was busy worrying about ticket sales and money and comparing myself to my peers.

I'm having an objectively great festival. It's only been one weekend, but I've already sold more tickets across the run than I did in the whole of Perth Fringe World. I sold 251 in the first five shows alone. That's great! Those are great numbers. And I'm still not happy.

Last year when I didn't do a show at any festivals, and instead just worked a normal job and paid my bills - that was one of the happiest years of my life. It'd be easy to romanticise it and conclude that actually comedy is the thing that's making me upset here, but I know that isn't the full story. I know that the only reason I was able to let go of the grinding and striving for a year and be happy was that for that whole year I was dreaming of this time I'm living in right now.

Every day I drove the bus down the Great Ocean Road, when I was done talking about the stuff out the window, I would put the music on and drift off into fantasies of this run. The first show. The last show. The night I finally film it. The ending. New jokes... those fantasies got me through the year, and made it a very happy one, and now I'm here in that imagined future, and I'm struggling to enjoy it because I'm always wanting more! The irony is not lost on me... but I am having a nice time, I promise.