Second Anniversary of my Start in Comedy

I began my lil' stand up comedy journey almost exactly two years ago during my birthday, October 27.

Unlike many new comics, I've taken weeks off at a time to--
HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA--
reclaim bits of my soul. Almost all of my performances were at open mics, where no one really cares about what you're doing--- aaaaaaand it can be draining. As I've stated on this blog in the past, I have done very well at such places *****sometimes*****. But as anyone who has performed at L.A. open mics can attest, a great performance with great crowd response at such places is almost as rare as spotting a bald eagle in the wild.

I have grown very much since my first performance. To this day I randomly see comics who saw me perform for the first time; they stare at me with a "THIS GUY is still in the game?" expression.
My first time was... pretty disastrous.
I was doing fairly well until I began to realize that a huge (by my standards at the time) crowd of maybe 40 people was staring at me. Then I forgot the things that I wanted to say-- a complete mental block.
Then the shivering.... omg...

I don't shiver anymore, and I rarely forget my material. My act is also much more theatrical than I would have imagined that it would be when I started comedy-- I should probably credit Chris D'Elia for inspiring that style in me.
I've heard and overheard comics say that a comic begins to feel really comfortable around the two year mark. It's like the hymen is finally broken, and you can relax. I'm looking forward to that feeling, but it might come later for me because I've taken so much time off. I maybe feel 70% comfortable when I perform, as opposed to 5% when I started. That 70% is usually even less when a set is not going well. Sometimes when a set isn't going well I get angry and more assertive, which almost always works, actually. Unfortunately, I can't muster up enough energy to pull a Sam Kinison every night.

There are very encouraging signs, though: during one of my last performances I noticed that when I hung up the mic then turned to tell the crowd of comics something that I forgot to say during the act that I couldn't yell over the applause.
The most common praise that I've received lately is from the comic who performs immediately after me: "that was good, man. Keep it going for him." I appreciate this comment very much, but a part of me wants to ask,
"If it was so good where was the laughter for it when I was doing it?"