I’m ransacking the cerebral files, the dream bank, the piggy bank.
Hell, I’d empty the sperm bank if I had one around and thought it would help me crack a smile.
I’d shake shake shake as much as I could from any of those vessels, to collect a clinking coin or drizzly drop of humor. More specifically, good humor. And today, I can’t seem to do it. I can’t find “the funny.”
And that worries me.
Bad days, good humor
Even on my worst days, somewhere, somehow, I can usually find the funny. You know – humor in all things, positive attitude, laughter makes the world go ’round, laughter is the best medicine, etcetera, etcetera. But this morning, I can’t find the funny.
And the fact is – I really do believe that laughter is excellent medicine. I know it lowers stress. I know it reduces pain. I know it’s good for the heart, and superb for the emotional aura we give off – and give to ourselves.
It may not be Weird Science, but it’s real science for sure. And while humor is a mask, it’s also great for what ails you. So could someone pass a plate of funny, please? I seem to be running low, and they don’t dish it out at my local pharmacy.
Waking to “reality bites”
No nightmares. No earth shattering news. Just waking as usual, to a gray morning and the daily worries. Yes, pain. (Damn those restless legs to hell! If I’m going to kick through the night, could I at least dream myself a tango??)
And the mind is spilling over with networking activities pursued most of yesterday, and well into the evening, including connecting to wonderful old friends with whom I worked 20 years ago. It was another life, a kinder life, a so-called “normal life.” And their voices (as young and vibrant and warm as ever) were as good as time travel and a tasty tonic.
Yet sleep gave way to waking and reality. To the knowledge that reality bites. Shouldn’t I be able to drum up the funny? Besides – the Academy Awards are this evening – complete with Joan Rivers, snarky commentary on the Red Carpet, and that’s always fun. Surely I can talk myself out of this mood, and find a chuckle, a chortle, niggle a giggle out of a tormented teen wiggle??
Laughter is the best medicine
Do you find that humor makes you feel better – about everything? I do. And I’m throwing open the door this Sunday morning to the Good Humor Man. Come on. You’re out there somewhere. And sometimes a gal just needs to put on her pedal pushers and sidle up to Tall-Dark-and-Offering-Ice-Cream. So swing on by with the ding ding ding of your bountiful bell, your merry tuneful truck, your array of goodies. Open up the cooler to sweets and recollections, to innocent times, to fewer stresses, to creamsicles and conversation.
Maybe I just need to be zapped back a few decades, for a brief stay. You know – to neighborhood play, running through the sprinklers in adjacent yards, the 50 cent movie on Wednesday nights, snow cones at the corner pharmacy, a game of jax on the floor with my dad, Mel Brooks records on the phonograph as I listen to him laugh, and I laugh because he seems happy. Maybe I need to dip my emotional toes in a time of believing in the future. Just a quick trip, a tantalizing taste.
Would that return the errant funny?
The funny bone’s connected to the…
So where, exactly, is that funny bone anyway? Or at the very least, where’s mine? Has it been stolen by extra-terrestrials? Gone rogue? Just out to lunch? Hooked on phonics?
Wherever it may be connected in this great thread of mind to soul human fabric, my funny bone seems to be unraveling and unhitched, at least for today. Yes. I retain my right to perspicacity (isn’t that a fabulous word?) – acutely aware that moody today may give way to mah-velous tomorrow. And maybe if I cook a nice dinner tonight, and coax with a gooey dessert, the funny will return to my house of cards and horse around without bringing it down. I need that flinty splint to brace me up and do its duty: laughter to beat back worries, laughter to ease aching, laughter to calm the commotion of teen comings-and-goings, and to slam a smile on my pouting puss.
Raw humor, rogue humor, halcyon health
We’re all about a good guffaw around here. Amusement in a word, a retort, a situation, a story. From the proverbial sublime to the ridiculous, it gets us through. That, and my occasional recall of halcyon days when life was simpler, and not so frightening.
- Do you rely on humor to make it through your tough moments?
- Do you prefer raw humor or raw oysters for an mmmm-mmm mood shift?
- Rogue humor or rogue politics, to take your mind off your troubles?
- Is humor part of your daily dose of denial – or a helping of health for whatever life dishes out?
- What do you do when you can’t find “the funny?”