Most of this blog has been terribly serious, and at times even morose. I tend to be contemplative by nature, and use my writing to reflect on the day ahead or the one behind me, because it helps to gel everything inside my head and also acts as a nice reminder for what I was experiencing at the time. But there are a ton of moments in every day that aren’t introspective or serious, and that’s an important aspect of my personality too. I’m just not very good about writing them.
I’m an inveterate user of puns, most of which are more terrible than funny…but Per laughs at them anyway because he loves me. I’ll joke about the sleeping Mr. Handsome being cat-a-tonic, for instance. The jokes come to me in the moment, and are mostly a reflection for the love I have for language and my joy in blending meanings together. But they’re rarely funny. My father used to use puns – I like to think for the same reasons – and I detested his punny ways. Now I find I’m following in his footsteps — one of the many ironies of life.
The rest of my humor is merely ironic and perhaps a bit sarcastic. I joke about our neighbors, most of them Republicans, who want to keep the plebs at the bottom of the hill. I’ll tease a friend who brings her blind date to our house party. The humor is more implied than obvious, and sometimes I fear I cone off as a bit of an ass to those who don’t grok irony. I’d be much better off living in Britain, I suspect. But it’s inherent in my personality, and I can’t seem to turn off the stream of somewhat flippant comments…the best I can do is keep the most acerbic in my inner dialogue.
There are rare times where I’m merely silly. Happy and unburdened by cynicism, and perhaps not even afflicted by puns. I’m sensing today is one of those days. And even though I suck at writing about that feeling, I cherish it’s rare presence…So I think it’s time to stop writing and go enjoy the good mojo.