I still believe that my greatest attribute is my sense of humor. I know that it’s still there because sometimes I’ll make my boyfriend laugh so hard that he insists that I should go to an open mic night downtown at a comedy club. I try to explain that my humor is mostly spontaneous and I don’t have an act or anything.
Not to mention that I’m naturally introverted and shit.
If you put my daughter and me together and if we’re both in relatively decent moods (you know, not both on our periods) we’re a comedic force to be reckoned with. Our banter back and forth is pretty hilarious. I’m proud to have passed down this trait to her.
I mean, she did end up with all of my mental health problems, but at least she’s fucking funny.
At least there’s that, folks.
A few months after starting this blog back in 2012 (how the time does fly) I decided to tap into this natural ability of mine, something along the lines of healing with humor. I tried my best to deal with every shit sandwich that was thrown my way with at least a touch of laughter.
But the shit sandwiches started to pile up so high that I began to lose sight of that brilliant idea and massive turds began to muck up my finely honed humor gears. The funny just stopped percolating and started to choke like my generic one cup coffee maker does the last few minutes of brewing my morning wakey juice.
“Ehh, uhh, uhh, uhh….aahhh.”
My daughter does a much better impression of it.
I’ve obviously been writing these past few months about my grief. Losing your mommy isn’t something that you just “get over.” I mean, that was my mom and even with our many issues, I love that woman and she’ll always be my fucking hero.
I’ll never get over it. Never. My best hope is to be able to move forward with my sorrow and forever until we meet again broken heart.
I can already tell that people are getting tired of it like that means a damn thing to me. I live my life for myself, not for other’s comfort level. That shit ends now.
I decided last night while I was out shopping with Steven to take my comedic chops on the road and see if I could still get cashiers and some of the people in line to laugh. Think of it as a homage to my mother, because she absolutely loved to joke around with strangers back in her prime, much to my youthful embarrassment.
I get it now, mom.
I first pick up on their vibes to see if they are open to such an exchange. (Another innate talent o’ mine.)
If I sense that they aren’t grumpy assholes, I proceed.
It makes me feel better when I can cheer someone up and make them giggle, guffaw, chuckle and whathaveyou.
I only wish that I could feel up to it more often. But at least it’s still in there, just waiting for me to use it when I’m able to.
Because if it wasn’t still there, then I’d be royally screwed.