Losing all my funny

The day before my friend Xarra asked me why I seemed to be slow in updating my bogs.

I told her that I'd made a lot of drafts but never published it since I seemed to have lost all my funnies.

I have this thing about being funny. I actually hate people who have zero sense of humor and cannot for the life of them take a joke.

When my cousin and I had the fight, I was more upset with the fact that she thought I couldn't take a joke than the fight itself, since I always thought myself to be ridiculously funny.

I hate being around people who aren't funny, they're boring. People who have lousy comedic timing irritate me. I don't understand how some can have the words, say the joke, and somehow mess up the delivery. It's baffling, and it's one of my standards in chosing which people to hang out with.

If your sense of humor does not match mine, then you can just forget it. It's especially worse when it's with someone who is equally funny in their own right, but not when they're with you. It can either be Abbot and Costello, or Whatver Happened to Baby Jane. You can get thrown into this awkward lobby of witticism that doesn't fly that it ends up dementedly funny, or have the misfortune of being thrown together even if you hate each other--too much. You know it's just pretend, but it hurts to see the two crammed in the small expanse of your screen.

I just don't like unfunny people.

Thus my problem.

I seem to have lost my funnies. Not something new, but whenever it does happen, I tend to freeze up and panic.

This was caused mainly by the positive responses from my friends and some strangers who took time off to tell me I was funny. A sweet thing, I assure you, but caused some major performance anxiety nonetheless.

Funny is addictive. There's a certain rush associated with making people laugh that you want to do it over and over again. Even if it means having to eat vanilla ice cream with every condiment found in your kitchen and making everyone think your friend Luis goaded you into it.

If my cousin is reading, please tell Neil that it was all part of an elaborate plan that was telepathically orchestrated when we saw the tub of vanilla ice cream and the bottle of tabasco next to each other on the table.

If Neil actually read this...we thought it was funny. It didn't hurt at all. And I really do like curry with everything--vanilla ice cream included.

After the party, Luis and I talked on the phone and did a telephonic high five.

...

Which is why I hate having one of my un-funny spells. It'll probably blow off when I finally leave DAI, yet another major contributor to Let's-Bore-Kriszia Foundation, with the former boss--who can kiss my @!!--sitting on the board.

Maybe it's stress coupled with the fact that my life is about to change yet again. It's a serious time for me, which I don't really mind. Well, except for the unfunny part. That really yanks my chain.

Thanks to the people who have phoned in to ask me how I was in person though.

I'm happy to report that I haven't fallen off a cliff, ditch, hole, port, edge, black hole or quantum singularity. Though my humor seems to be in flux.

I'll peobably be back to my chirpy self a week into April, when I will finally get to do something that I haven't done in months--sleep, have a vacation, without ever thinking--it's only so and so days before I go back to work. ARGhhhhhh!