Monday, September 27, 2010

Looking For My Sense of Humor

I used to be so funny.  I mean funny to the point where people told me that I could make a living at it.  I found humor in everything and an amazing ability to help other people see humor in most anything.  Even the terrible and tragic.  Yet my humor was human humor. I never made fun but just pointed out the obviously absurd or silly.  I never hurt another person with my silliness.  My only goal was to see people smile. Oh how I loved the sound of laughter.  Even more so, I loved the sound of laughter coming from someone who realized I had just hit the nail on the head and there was humor it that rusty old piece of metal.

I am trying to find that part of me again.  Admittedly, I am a little too paralyzed at the moment to be too effective, but I am trying.  I miss that girl and I love the laugh lines around my mouth. I earned each and every one of them.  This whole foreclosure business has completely robbed me of my sense of humor, except those few moments when I allow myself to fantasize about mean and horrific ways to torture corporate executives.

So in my quest to find my sense of humor and find the motivation to finish makeover projects (foreclosure or not) - here are a few conversations I had with myself over the last few days while I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling:

Yellow and black spiders the shape of black widows are not big enough to eat process servers. Move it along or kill it.  It's not nice to put a dead spider on a string to drop down into someone's face when they ring the doorbell.

Spray painting and putting a frame around a spider web will not catch on as a new art form.

Putting a basket of oranges in front of the cabinet door will not hide the fact that the paint job is half done.

Blood that dripped onto the sheer drapes from a finger cut does not look like candy stripes.

After painting all the bedroom furniture white and then spend hours -- correction - days upon days --  finding just the right color of blue and white comforters, sheets, drapes, knick knacks and flowers does not get me out of painting the walls just because the bank might take my house.  My stubborn refusal to paint just calls into question my taste - or color blindness.

You can't run around in the dark all the time. Replacing light bulbs gives light to the room, they are not gifts to blood sucking bankers.

The sound of a dripping faucet will make you nuts long before it would fill up the condo and flood the place.

Strangling a grown man with a doily is too silly to dream about.

Always leave a place with a smile and your dignity intact.  You can key their car doors when you get into your car heading out of town.

Anyone need a motivational speaker?