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I write a humor blog. Except when I don't. And that's where the problem arises. If a blogger is known for humor, what of the times when she is not feeling so funny? Do the stats go down? Most assuredly. But those who read, do they give wonderful support and encouragement? Absolutely.
So why does it make me feel so damn guilty?
I love making people laugh. I write about ridiculous things that happen to me all the time, I make fun of myself as much as I can, and if you've ever read anything about my interactions with my family, well, it goes without saying that they are a cascading font of comedy. Hell, I even write about my cats being sent from the deepest bowels of hell itself, and if that doesn't make me a 30-something singleton, I have no idea what does.
See? Self deprocating humor! I do it often, and, if I may be so bold, I do it well. But there are a lot of things in my life that are NOT funny, and I find myself not blogging about them, simply because I don't want to, well, bum my readers out, man. They came to hear about the time Keith Richards grabbed my ass, not about how today is the one year anniversary of drinking myself into a coma!
Did I mention that today is the one year anniversary of drinking myself into a coma?
So yeah, that's not so funny. I try to make it funny, I really do. I opened up my Twitter to "The Six Days of Tasteless Coma Jokes." I make cracks about losing my Oscar pool last year because I was on a damn ventilator. I joke about rehab A LOT.
Ha Ha?
I've been told it's "sad clown syndrome," that comedy writers are, at heart, very sad people who use humor to get through all the tangled mess in their heads. I like to think that I am not a sad person at heart, but then again, I'm bipolar, so that can change at any given moment.
See? That's another not so funny thing! Please laugh.
That's the crux of it. Please laugh. There are so many aspects of my life that I look at and say "Well, Buster, (I call myself Buster when I'm having a serious discussion with myself) it's either laugh or cry, and we're out of Kleenex. So laugh, dammit. Laugh at yourself. Laugh at me, laugh WITH me. I promise that the dark times will pass, and I'll get back to talking about David Bowie's package or the time my mom yelled that her wine bottle was broken because she had left the cap on.
Funny people have serious things happen to them, and it's okay to laugh, and cry, with them. We may not bring the funny every time, but boy howdy, we'll always come back for an encore.
Miss Banshee is a rabid squirrel. Not really, but she writes every day at Inverse Candlelight and is a contributing writer at MamaPop. She likes platform boots and monkeys.














