You should write funny

So, apparently my last post was relatively funny, and I should try to write more like that. And I would love to, because that's popular and the one thing I've wanted my entire life, and always fallen short of, was to be liked. But it's just not me.

I had this great post in mind about tonight's dinner. On black Friday we, Steve and I, went to Costco because Friday is Costco day, I'm slightly obsessive compulsive, and we were out of food after the chaos of Thanksgiving. As we walked in, some guy was offering free cook books. I declined out of habit, but Steve heard "free cook book" and forced me to get one. We tried one of the recipes tonight. I seriously hope the others are better. Macadamia Crusted Chicken was a bust. My punchline was "it needs something to make the nuts stick."

The thing is: depression isn't funny. I don't care how many comedians have depression, it ends in situations like Robin Williams- the self imposed death of the funniest people around. Yeah, a funny thing happened today. Alongside of countless slit-my-throat-I-can't-deal-with-this things.

I have a failing small business.

I have a rental home that I hate and no prospects on a real home.

I have a panic attack every time the phone rings because it's probably the school telling me what else is wrong with my son.

I hate getting the mail because it's always more bills we can't pay.

This is why my funny is broken.

This is why when people ask me to donate, I just can't. I can't even work up the energy anymore to point out that all of the "homeless" on the street that I've seen begging for spare change have better clothes and better hair cuts than I do.

This is why that one moment of levity in the day is lost. Because it's buried in life.