I wonder if my medication changes my sense of humor. I feel less funny than I did when I started writing this blog in 2008. Of course, I have more to lose now. There's that guy in Bulgaria who seems to be enjoying my posts.
After all, I still do the crazy things I used to, except eat a pound of fudge at one sitting. Those were the days I could do so...or I could be feeling sorrier for myself these days. That's very dangerous.
Maybe I feel less wild and crazy now that I am getting older. But 3 years shouldn't make that much of a difference, should it? Unless you are 10. Or 15.
On the whole I find that people ease up a bit, the older they get. We all seem to understand that the world has a lot of flaws in it, so why get upset about it? I am fatter than I used to be: I gain weight steadily as I get older, but I am not extraordinarily so. In fact, I am thinner than many others my age, and not so thin as some.
And it's not as if I find the world less funny than I used to, rather more so, in fact. People seem to get odder and odder as I get older. I feel as if I can see it more clearly than I could when I was in my 30's. I find there is no 'right' way, or 'wrong' way, except if it hurts others. The dictates of society are what I speak of. Interacting with others gets more interesting and funny as I get older. I feel I have now reached the age where I can talk to anyone, anywhere, particularly as I stand in a line.
This is not to think of myself as old. I will be 50 next year, and feel like I am about 42ish. Or 32ish, for that matter, only smarter, and more fun. I am not wrinkly, or crepey, and I don't have 'turkey neck' yet. That's in the future. My boobs are the same height as they were when I was 20. I know that because I wear the same bra size, and they were never very high.I do have gray in my hair now, but it is still brown-red for the most part. It never gleamed...too curly for that.
I have seen more tragedy, but there is nothing to compare to the tragedy in the life of a 14 year old. I still get the 'giggles' when I talk to my brother, sometimes. He does, too. I am less desperate, and more happy. I don't drink now, but then I haven't in the past either. And I can tell you that drinking is not a prerequisite to writing or humor, despite the rumors. In fact, life is decidedly less funny whilst one is sloshed.
I have more friends now, because I am not afraid to talk to people who stand in line. What are they going to do, after all? Only those 30 and below ignore overtures to speak to a stranger in public. It seems to disappear from our talents when we are 20, and resurfaces as we get older. And now, my friendships are older, and more deep, and dear.
I can't seem to convey how funny it is that Max and Ratty snore in concert in these early morning hours. Only these two, who have a distinct rivalry going on. I can't seem to remember that everyday is a Bah Humbug sort of day, except for Christmas, and then Easter. But do I want to? After all, I wrote that post when I drank. If that's the source of the humor, I will just go without.
Of course, you all know that this is not a funny time of morning, unless you are in Europe right now. For god's sake, it's still has an hour before dawn. Not much amusing going on 4 hours before dawn, I can tell you. Try it sometime.
It's too early for a shower, I can tell you that I am lying back down in a bit. It would mess my hair. And who cleans at 5 AM? Unless you really are 6 hours ahead...I am more carefree than I used to be: there is nothing more solemn than being younger. Unless you're dead.
I am bipolar, perhaps that's just the stage I am in. But we all know how really depressed I got last winter. Compared to that, I am wildly manic right now. Of course, mania is more fun, for myself and others, although there was one car ride with Beth and Victor, that no one but me found remotely amusing. Remotely.
But back then I did drink this kind of tea made from special mushrooms, I kid you not. Kambacha? I think? All the Hollywood stars did, especially Charlie Sheen and his kids, and Lindsey Lohan. Then we all found out it had alcohol in it, and that went out the window. Except for Lindsey. And Emilio.
My new therapist likes to laugh, but he takes me more seriously and is more tender, in his own way, than Ted, my old therapist, did. My new therapist, we'll call him Dave, because he objected to his real name being used in my posts, has his priorities on straight. His own welfare tops the list, but mine is a close second. How can I see anything wrong with that? He is less blown-away sexy than Ted, but he doesn't criticize me for every mouthful I take. They are both foodies, but Dave lives his food, and Ted has sex with his...And if I give in to a plate of garlic and pasta, cooked by an honest to god Brooklynite, Dave doesn't break out into a sweat. He is also more nose to the grindstone than Ted was, but Dave deals with those of us who have borderline personality disorder: he has to be.
Dave is the only specialist from here to the coast who specializes in borderline, or bpd. And he takes that very seriously. If we don't see him, we don't get the help we need. Dave likes to bring us to the here and now, and so we spend the first part of each session coloring pictures, or we throw stuffed toys at each other, or build wood towers together. It's really lovely.
He lets me make him laugh. He realizes I try to make jokes in our private sessions, to relieve the tension and he lets me know he 'gets it' by laughing.
Perhaps I am more relaxed about my diagnoses, now, too. Humor is associated with an interrupted defense mechanism. Humor is a defense, and perhaps I don't sweat the small stuff anymore. So my high school chums and total strangers now know what was different about me in high school: I drank. So what?
And I have mental 'illnesses' or diagnoses. I have gotten mostly used to that, especially as I write about it everyday, and spill my guts all over the internet. It can be stigmatizing, but freeing, in the same vent. People who meet me after they read my blog always tell me how 'normal' I seem...which always, always makes me feel funny. What do they think I look like? Here, I'll show you.
But being told, "I would never have known..." is very funny, in it's own way. I do get a laugh out of that one.
But enough of that! I just wanted to write a funny blog post again, with the seemingly same carefree joie de vivre that I used to have. Or so it seems to me, re-reading them. Maybe I do need that pound of fudge.
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