Funny Go Bye-Bye

What the heck’s happened to me?

I used to sit down in front of my computer and, an hour later, have a 700 word piece of comical genius ready to be posted here. Nowadays, when I actually have the time to sit down here, I find myself struggling to string three sentences together and the best joke I can come up with is, “I just farted.”

Heh. And it smells like rotten eggs.

I know it’s not really my normal modus operandi, but lately I’ve been so preoccupied with allergies, work, allergies, my apartment(s) and allergies that writing funny stories here has been pretty low on my priority list of things to do. I know you’re all crushed to hear that, but the truth of the matter is that it’s allergy season and right now all of my willpower is focused on breathing without swallowing gallons and gallons of mucus. It might sound disgusting, but this morning I woke up, rolled over in bed and had about half a cup of mucus pour out of my left nostril and onto my pillow.

The yellowish-green, semi-solid kind of mucus, too. Ewww.

I would love to be funny right now. You have no idea how lovely it would be for me to be funny right now. That’s because being funny would mean that I was feeling good, or at least better than I have been lately. Unfortunately, I’m not feeling so great right now and I can’t even imagine feeling better except in the most abstract and ethereal way.

You know, like The Ghost Of Healthiness Past.

Instead I’m going to go back to laying down on the couch, popping my allergy medication as often as possible and moaning to the walls about how unfair it is that I have to suffer this way when HoBiscuit, the love of my life who is supposed to care for me and understand my pain, insists that we go to the botanical gardens or the park because it’s such a beautiful day outside and how can I possibly want to stay indoors with the lights off, curtains closed and the air purifiers blasting in my face? And believe you me, when I answer her with, “Because otherwise I’ll die.” I never get any sympathy. All I get is a scornful look of disdain, that sucking in air over teeth sound, a toss of her head and two sentences that show just how clueless she is when it comes to my suffering. “Why don’t you just grow up and take it like a man? Don’t be such a baby all the time!” And then she stabs me in the heart with the most hurtful thing she can possibly say when I’m this low. “It’s not like you’re really sick. I mean, honestly, it’s just allergies!”

And now you know why she hides the knives.