Thursday, August 28, 1997 -- Make me laugh

Wow 2days in a row....*chuckle* Azura made dinner last night, while I wrote my journal entry, and we ate and watched Simpson's reruns, and a little Home Improvement. The Simpson's, as normal, made me lose it. I can't explain why I find them so funny (funnier than the people around me anyway). I guess it's their particular brand of tragedy/irony.

I liked the same thing on a show called EEK the cat. It wasn't as consistently funny as the Simpson's, but it had it's moments. Like the time he missed the pillow factory (hitting the wall) landed next to the mattress factory, and then was run over by a massage therapist. Or something like that. In a 'normal' cartoon, you'd fly through the arrow factory, and then get tarred and feathered, instead he just misses all these comfortable tortures.

I love things and people that make me laugh. It's probably my number one turn-on. It's why I was attracted to Russ ans Sherri last week. As a favor I try to make other people laugh. I guess I'm not so successful. I really am an incorrigible punster (Do not incorridge).

I'm on a mailing list that sends me three jokes a day. I read rec.humor.funny and rec.humor.funny.reruns every day. Life is funny to me. Even as it's tragic.


I said when I started this thing, that I wanted it to be upbeat and happy, because I was basically that way, and I still believe that. I get worried, and concerned, and put it on this page, but by then it's gone from me. It's worked out and settled, but all you might see is the bad stuff.

And that's why I write more when there are problems, and less when there aren't. I need to less. But I really like doing this, even thought I feel like I'm walking in ceej's shoes some days, and know that the other journalers do it more often and better. I just have to get my back up, and tell myself the only way to get better is to do this. Because I must, it's important and vital to me.

My grandmother has hundreds of unfinished projects. She loved a new craft, and took it to heart, planning to do it. After her stroke, my mom went through her cupboards, and attic, and found all the craft stuff my grandmother had. As partial therapy, they tried to get her to do some of them, but they required too much motor-control.

I have so much I want to do, it competes for my time, and nothing ever gets done. I don't want to regret. I don't want to be upset because I didn't finish, and don't know if I could do it. Failure, I can handle, but Regret? Please don't give me that.

So I come here now, and write, and hope I'll come again tomorrow. I'm done for today, and the Simpson's are on.

See you tomorrow.

Generic Joe's A Typical Male

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