I love to tell tales of cute, funny little things that happen. I like it best when they’re funny. Do something funny, I think. Eyes narrowed at Hubby. Especially when it has been a while and the blog feels heavy and weighed down with thoughts and wonderings. Do it. Be funny. And it never is. Sometimes life isn’t funny. It’s not like it’s sad or there is yet another drama around the corner. It’s just not that funny. We are just not that funny. Weird, yes. But not funny.

So I go further a field. Maybe there is a funny little tale to be had at the gym. Maybe all the sweating and straining and effort will somehow be funny. Usually, its not. Usually it is just sweating and straining and effort. Or you know, bodily function related and there’s only so many posts you can do like that, right? Riiiight? Most of the time the gym just prompts moments of frustration and discrimination. Which has it’s place for discussion here. But it certainly isn’t funny.

So I look to my family. My brother and sister. My parents. My family is funny. Put us together and we crack each other up for hours. But nothing much that can be captured. It’s all reminiscing and you had t be their style stories. Sometimes I wish they would try harder to provide content. Mostly they are determined that I not blog stuff. ‘Don’t blog THAT’ is a catch cry. Like a I totally can’t be trusted. Sometimes I can’t. But still. Nothing.

But don’t they understand. A blog is like a horse. Lovely and beautiful and a giant pain in the butt sometimes. Perhaps you even dreamed of having one because of the gorgeous and stylish pictures of Flemmington and others at the top of their game. Maybe you thought, I could do that… And then it turns out you just have to keep feeding it, shoveling poo and performing maintenance on the equipment. No body gets it. Until they do.

Just be funny damn it! I’ve got a post to write.

Desperate is funny right? Ha.

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