I've been thinking about humor lately. More specifically, my humor and the reasons I use it. When I'm uncomfortable, I make a joke for perspective. When I'm upset, I make a joke to remind myself that things are never as bad as they seem. When I'm angry, I use humor to express that, sometimes unfairly. Sometimes I get focused on being witty, on making people laugh or lightening the mood that I forget the context or the situation. I lose sight of what's appropriate or necessary. Sometimes I get so caught up in looking at the world for story ideas that I forget I'm an active player in it, responsible for my thoughts, actions, and words.
Finally finished the story that was due to The Writles on Tuesday night and sent it out. I've been grinding my teeth all day in anticipation of getting to Philly tonight. I get to see friends from far away and the new boy. There won't be much reading or writing happening this weekend, but there will be much reveling that will hopefully spark a new desire to do both when I return.
Packed for plane reading: Last week's New Yorker and Cathedral. Also a toy gun for the theme party. Hopefully I won't get interrogated at security.
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