I used to be funny. I mean funny ha-ha, but also funny queer. This post is about funny ha-ha. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being funny queer.

I’ve talked about losing my sense of humor before on this blog. It came back the last time. We didn’t have some fancy reunion where we ran to each other from across a crowded airport and embraced, but it just slowly returned to me until we were full-force, arm-in-arm funny again.

Lately, it disappeared again so slowly that I didn’t even realize it until a few minutes ago when I was reading this very blog. I do that sometimes. I like reading posts that I haven’t read in a very long time. There are some excellent posts on this blog, even if they’re not fresh and new anymore, and if I do say so myself.

Anyway, I was reading the one about breaking up with a psychiatrist who wasn’t doing me any favors and read this:

“Hi, doc, I can’t come to appointment this week because my arm-wrestling contest is on fire. Don’t call me. I’ll call you. Bye.”

My own words made me laugh right out loud. Anyway, I got to thinking about the funny and how there is a metric tonne of it on this blog, but there hasn’t even been a spoonful of it lately anywhere in my life.

Part of that, of course, is due to the fact that I haven’t been writing much on this blog. Perhaps, if I wrote more, the humor would just naturally be there anyway. It’s hard to express funny or sad or angry in words when you don’t write any words at all.

From the age of 15, I’ve written about my life. I have a stack of notebooks to prove it.

Thank goats the internet didn’t exist when I was young. No one needs to read that drivel, not even me.

This blog has become my diary of sorts, which is a pretty scary concept. Had you told me when I was 15 that one day, I would have an online diary and anyone who wanted to could read all about my struggles with abuse, addiction, mental health, and the rest of my very private demons, I would have died of a panic attack right then and there. It’s utterly amazing that I do have a blog since I am not normally this forthcoming. It’s only the anonymity that allows me to share.

I don’t keep a diary anymore; I have a blog. But, because I have replaced a private diary with a blog, if you don’t see a post here, it means I haven’t written anything anywhere, and that’s not really healthy for me. Writing about all the strange fancies my brain takes has always been a very useful and necessary thing for me.

I haven’t been writing and it doesn’t feel good. I could blame my job and their damnable internet blocking and not finding the time elsewise, but really, it’s that the words don’t come with the urgency they once did. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, because I’m pretty sure that I do; it’s that I don’t have and can’t find the words. They’re in there somewhere.

It might be that my sense of humor hasn’t disappeared at all, but my ability to fashion words into sentences has. Still, I don’t feel particularly funny, and even writing this much has taken great effort and now I need a nap.

Even though this post doesn’t say anything and it’s far from my best work, in lieu of a diary, I’m going to post it anyway just so that you and I both know that I’m still here, even if I’m not funny anymore.