It's been a little tough to be funny this week.
Not that there has been any earth-shattering disasters, it's just the everyday stuff that normally makes me laugh, hasn't.
Perhaps it's that the sense of humor is located in the sinus cavity, and everyone around here has theirs infected. Doctor visits, Nyquil and hand washing doesn't exactly tickle anyone's funny bone. Or at least not mine.
Usually when I have trouble finding humor at home, I can always find some at work. Or in the assignments I get. This week, I wrote about swine flu. Instead of surfing the Net for preschool pasties, I spent hours on the CDC website. Not exactly a knee-slapper.
The words left over at the end of these tough days ended up fixing a broken heart or writing emails for one of the many crazy events October brings. Or being sunk into the dangerously close end of the first draft of the novel.
Oh yeah, the novel.
I'm serious when I say the end is near. Very near. And the gift I'm giving myself this month (and my family which has to live with me as I pen this) is a completed first draft. It's time.
So this Sunday's dinner menu will be a little less-ambitious, and I'm going to get a haircut this morning hoping to take a few inches of weight from shoulders to make room for something else.
Or at least I can write hair jokes about myself.