[38 of 100] Deep Breaths
I am looking for my sense of humor. It might be under the pile of clothes sitting on the trunk at the foot of the bed. Or under the wilting lettuce in my refrigerator, or inside the sweet potatoes I haven't had the energy to do anything with while I have been failing to cook for the last two weeks. Maybe it is encrypted somewhere in the emails I finally got back from my advisor, apologizing for having been out of touch and for having failed to respond to the 20 pages of writing I sent him 6 weeks ago. Perhaps when I take the last dose of the antibiotics they finally gave me on Thursday my sense of humor will blossom inside me with a renewed sense of health and well-being. If I'm very lucky, the new athletic trainer who is looking at my foot and making interesting adjustments to my nevicular bone will release an extra pocket of giggles when she gets my foot to go back into its proper position, where it hasn't been in 9 months. (Dude, I just realized if I had gotten pregnant at the same time I broke my foot I'd have a baby by now. That is...really rather sad.)
What I am trying not to do is dwell on the idea that my sense of humor is actually waiting underneath all the snow with the crocus bulbs.
What I am trying not to do is dwell on the idea that my sense of humor is actually waiting underneath all the snow with the crocus bulbs.