I Lost My Funny

I was talking to my sister last weekend when she made a comment about my state of mind, which made me realize how morose (bleak, gloomy, sad) I sounded. It was then that I discovered I had lost my funny. I could not remember where I left it. And I was sorely missing it. Without my funny, all my stories became sad and boring. Worse than that, for me all of life appeared to be tragic and pointless. And then, moving on to the worst thing about it: everyone that I talked to would start crying by the time I was done. I was spreading misery all around me. People were beginning to avoid me, some of them running away as soon as they saw me. Even Edgar was ignoring me, and refused to come out of his cage. I looked all over my apartment, in the bureau, in the cupboards, in the bathtub, in the refridgerator, under the bed, even in the medicine cabinet. Then I tried to think of all the places I might have left it. I went to the grocery store, the pharmacy, the gas station, the post office, and even the bookstore. My funny was nowhere to be found. So I did what any sensible person would do, I went to bed, and after laying there feeling like the world was coming to an end, I finally fell asleep. And you know where I found my funny when I woke up? Under my pillow. It's always the last place you look.