I haven’t been funny lately. It’s a real drag. It’s like funny Lexi is hidden somewhere under the underside of my belly. The part I can no longer see but know it’s there because it’s constantly moving. It’ll never stop being like alien to me having this fetus roll around in there. Can we be a little honest, it’s creepy, right? But could you imagine what it would be like if we carried babies in the back instead of the front? I couldn’t get used to that.
Back to the subject at hand. I’m not funny. You know who suffers most from this? Me. I honestly get a kick out of myself. When I write funny crap, I laugh a lot harder at it than I’m sure anyone else does (especially Lance. He’s made it so I have had to really up my game because getting him to laugh out loud at something I’VE said is a big deal). I think hilarious thoughts. I’m completely bored with myself right now. I’m reading books- and not just stupid teenage lit stuff- real books. I enjoy them. I feel all grown up. It makes me feel dirty.
Today I cleaned my house and went to the gym. Picked Peyton up from school. Got food for dinner. I even sat down and ate lunch with Peyton. We talked. Seriously. What the hell has happened to me?
I still swear, I guess, so all is not lost. Not yet anyways. I’m already feeling that tug of guilt thinking that maybe one of my Beehives is going to get on here and read my swears. That’s why facebook is no longer fun. Too much censoring. Don’t tell your daughters about this blog. I like my calling and would greatly like to keep it.
So anyways. I’ll keep on not being funny. It doesn’t mean that the part of me that spends long hours thinking of funny things I can do to Pam has been silenced, though. It’s quietly stewing.