I like to be funny. Or… at least I like to think I’m sometimes funny.
Humour is a big part of my life. It always has been. Two of my favourite films are Shaun of The Dead, and Zombieland. To myself, they are utterly hilarious. To other people I know, (yes Mother, you!) not so much. And of course, I find this to be complete madness!
I’m sometimes (often) told I’m hard-edged, or that I am overly sarcastic in my ways. And sure, I can be sarcastic… maybe a little too much on a bad day. Though, I do try to keep a lid on it for the most part.
I love to humour myself… This is another thing that the people around me seem to find somewhat intrusive, even degenerate. I don’t know why? Things I find intrinsically funny seem to float over the heads of others. It can be anything, an image, while I’m musing, even something I don’t understand myself. It is almost as though I have to see the world in a humourous manner as a matter of survival; to make light of a bad situation by seeing a laughable side, even if the situation itself is anything but funny. I suppose this could be seen as a coping or defense strategy that I have developed over the years, and maybe it is, but maybe it isn’t.
Maybe this is just another side-effect of depression/anxiety, I don’t know. Maybe it’s something more deep-rooted. And yet, I’m not inclined to see this as a problem at all.
I like to laugh. I like to smile – surely there doesn’t have to be a standard origin of these.
Whatever the reason, and whatever the cause. THIS is me. I am who I am – hard-edged or not. Inevitably people will dislike me. Everyone has to accept this in their lives. But hopefully there will also be people who feel the opposite way too, even if it is a minority.
Maybe they might even appreciate my humour.