I’m sure this has nothing to do with my current living situation (in her house), income level (nothing) or employment status (employ-what?). I’m also sure this has nothing to do with the fact that all of the above result in my lounging around in her house all day, eating her food while wearing the same clothes from yesterday (okay so they’re from last Tuesday-don’t JUDGE, I’m saving water) and whining incessantly about how I have nothing to do.
I’m sure it’s not that.
This epiphany occurred after she read someone else’s blog. Someone much funnier than me. The conversation went something like this:
Sister: You could do that too.
Me: Do what?
Sister: Write a blog—I mean, you know, you’re funny.
Obviously she is under the impression that I am being purposefully funny when in actuality I am merely existing in a universe wherein embarrassing things happen to me (usually because I’ve done something stupid or otherwise without much forethought) and I seem to have some kind of Tourettes-like tic that renders me incapable of not sharing with anyone who will listen the embarrassing things that happen to me in the course of any given day. It's like my brain doesn’t work fast enough to realize before it tells my mouth to open and form words that said action will result in public humiliation.
It’s like a hobby.
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