Sometimes I think I’m manic. I will be sailing along, right as rain, and suddenly I’ll hear or see something and – bam! – down in the pits I go. There was a time in my difficult teen years when I would become severely depressed and unable to function, but now it’s just the glums. Or the grouches.

Of course it can go the other way, too. Last night I was putting up the supper. In my Fibber McGee cabinet of plastic bowls and lids, I could find no lid for the chosen bowl. I mean, there are lids everywhere, falling out on the countertop, all askew in the still full dishwasher, but not one stinkin lid to fit the stinkin bowl I’d already designated as perfect for my leftover spaghetti. So in an exaggerated voice, I yelled, “I CAN’T FIND A LID FOR THE BOWL!”

From the livingroom, my daughter calmly says, “Use foil.”

I’m still searching and banging around and yell again, louder this time, and more exaggerated for humor’s effect, ‘I CAN’T FIND A LID FOR THE BOWL!”

In the exact same tone: “Use foil.”

That’s it. End of story. Except for some reason, it broke me. I started laughing, my voice went all squeaky like it does when it’s about to be one of those non-stoppers. I could hear my daughter say, “Why?” which somehow made it worse. Like a six-year-old, I had to hurry for the bathroom and made such horrible noises from in there, the little one thought I was crying and came running to see what was wrong. I could hear her mom explaining that Nana was just losing it. Poor Nana.

Crazy? Oh sure…. But therapeutic as well. When I was done (and it took awhile), I felt…. well, cleansed. A good cry can do that too. You know, the kind that starts out sad or angry and as the tears turn into sobs, all the other pent up sad and angry stuff just comes exploding out with it. It’s exhausting and exhilarating all at once.

One day, the little one was looking strained. I patted the couch next to me and she crawled up under my arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just feel like to cry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

I just held her. I get that. Let the cleansing begin.

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One thought on “It Really Wasn’t That Funny

  1. I can relate to that. Those times when a snicker or a word or a giggle or a sentence turn into a sniffle then a snob and ultimately a whimper and a wad of kleenex. Cleansing perhaps, but I just wish I could sometimes be in control of the when or where.

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