I used to laugh

I used to cry.

I used to hang my head and ... hang on a moment.

I did used to laugh. Haven't done a lot of that in recent memory. Seem to take life too seriously of late. Hang my head and wonder why.

I did used to cry. A lot. Unseemly for a chap in middle years. I describe it elsewhere, but essentially it was nearly all for me when my beautiful boy went off to his mum for what seemed like an eternity but was only (usually) five days except when, once a year, it was two weeks.

I never felt guilty about that. I felt guilty about being on edge, about being grumpy, about having the post-divorce blues, and about many other things, but never about missing my son. And loving him. E'en now, the thought of him going away s a difficult one. I know I know, "don't slip away and I won't hold so tight." I don't, but I do go through every level of hell when I let go. Mind you, I do think we've got it as good as you can get it. He is happy. And that's ALL that matters. Not my tears or anything else.

No headhanging there.

Anyway, I've lost my train. Along with my sense of humour.

I thought of it the other day as I emerged on the up escalator in the M&S knicker hall when seeking the (menswear) cafe. And I thought of it when I was reading a distinctly unfunny blog that is, it seems, widely appreciated. My line of thought went along the lines of who would find this drivel amusing*, perhaps it is something that appeals to other women, do men and women find different blogs amusing, do men and women prefer different blogs (period?), and so on and forth to "where'd my sense of humour go."

If you find it, can you send it back please. I rather miss it.


*Told you I'd lost it