I seem to have temporarily misplaced my sense of humor. I even looked for it in Conner's big truck that has a compartment where he likes to hide things -- like his little brother's pacifier.
BAGMAN: "That second sense about Conner's truck was kind of cute...maybe you are getting your sense of humor back?"
But I don't have any follow-up.
BUTLER: "Don't fret, Mark, old chap. You have plenty of experience with these little depressions. You always snap out of them in a few days."
I know, I know.
BAGMAN: "And don't forget. It's almost Christmas."
BUTLER: "That's right. Mark doesn't do very well with Christmas for some reason. And although his arm is getting better, the constant ache is probably wearing on him emotionally.
Blah blah blah. Are you guys finished talking about me yet? Can I go lie down now?
BUTLER: "Lying down is counter-productive when you are feeling blah, you know."
I know. I know.
BUTLER: "And you also know that when you are feeling sorry for yourself the best thing you can do is to..."
...Is to do something for somebody else! Yes, I know that too. I didn't start this blog the morning so I could listen to you two charactors trying to do therapy on me! You can't tell me anything I don't already know since I made you up in the first place."
BAGMAN: "That's just mean! I'm hurt."
See, I'm even snapping at my own alter-egos. But I'll get back soon. After a nap, counter-prodductive or not, I'll go back to searching for my sense of humor.
BAGMAN: "You might try using a metal-detector."
Very funny. Good try. But I haven't quite finished milking the pity-pot yet.