Of Jokes That Stopped Being Funny.

I haven’t blogged in a while, but it’s not because I suddenly popped out a life or shit stopped happening. Au contraire, it was the kind of writer’s block where you back off from the damn blank post for fear you’ll spill your heart out to absolute strangers at a whiny moment and come to regret it when the Kübler-Ross model shifts – which is a technique, might I add, that most of you bloggers out there should learn.

Also, I’m re-discovering the cathartic pros of working till you’re numb – which reminds me of a friend who, on the topic of Prozac, backfired my joke by saying that they could chip me into tablets and send the Prozac line filing for bankruptcy. I would have been pissed, hadn’t she been right that is.

I’ve recently had a blinding moment of clarity that has sent most of the givens I had about life, the universe and everything into 42 shooting stars that I was desperate enough to wish upon. I’d rather not further elaborate, but a good friend says it’s something we thank God for. I’m taking his word because I’d rather not go nuts this soon before my finals. All I gotta say is that I’m at that Tupac phase of my life where I have three years of bad choices to fix and consequences to own up to and I have a feeling I’ll end up getting shot too early on at it. And I don’t necessarily hate that one bit.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m writing. Not that it matters, because neither do you.

I used to believe that being a good person is a conscious choice you make everyday, now I understand how people might wake up one morning and forget why they’ve been making that choice for that long because all those who used to remind them haven’t been around for while. I used to laugh at people who say the wrong crowd would make the most self-righteous lose their way and lecture them about strength of character, but then again I wasn’t the one who laughed last, was I?

Assholes aren’t born, they’re made, carefully-crafted and programmed into being one. And I now see why being an asshole works, and how it works, or rather worked, in this context at least. After all, I’ve learned from the best.

But that’s probably because I woke up one morning and found out that I have become one.

And I don’t mind that one bit either. But I guess that comes with the package.

On a lighter note, pun intended, I used to have this joke with my dad where instead of asking him how his day’s been, I’d check his cigarette pack and look at my wristwatch.

Then you grow up and that joke stops being funny for several compelling reasons and you start wondering what the hell happened, when you’re probably the best one to answer that question.

Problem is, after three years, it’s kind of hard, if not impossible, to retrace your tracks back to that specific point of time where everything took a wrong turn, because life’s not a videogame. You tend to be given the map AFTER you’ve lost all of your lives trying to get to the wrong objective with ‘Game Over’ flashing on your screen.

You know what the funny part is? If I had the chance to go back in time, I wouldn’t take it back. I’d go about it differently with the knowledge I have now to fuck them up the exact same way, sit back and watch with popcorn.

I’ve learned, yes,  just not in the conventional definition of learning.

Oh well.