What’s Your Funny?

What Makes You Laugh When You're Alone?

Willy and I — Image is of Willy the cat appearing visibly uncomfortable that the author is pressing her cheek against her fur. Why so needy human? Are you really so desperate for affection?

Laying on my bed, I’d fallen into the black hole time suck of Instagram again. I felt the heat of my dying phone and noticed the little lightning bolt above a 15% red battery sign. A few more seconds and it’d shut off. I exited the apps and tossed it away from me, as if I had to put physical distance between us to pause the addiction.

I flipped over to face Willy, the yellow eyed grey cat. She was in the most adorable sleeping position, her little paws curled up and her eyes shut tight. I leaned in to snuggle my face into her belly, because, what warm blooded human wouldn’t naturally do the same?

She must have sensed my incoming attempt for a squishy cuddle, and instinctively stuck her front paw out and pressed it against my nose. She had stopped me in my tracks without evening opening an eye, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Willy, you’re such a bitch,” I laughed.

I wanted to reach for my phone and capture this moment, but then I would’ve lost it. I decided to stretch the moment out. Feel it. Remember it. The smell of earth in her soft charcoal paw. The probability of her sharp claws scratching my cheek if I jerked in the wrong direction.

I thought about what Kristina’s therapist asked her a few days ago.

“What’s your funny?”

“My funny?”

“What makes you laugh when you’re alone, when no one is around?”

It was a poignant question. I feel much more serious and unfunny when I’m alone. I feel more myself when I’m surrounded by my friends. I’d like to work on enjoying my own company.

‘Willy, your my funny,’ I thought. I stuck my neck out further and she pushed back, down on my nostril until I couldn’t comfortably breathe.

“Willyyy,” I pleaded through a grin. She answered by kicking my chin with her hind legs, pushing herself away from me completely.

I filled the empty air with my amusement. I liked it. I liked the sound of my own laughter when no one was around. It was kind of low and manly, not a very feminine laugh, but it sounded happy.

In the back of my mind, I still wished I could have documented this little interaction. But why? Why did I need to share so much? Who was I performing for?

Is it just my essence, to document and share? Am I a storyteller? Or am I lonely and seeking validation? What really is the purpose of posting everything to Instagram? It gives me so much pleasure, but is it all a waste of time? Shouldn’t I be doing something more important? The world is crashing and burning, but all I really want to do is learn to share good stories, big or small.

Whenever I start to doubt myself, I just think about my sister. She was on top of the world, finally, when she died. A migraine one day, gone three days later.

Nothing matters in the end. Live your life. I’m just one of 8 billion people…and I just want to be happy. Especially when I’m alone.