“Mojo” is, ‘That positive spirit toward what we are doing now, that starts from the inside and radiates to the outside’” ― Marshall Goldsmith
I felt it as soon as I was completely conscious, a vague emptiness, as if a limb had been painlessly removed while I slept. Naturally, I threw the blankets aside and verified the completeness of my person. Everything appeared to be as it had been previously.
Yet the vague feeling persisted.
“All men are equal before fish.” – Herbert Hoover
It being Monday morning, I ran through my usual morning routine then, coffee close by, sat down to write my Monday morning greeting for you, my desperately bored readers.
It was then that it struck me, like a mackerel across the face – not that I’ve truly experienced an actual mackerel across the face, mind you, but I have gotten a wet tree branch across the face and can only believe the two are very similar. Of course, I could have just written, “Like a wet tree branch across the face,” in the first place, but that doesn’t carry quite the impact, so to speak, I was looking for.
Speaking of looking for… Ah! Right! Mackerel.
Wet tree branches, of course smell a great deal better than mackerel. A far more wholesome, clean smell, rather than that thick, slimy smell fish typically have. There are, however, some fish which do not smell that bad at all, if you smell them when they’re freshly caught.
Now I make it sound as though I’ve gone about, making a study of the various and sundry smells of assorted fishes at set intervals after having been caught. Well, I can assure you I have not… done such a study. Although I have worked on a tuna boat. Tuna do not smell entirely hideous just after being caught. I think larger fish tend to smell cleaner than smaller fish, but that may just be me. Not that I really have anything against the smaller species of fish – except their tiny, needley bones. Dear God! Those things can be positively lethal, you know. So, yes, I do have a slight prejudice against smaller fish, when eating, due to those treacherous bones. One would needs push the entire fish through a screen to extract every one of them, then what would one have remaining? Fish paste, that’s what! Who wants to sit down to a nice plate of fish paste and chips? Not me, I can tell you that much. But I don’t believe the paste made from a small fish would smell significantly worse than a similar paste made from, say, tuna. The greatest difference being, one needn’t push an entire tuna through any sort of screening device in order to render it safe from unseen needle traps, nor would one want to. Tuna are rather large, and I should image a crew of four or five stout men would be required to perform a task that is wholly unnecessary in the first place!
And that’s when I realized: my entire sense of humor had gone!
“If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide.” – Mahatma Gandhi
I stared at my keyboard, in horror.
Then, as I moved my hands in an attempt to create some sort of pseudo-humorous missive I thought might slip past such a truly dense lot of readers, the absolute truth became apparent… my entire Funny MoJo was missing!
I collapsed, my arms cradling my head upon my keyboard. I ignored the plaintive BEEP… BEEP… BEEP, indicating the computer could tolerate no more random characters being crammed into its letter bin thing.
Now, of course this was not the first time I’d found myself sans humor – many… alright, both of you will remember such painfully serious posts as The Way of Who You Are, The way of Winning In Spite of Yourself, or the painfully tedious The way of Racism.
On those occasions, I’d always had an understanding, the security of knowing it was only my sense of humor that had gone on walk-about, that my fundamental Funny MoJo, which was the anchor keeping my sense of humor from straying too far, was firmly in place, like the Great Pyramids, the Lighthouse of Alexandria (OK that’s a bad example), the Rock of Gibraltar, and now it was gone…
I had never felt so hopeless and alone – nor had I felt just how uncomfortable the square plastic keys are against one’s nose.
But then, wait! I had felt this before!
Well yes, the keyboard thing, but that’s not what I meant… git!
I had, in fact, felt this very same emptiness many, many times. I was such a fool! I had felt this very same dismal darkness every single Monday of my entire adult life!
“So. Monday. We meet again…. We will never be friends—but maybe we can move past our mutual enmity toward a more-positive partnership.” – Julio-Alexi Genao
Welcome to a new week, Bitches!