I think I have that Danny Glover disease. Nope, I know I have it. He is on my T.V. every night describing something I have been struggling with since widowhood. In these commercials, Danny talks about his ability to control his emotions because he is an actor and he does not, I repeat, does not have the affliction that I have convinced myself I have. Danny asks the viewer, but really he is talking to me directly, if I have trouble with laughing uncontrollably  at inappropriate times. Why yes I do! Danny then asks me if I cry without realizing I am doing it until after I AM doing it. Place a check in that box too, Danny! So tell me Dan, cause we’re friends now, what causes these uncontrollable outbreaks? Strokes and heart attacks can cause this “thing” know as Pseudo Bulbar affect, he says two seconds later.

Check box number three, MY HUSBAND HAD A STROKE! So now what do I do Dan, to solve this problem? Alas my new friend Dan leaves me without answers, informing me that I need to consult my doctor. Well fuck you Danny, that’s no help! The crying part is to be expected, I suppose it goes along with the whole dead husband thing but the laughing thing is a surprising side affect. It started innocently enough with a rash of giggle-puss outbreaks (giggle-puss is what Overstreet and I call my outbursts of uncontrollable laughter) but this day was different.  It was a lovely spring day and I had scheduled a repair call to repair my well. So he arrived. I knew because my dogs alerted me with their barks. I walk outside and the dogs trot behind. The repair guy, obviously knowledgeable about my well, had already begun to work.  As he was squatting down he looked up at me and asked if someone at this residence had recently died. Aww shit, here we go.

I informed him that my husband died and then the question flood gate opened. The repair man launched question after question at me and I started to giggle, for no reason. At this point I could not control myself and the giggle but the dude didn’t stop questioning me and the giggle got worse.

Still squatting near the ground, the repair man asked me what my husband died of exactly. I told him a stroke and as soon as I did, I burst out into full on laughter, totally inappropriate. The repair man looked at me with a quizzical look on his face but his curiosity was stronger than his puzzlement of my chuckle. He then asked me if my husband had any symptoms or did he just drop dead. Still unable to control myself and this Danny disease, I told him that Peter had headaches behind his eyes for awhile before he died. The repair man jumped up and said in his outside voice “I have headaches behind my eyes!” Well that sent me over the edge. I was laughing so hard I could not eek out a word but I did manage to point and laugh at him. A look of terror comes across his poor face that is begging me to be concerned AND console him. I try my best to get my shit together. After all he did just learn about the death of my husband. I try to stop laughing but I can’t so I slowly remove myself from his presence by walking backward toward my house, perhaps hoping he never saw me, but as I do I manage to finally speak.  I blurt out the following words between screams of laughter.

“You…have headaches?” laughter scream. “My husband…had headaches!” laughter scream. I am yelling now because I have not stopped walking backwards into my house.

“He’s dead!” laughter scream “And you have headaches?” I’m done trying to control myself and I let the guffaws come, unashamed.  I don’t even feel bad as I run back into my house. The only thought that comes to mind is that the repair man is terrified and because of my Danny disease, I find his terror the funniest fucking thing ever! Inappropriate, uncontrolled laughter. I scared the poor well man so much that I have yet to receive a bill for my well repair. That or he thinks that receiving a bill will send me over the edge, which I am sure he does not want to test.

I am laying in bed and I hear: drip…drip…drip. I get out of bed and look around my room, the noise in gone and I return back to bed. Drip…drip…drip. I have no idea what the annoying noise is but I am really pissed.  I sit up in my bed and touch my face, it’s wet and I just know that my roof has a leak. “Great! Now I have to haul my ass up on the roof and figure out how to tar and shingle a fucking roof! FUCK! I lay back down and begin to wonder “Do I tar AND shingle a roof?” FUCK!”

My face is getting wetter but the drip noise has stopped. I look up and it hits me.

I’M CRYING! I wipe my face and try to go back to sleep. The sadness has invaded my body and it is so pervasive that I cry without conscience knowledge.  Apparently I have lost control of bodily functions. What’s next? Will Danny tell me that I have the right to go potty whenever I feel like I need to go. Am I so sad, mad or crazy that I no longer know what the hell my body is doing?  JESUS, DANNY! Thanks for the heads up. In my rational (I use that word very lightly) mind, I know that this Danny disease is very serious medical condition and yet with my recent affliction of said Danny disease, I can’t stop laughing…or am I crying?