What appeases my particular sense of humour? What makes something funny? What provokes laughter?

I guess the best way I can express what I'm trying to say is, for example, some people find it absolutely hilarious when other people hurt themselves. Their train of thought might resemble something along the lines of: he just fell, he hurt himself while I didn't, dignity was lost, and that is funny.

But what I don't understand are the cognitive processes between, "dignity was lost" and, "that is funny". I mean, personally, I don't find it funny at all, but how (as opposed to 'why') is the loss of dignity, or any other thing that may fancy your humour, funny?

Brb, Europe.

Dear Blog,

Today, I totally shared an ice-cream with a winner of the Queensland Piano Competition. I think my life may be complete. The ice-cream was great. I paid. HE OWES ME - 35 cucumbers (only), according to the man himself. That's okay though. I'll sell the cucumbers on the black market (because they're just so normally inaccessible) for much more than they're worth and save up enough money to purchase a ticket to Freddy Kempf's Tchaikovsky concert. Apparently, Kempf has "critics searching for new superlatives". I think they should just expand their vocabulary.

I had pizza with Zac after it all. It was night, the lights, surreal. Best half-hour of my life, and I've had many half-hours.

Typical blogs; they say so little with so many words. People need to write less with more purpose.

I swear I can hear the earth moving in certain rooms of my house. I don't want to go to Europe. I don't think I've ever faced with the prospect of leaving so much behind, if only for 3 weeks.

I've always been an observer. I could tell you an array of random things about the tendencies of other people, but I've never quite been an observer of myself. So, when I realised I was going to be in another continent for the majority of the next month (beginning this coming Monday), I decided to look inwards and find out what I think I would miss the most. It defined my version of normalcy; the variables, and what I hope are/will be the constants;

1. My wallet, keys, phone and ipod. The essentials. They pretty much identify me. These are things that everybody has, but these particular ones belong uniquely to me.

2. The generally shoddy transport system here in Queensland, and my go-card. I'll miss that. It really makes home, home.

3. Going through the west side of Brisbane every day. It's beautiful, old, raw. Not to mention the small, local convenience stores and coin-operated laundromats. They totally make life worth living.

4. People - eating my aunt's cooking, falling asleep to my uncle on the PS3, my cousin's nursing textbooks lying around the house, us adolescents laying strewn across the couch and floor, being unsociable with our laptops. The kids from school. That Zac-child.

5. Home, naturally. In particular, the bathroom heater, my living room carpet and the proximity of my bed to the floor.

6. Zac's home. Our past is in there.

7. The music room. My home at school. A humble sanctuary for the scarce population of musicians at SMT. It's slowly being invaded by the outside world. Oh well.

8. Stress, being pressured, the constant feed of information. It feels natural and familiar now; it's what I'm used to and know.

9. The Internet, my laptop, local phone calls, texts, and other such electronic functions. Why have I become so dependent on communication?

10. The sun, and the sky that harbours the stars that I see, because it won't be the same one in Europe.

Books.. they don't leave you for other people. The story is yours until you wish it otherwise. Unfinished books can even be left to the hands of you imagination.

Although books appear to be, often, rather straightforward, and a salvation when everything else in life is not, if you look hard enough between the lines you may stumble upon the softest yet loudest, the most hidden yet clearest, voice of the author.

"How are you feeling?"

How am I feeling? I had a wonderful day. I don't think I can sleep feeling like this. I think I'm going to throw up.

On a note that I'm not entirely sure is related or not; I have never been so lacking in regards to music, since the magical time of pixies during which I was born.

I miss things. Stupid 'things'.

I don't miss stupid things - the things I miss are simply stupid for allowing themselves to be missed.

I don't even know why I care so much.