Funky McFunkerson

It happens to all of us.

We go to bed, maybe a little irritated or perhaps just slightly more exhausted then normal. We snuggle into the comfort of our 250 thread count sheets and close our eyes and wait. We steady our breathing. We hold as still as our body physically can. We stretch our neck, flex our toes. And then we roll over. Repeat. And then we roll over again. We continue to toss, turn, keep our eyes closed in hopes that eventually the Sand Man from our childhood bedtime stories comes and shows his mercy on us. You think, "I've been a good girl. If Santa will bring me a Coach Bag for Christmas as a reward for being a good girl surely the Sand Man can give me one freaking night of peaceful sleep."

Still. Black. Silence.

And it's always the same. It's never one night, or even two. No. It's days upon days upon days. And that's when it leads into a period of "funk".

You know the one. Coffee doesn't taste as good, but you drink twice as much of it. The front temples in your head throb without any cause or remedy. You lack the energy to bathe (but still remind yourself to do it daily). Simple activites like brushing your hair, putting on makeup, feeding yourself suddely become chores.

Look around the office. See the girl who's hair is up in a messy pony-tail, body slinking down into the desk chair, head slightly tilted to the side as she stares blankly at her computer screen. Funk.

The guy who's shirt is slightly more wrinkled than normal, laying his head in his hands as he props his arm up on the desk. Funk.

It has happened to the best of us. And although these periods literally feel like they are going to last forever it is a well known fact that NOTHING in this world last forever. Even our mortality reminds us, everything is temporary.
My point? I'm in a funk. I'm bathed and I even managed to put on a tiny bit of eye liner this morning but I am still in a funk. And this one, it's a bad one. It's probrably one of the worst since my separation and pending divorce.
And this is not a time when I wanna be in a funk. Evelyn is walking and talking and growing so much I just want to take her to the park or the Zoo or the beach and witness and she sees things for the first time. She's such an adventrous child and it brings out the best in me.

I want to strive and study and excell in my new job because it is nothing like I have ever done before and I love it. I want to be excited about it and eager.

I want to be enthusastic about moving into a new place, a more stable home, a home that (may or may not) be just my daughter and me. It has never been just the two of us before and the thought is thrilling. I've never lived alone.
I want to be hopeful and excited about the free fiction workshop I'm doing this month and being around writers and artists in my area. A chance to reconnect with my Kindred. A chance to reintroduce myself to my muse. A chance to meet new people.

I want to be excited about the (possible) pending purchase of a new camera. FINALLY! I can indulge in my inner creativety and start photographing again.

But I can't. I can't because of this stupid idiot funk that is lingering in my bones. It's seeping through my eyes and causing my already restless nights to become completely sleep deprived.

I want out of this funk. I want to enjoy the summer time. But the things that normally drag me out of them; friends, shopping, extreme physical changes... even they fail to excite me.

Reminding myself that it's only temporary is getting old. And in the mean time, trying to force myself to enjoy these lovely moments it's exhausting me further. It can't last much longer.

Can it?