Funk.
And, not the good kind played by amazing people like George Clinton or Bootsy Collins...
The last 3 or so days have just been, weird. I feel weird and unmotivated and like I want to just go hide under the covers with my book and about a pound of chocolate covered marshmallows.
Fuck I love chocolate covered marshmallows.
See, and there's the other thing, I want to eat and be depressed. Not good. No. Not in the least. I fed this beast for 5 fucking months last year. It took me till March of this year to get over Christmas...I was doing so well...What now?
Last week was so much better, so much more full. I worked my ass off in like 4 classes in the gym at work, I was exhausted but felt amazing. It was the free week to try the gym and the woman I walk with encouraged me to join her in her classes. By the end, Thursday night, I thought I was gonna fall over. I wanted to go lay in a hot tub for the rest of my life.
I so looked forward to the long weekend, and so needed it when it arrived and then didn't know what to do with myself. Friday was good, ran a bunch of errands, got stuff done. Kinda...Then there was Arrested Development and reading and I got the bathroom clean and went to yoga...and completely avoided cleaning my bedroom...again.
Monday came and we tried to figure out how to spend it and I felt restless. I wanted to just go drive, drive in the sunshine and soak up the warmth and energy and fire and let it heal me and make me whole. We went and got boba at the outdoor part of the mall and got in the pool. I still hate boba by the way...I wasn't sure for a second, but nope, don't care for it. Then, I took on the bedroom. Monday evening. After texting and calling various people to distract me and failing to find anyone to save me from the stupid chore that has exploded in my head...then, at the end of cleaning the bedroom, came the putting of my fathers film and such into my closet...I took a deep breath and shoved things in fast and hard and sat with a thud on the floor and bit my lip and tried not to cry. My partner has gently suggested sorting this stuff once or twice, it came up again when I emptied a plastic bin in the closet of my belly dance costume crap, but I still haven't been able to give it enough of a go. I still can't really look at it. I still can't allow myself to process any of it, the pain washes over me and I feel like I am gonna puke...
So, I guess in this long rant I have figured out why I am in a funk. I guess we got that. But, I mean, fuck SERIOUSLY? Is this gonna happen every time I have to move my parents crap around? That exhibit of his art is gonna take me YEARS at this rate...I am so frustrated. Some days are ok, and I keep on keeping on and have hidden my parents in that dark little room in my head where it doesn't bother me that I don't have them to talk to, I'm fine, it's fine. Then, other days knock me in the head and the pain is so sharp I can't see straight.
and that feeling lasts for days. and, here we are.
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