Funk is good paired with soul, not with the blues

Monday's stress and anxiety over money matters have settled into a bad case of funk. And not the good kind of funk. Good funk is James Brown, Earth Wind & Fire and Funkytown. Bad funk is not brushing your teeth, not showering, or ignoring all general rules of hygiene. Bad Funk is this cloud of vomity BLAH that I'm stuck under.



My bloggy friend Maegan coined it perfectly in a Twitter post (I know it's technically called a "Tweet", but I personally don't like that term) this morning: she called it the "June Gloom". Granted she was referencing the gloomy weather that has a death grip on Los Angeles - here in Colorado, too! - but I think June Gloom is a perfect way to describe the funk that is pinning me in a half-nelson tighter than a testosterone-overloaded teenage wrestler.

Yesterday was awful. I needed a vacation away from myself. I was definitely sportin' my crabby pants. I could not figure out what the heck was wrong with me... I initially blamed it on exhaustion, which is a perfectly reasonable explanation considering I'm not sleeping well again, accompanied by some crazy dreams. Yes, I'm exhausted, but the root of the problem is not lack of sleep. I'm not sleeping well because of this funk I'm in, so its all a vicious cycle that keeps perpetuating itself. Today as I drove to work, scowling at the rainy gloom hanging heavy above us, I came to the conclusion that I'm hella bored and lonely and restless and depressed. Bad F-U-N-K, y'all.

Yes, I have friends and we hang out here and there. Sure, I have things to do... work, working out, my little projects at home, my TV shows... but none of this really does the trick, which in turn makes me feel guilty. I feel like a jerk who doesn't appreciate her friends or her job or the fact that I actually have time to watch TV. Guilt = feeding the Bad Funk monster.

I'm bored because I'm not in dance classes or rehearsals, the things that fulfill me and give me a sense of purpose. Even though I work all day, I feel totally unproductive and lame. I don't feel like I'm doing anything. I HATE sitting for 8-plus hours a day, staring at a computer, all by myself. My body gets all hunched over and feels like a pile of mush. I feel like I'm turning into a hybrid of Quasi Moto and Jabba the Hut. Hot.

The loneliness is a bit more sinister and its a subject I'm very hesitant to broach on the World Wide Web for all the masses to read. Let's just say this: the mocking little demons who whisper mean things like "you're 30 and still alone" aren't easily ignored.

I'm restless because I feel stuck. I feel like I want to run forward and get the show on the road with my life and career, but I'm frozen. Remember the early 90's movie Joe versus the Volcano? Joe (Tom Hanks) goes to work everyday at this gray factory, to do a gray job, and the only sign of life or color is a flower that sprouts up between the cracks of the gray sidewalk outside the factory, which gets stepped on. Those early scenes in the movie always pop in my head when I feel like this.

I'm depressed because... well, because of all of the above.

The weather is NOT helping matters... as mentioned above, Colorado is stuck in this never-ending, Seattle-like hell (sorry L, but there's a damn good reason I don't live up there) of constant rain and clouds and totally depressing gloom! The sun will peek out here and there, but is soon reclaimed by heavy, hazy clouds. Temperatures don't really get above 75 degrees and the normally clear blue sky is a memory. I'd like to stop wearing jeans and scarves and wear my cute new sundress. The weather people tell us there is no sign of it letting up any time soon. Awesome. It makes me want to vomit.

I crave to do, to move, to create, to have adventures... I remind myself that I will soon have adventures in Chicago, and that should help ease some of this, but I also have a grip on reality and know that my time in Chicago won't be the end-all and be-all cure for my Bad Funk.

But maybe it will. Maybe I'll get to learn some amazing choreography. Maybe I'll finally figure out how to correctly jump and turn. Maybe I'll be inspired in my own choreography. Maybe I'll come back to Colorado and impress the hell out of my teachers and classmates at school. Maybe I'll fall in love with Chicago like I did with New York. Maybe I'll fall in love. Maybe future Mr. Hubby is kickin' it in Chi-town, waiting for me to get my butt there already. Maybe, maybe... as I've learned from the twists and turns and surprises in my crazy life, anything is possible. And anything has to be better than a case of Bad Funk.