My Strange Companion

I’m having one of those days. The Funk. It can seemingly come out of nowhere. It’s usually a mix of anxiety, sprinkled with some guilt, topped with a nice dollop of shame. Yay!

I can’t seem to focus on anything. I try to pick myself up and out of it. The more I try the more the Funk seems to dig in it’s heels like a toddler being told it’s time for bed. 

I sit down cross-legged on my reading chair. “Ok, fine, what do you want?”, I ask it while trying to make peace with the sinking feeling in my gut. It doesn’t answer. I sit some more making sure to take some deep breaths. Aren’t I supposed to have some sort of epiphany? Ugh. Perhaps I’m not holding enough crystals. 

I try putting on some ambient music. The Funk seems to use this as some sort of fuel and now I feel worse. Weepy actually. 

I try this again, this time using lots of hand gestures…. “Um, excuse me, Funk, but I don’t recall inviting you into my personal space, thank you very much. Could you be a dear and skedaddle?”. Perhaps the Funk doesn’t understand English. It’s still invading my personal space. I feel exhausted but somehow my racing thoughts think they’re only at the two-mile mark of a 26K and are running fresh and energized with a smug grin on their face.  Sons of bitches. 

I try to plead with the Funk, which is stupid. I mean, I’ve seen horror movies and pleading with the enemy never prevents one from being hacked with a chainsaw. 

It begins to whisper sweet nothings to me like, “You were supposed to have it all figured out by now” and “You’re not doing it right – again.” and, my favorite, “Maybe you’re just too fucked up to ever get it figured out.”  Yee-haw! It’s on a roll now. Exasperated, I finally give up, slink down into the chair, and succumb to its seemingly unyielding diatribe.   

Soon a strange thought pops into my head…. that this poor Funk must be deeply hurting to hurl such insults like that at me. Hmmmm. I try a completely different tactic. “Hey there Funk! Listen, I know you’re really mad right now, think I’m a failure, and hate my guts and all, but, well, perhaps we could, um, grab some Cheetos and just Netflix and Chill together? You know, just for tonight?” 

It doesn’t say yes, of course. But, it didn’t say no either. So, I gather the haze of myself together and decide that I better make a decision – stat! – on which movie to watch. Lest the Funk chooses and I’m preeeetty sure a masked person with a Chainsaw will be involved. Ew.

Yours Truly,

The Intoxicated Earth-Tourist