Get a little cheese to go with my whine

Hey friends,


I have nothing to say, which is weird. I'm in a funk and it has been sucking all the fun out of me for a while. It is not a deep depression, where I can't get out of bed or shower or speak sentences. It's more like a creeping malaise that sticks its long, dark fingers into all of the things I normally enjoy, like wine. I love wine! I love everything from crisp, bright whites that taste like sunshine and citrus to chewy darks that taste like moss and chocolate. Lately, though, I don't care. I don't want a wine to perfectly compliment my dinner. I'll just have tap water. Really? It has been like that with everything! I read two books that I should have LOVED and they were fine. I made a costume for E and I should have been so excited that it came out like it did and I was glad she liked it and that was it. I have been fun places and done fun things and I should be feeling HAPPY! and INVIGORATED!  and EXCITED! but I just feel meh. Part of it has to be the weather: 80 degrees and soupy does nothing for my soul. My hair is frizzy, my skin is blotchy, my knees hurt and I feel the oppression of humidity inside all the fibers of my being(it makes me whiny, too).

Maybe crisp autumn days and a fire in the fireplace because it's actually cold and getting into bed and having the sheets feel chilly and crisp, instead of soggy, will make me feel better? Maybe...but I'll probably have to ride it out. Usually, I come out on the other side of these downtimes with some kind of new skill or awareness or idea. Change is hard and it takes so much energy that I guess there's nothing left for fun or creativity. I wonder, what skill am I honing way down below the surface? I haven't really tried to do anything new, except for this writing thing and the ever-elusive "be a better person." Maybe in a week or three or six or twelve, I'll be writing Pulitzer Prize-quality sentences and you'll all be saying "I knew her when..." But I doubt it.  I'm hoping, maybe, I'll be nicer to myself.

What do you do when you've got the creeping funk? Do you feed it? Do you listen to sad music? Do you light candles and watch them flicker? Do you lie in bed late at night and look at the ceiling and bemoan every choice you've ever made? Ever. Like, "why did I think neon Jamms and pink converse high tops were going to make me look HAWT?" (It has been thirty years now, and that question haunts me.) Why didn't I study something artsy in college? Why didn't I listen when people gave me good advice? Why did I listen when people gave me bad advice? Why is my gut reaction ALWAYS anger? I think I have tapped into what's driving my funk/insomnia: WHY DO I ASK SO MANY DAMN QUESTIONS? WHY CAN'T I ACCEPT THE STATUS QUO? WHY CAN'T I BE HAPPY?

Let me know if you figure it out. I'm going to be sitting in the dark, listening to the Smiths with the air conditioning turned down to 60.

Love,
Corks

PS Don't worry about me. I'm already bored with this funk. I'll be pulling myself up by the bootstraps in no time. xoxo