I’m in a FUNK. Yup, it’s official…I’m in a Funk and what’s worse I think I’m beginning to enjoy my wallow.
Well mostly I am…but the tiny bit of me that’s still capable of rational thought, knows I have to haul myself out or be drowned forever. I don’t particularly fancy death by drowning, so this is me trying to haul myself up. Ouch!
And still as I sit staring at this screen…I’ve got Nothing. Zilch. Nada. Blank whiteness. Except possibly a thread in my brain that ‘s supplying me with various ways of saying Nought. It’s a mystery to me how I got here…I was doing fine and really have nothing in life to complain about (not unless I’m nitpicking). Maybe that’s the problem. I have no one to blame and nowhere to hide and nought to do except accept responsibility (never an easy thing). I’ve let myself slide into a slump (Love the way that sounds! See what I mean?), and am lying here in quicksand of my own making, too lazy to pick myself up, wallowing with an abandon that would put even the best (or should that be worst?) procrastinator to shame. I’m not consciously enjoying being here, but I can’t decipher the payoff…there must be one or else I wouldn’t be here right? Could it be the silence? You know what they say about Silence being Golden? I couldn’t agree more. Especially in a large house with 3 senior citizens (all of whom suffer from varying degrees of deafness), a husband who by virtue of his genes lives on an alien planet that only allows TVs and computers to co-habit and a toddler (my poor darling), who although utterly endearing is also wont to say Mama every few seconds or so. “Mama, come here. Mama sit here. Mama dustbin? Mama, TV? Mama, cricket? Mama come here! Mama SIT!” and so it goes, increasing in volume, every waking hour! And so, the last few days, I’ve spoken only when spoken to (with the adults that is. There’s nothing I can do about Ishaan!), and generally enjoyed the quiet it has afforded me. I think the Funk is a side-effect of all that quietness…you know too much of a good thing…
I just looked up the meaning of the word Funk. Turns out there’s more than one and here they are from thinkexist.com
- (n.) Alt. of Funking
- (v. i.) To emit an offensive smell; to stink.
- (v. i.) To be frightened, and shrink back; to flinch; as, to funk at the edge of a precipice.
- (n.) An offensive smell; a stench.
- (v. t.) To envelop with an offensive smell or smoke.
- (v. t.) To frighten; to cause to flinch.
- (v. t.) To funk at; to flinch at; to shrink from (a thing or person); as, to funk a task.
- (n.) One who funks; a shirk; a coward.
3 & 8 certainly apply at the moment, although I certainly hope all the stuff about being stinky doesn’t. I haven’t let the Funk distract me from maintaining personal hygiene…not yet.
I wouldn’t complain so much about the Funk, if it weren’t for the effect on my writing. I can’t write in silence. Let me explain. As a kid, I was one of those that studied with closed doors vibrating to the music blasting through the speakers. For some reason that helped me concentrate (Go figure! I never said I was normal!). So naturally, now I feel a little spaced out with all this silence. It’s getting so loud, I can’t hear myself think. I can’t concentrate. (I know it was my decision. I never said I was wise either!). The muse (if ever it/he/she did exist), has fled and left me bereft of thoughts and ideas. And that my friends is to me a fate worse than drowning.
Speaking of muses…I’ve never really thought about it before. I understand inspiration and I draw it from people, from stories, from nature, from books, from music, from art…but my very own muse, a single point of inspiration…not really. Now that we’re on the subject, my aunt (Mom’s sister), could be…she’s a poet and a writer and she started writing in her fifties. She and I have much in common. Her talent and joie de vivre are both inspiring and infectious. She’s always encouraged me to write and is one of the few people in my world that ‘know the back-story’, is non-judgmental and with whom I feel safe & protected. She would understand the Funk. Hell (sometimes, it’s the only word that fits!), she would be on first-name basis with the Funk. So it’s natural I should speak to her. It will help. And yet I desist. It’s probably my habit of wanting to handle messy stuff like this myself before subjecting others to my misery. You have to agree, Misery ain’t pretty.
And this is Birthday month too! Not time I want to spend in muse-less Funk! That’s one of the reasons, I’ve forced myself to write this post. It’s Step I, so forgive me if it seems self-absorbed and whiny. I’m working on it. Already the writing is working…I feel better 🙂 And as I type, I realize that while this may not be the best time for me to be entirely original, I can certainly borrow ideas that have touched a chord. Yeah…I think I know what I need to do next. You’ll know when it’s done.
Thanks for listening…you guys are the best!
p.s. I just realized…a ‘y’ at the end of Funk changes everything for the better!