Given it’s never happened to me before, I honestly didn’t know what to do.
Time wore on. Complacency set in. Soon I was skipping school. Faced with my dilemma I declared whole-heatedly to a dear pal (via text – shame on me), “I’m in a funk.”
Not long ago I heard a great remedy for loneliness or grief is to hold hands with it. Invite said emotion in for tea (so to speak).
So. I did that. Alone. I funked.
A day passed. No un-funking came about.
So. We hung out some more.
In bed, at my table. Over some coffee. Away from everything and everybody.
Texts came in asking how I was.
“I am in a funk,” again I would declare.
Time trickled on. My mind told my body, “This will pass.”
Yet again, me and the Funk, well we continued to hang out. It wasn’t like a pity-party. More like a wallowing in self, um, self – another word for pity...?
Two days pass and I take Funk and I out for tea. To the real world.
We go shopping for clothes. Always a spirit lifter if you can find something you like.
So I invited Funk to the Art Gallery with me and some Hip Hop.
We had fun. I could feel myself starting to get a little better.
Today a friend calls. I again announce, “I’ve been in a funk.”
Something then twigged inside of me.
It’s time to change this story.
Tonight I told Funk to stay home. I invited myself out to a friend’s to cook dinner and watch the Oscars.
When I got home, to my delight - Funk was gone.