The Meaning of Funk

Another day, another blog.

But you, Deep Funk, YOU are my diary.  For whenever I go into a deep funk, you will be my sanctuary.  To say what’s on my mind in the vague sort of way that I do, and not have any constraints because of who might be reading it.  Strangers are a-ok here.  I don’t know you.

I’ve been struggling lately.  Back in one of my funks.  I had a solid 3 months without incident, without the sour grapes, but once again – here I am.  Can’t shake the funk.  It hangs on each end of my mouth dragging it down so I look like a clown when I try to smile.  My eyes become sad and my shoulders droop, to the point where my head feels thrice its size and I start to feel like I’ve been maintaining a bowling ball held up on a very small stick.

People become a problem.  And it doesn’t matter who you are, but if you’re super nice then I’m going to loathe you.  If you’re not very nice I’ll loathe you as well.  It also helps if you don’t pry, but eventually – someone is going to have to ask if I’m OK.

But I’m not okay.  Not right now anyway.

Things could always be worse and I only  have myself to blame, but when the funk comes along I feel helpless.  I feel tired.  Oh, so tired.  Holding up a bowling ball will do that to you.

So now you might have figured out what the funk was.  So that’s what this is.  A funky blog.  A blog full of funk.  A Flog.  My Flog.  A Flog for the Ages.

Welcome to my Blog and my Funk.  I’ll try to keep I vaguely real.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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