I’m in a writing funk. And not ‘funk’ like bad 1970s disco music and an afro (which would look really bad on me).
I mean a good old-fashioned “I don’t want to write” funk. In fact, there’s not a whole lot I want to do. I don’t want to exercise. I don’t want to eat healthy. I don’t want to think hard. I don’t want to debate. I don’t want to stress. Basically, all I pretty much want to do is wear yoga pants all day, watch my On Demand shows, and eat Cheetos and pizza while drinking wine. I’m not even joking. That sounds soooo good to me.
I think I really should’ve had a bit more of a vacation. But I worked all vacation, and I was sick and wah wah wah. I don’t really have any reason to complain either. It was great to work. I’m so excited to get a check for it next month. In terms of acting out an audiobook, I think I did a pretty good job, so it was satisfying. (I did this cool gravelly voice with a thick Spanish accent. He was called "The Deathless") And I’ve been getting great press on my writing. And now I’m back to teaching, which I love. And Kealoha and I are great. Kids are too. Then why am I so….meh?
The moon. Hormones. The weather. Grey skies. The media (for making me feel guilty for laying around eating Cheetos and pizza and drinking wine). I blame Geraldo.
He hasn’t been blamed for anything recently, so why not. Unless…geez…he’s not dead is he? Geraldo is still around, isn’t he? I take that back. I don’t blame Geraldo. I blame Justin Bieber. There. That felt good. That felt real good. It’s all his fault.
I’ve got a To Do list with about a hundred things on it: write, edit, teach, parent, prep, plan, read, clean, exercise, work on a CV, promote, fix….Arrrrhhh!
I’m not doing any of it. Not a thing. Except, I am writing. I am blogging. It’s probably good for me, even though I’m not saying anything worthwhile here. I’m sure you understand. Tell me it’s not just me and that the feeling of “Meh” is an epidemic. That’d actually be a really comforting thought.
Where’s my wine? That’s one thing on my To Do list I can manage tonight.
In closing, I leave you with this. Why? Because, well, at least I’m not blind and I don’t look like the bust she creates of Lionel Richie. That’s something, isn’t it?