I Swear I’m Not Drunk

I know some folks are gonna tsk-tsk that headline and offer prayers for my soul. That’s okay, I can use all the prayers I can get.

I’m in a mood and as usual, I’m gonna write about it.  As I’m writing the words, “I’m in a mood…,” my brain is all SHUT ‘ER DOWN, MISSY! while my heart is all SCREW THAT AND WRITE THE NEKKIDNESS!

(IMPORTANT NOTE: If you can’t recall if there is one “e” or two “ks” in nekkid, DO NOT GOOGLE IT!  My eyes!)

At the moment, I’m a heart kinda gal, so, SHUT-UP BRAIN!  < and that is why I prefaced with the fact that I’m not drunk.

Meh.

Some days it’s the hardest work to get words down that mean something to me, let alone hoping they mean something to you.  If you know me by now, and I hope you do, you know I want to offer my words for uplifting, educating, and of course, amusing you.

In my advanced ageitude (great, now I’m making up words), I can easily blame these annoying attempts on perimenpause, which as you know by now CAN SUCK IT.  < Still not drunk.

My worst symptom to date is crushing fatigue, which I happen to be mucking my way through as I write this sassy attitude-tinged diatribe.  Each exhausting keystroke encourages me to lay my head down and type with eyelash flutters.  So tired.

Which brings me back to my mood.  Or the mood.  Or if you’re in the South, The Moods.  You know, like The Walmarts or the The Costcos.  (For real.  That’s how people talk here. We pluralize the singular!  Makes me laugh every single time, while it leaves the perpetrator quizzical. Why is she laughing? What’s so funny about The Walmarts?)

Y’all.  I am in a horrible, no good, awful mood.  The kind that pulls my hair and tells me I’m a ridiculous caricature of a writer, or at the moment, for this post’s purpose, a caricature of a blogger.

My lousy disposition immediately pounces and mocks the word blogger with different affectations and emphasis on different syllables.  So, you’re bloggER.  Not a very good BLOGGer, though.  It’s funny that you call yourself a bloGGer, because no one takes bLOGgers seriously.  You know that, right?  BLOGGER!

Stupid stupid stupid mood.

I swear I should be drinking.  That would help mute The Moods.  That would show The Moods who’s drunk.  I know that doesn’t make sense.  THE MOODS IS CRUSHING MY GOOD SENSE!

So what’s a writer, a blogger, to do?

Drink?  Suresuresure, there’s that.  I could definitely Hemingway myself out of this frame of mind.  But, that’s the easy way, or the drunk way, and as I stated earlier: NOT DRUNK!

So, I write.  I peel back the gloom, undressing for all to see my nekkidness (TWO Ks!), for all to see that sometimes, no matter our effort, no matter our desire, no matter the mood-altering potion offered as a salve by the world, you’re still gonna believe that what you do, what you love to do, what you feel you were called to do, doesn’t have meaning.

Do I have to say it?  Are you going to make me use course words?  Fine.  Get ready.  This next part is NSFW or for tender ears or for tender sensibilities. Here we go…

The Moods is bullshit.

Knowing that the mind-bend is temporary, that my ill-humor is trying to hog-tie my sensibilities into believing that what I do is shit, and even knowing that, as my dearly departed Nana used to say, this too shall pass, I keep my fists up, ready to sucker punch the beast as soon as I see my opening.

An entire post on a bad mood?  I bet you wish you were drunk.  Don’t think of it that way.  Think of it as an entire post of perseverance or determination or sheer dogged stubbornness.  Yeah.  I like the last one.

Take that The Moods.

Listen to me.  We’re gonna have days that try us or discourage us.  Use it.  Transform your circumstance in spite of it.  Dig through the debris; find something good and discard the trash.  You don’t have to play by the rules.  Break them.  Shred them.  Annihilate them.

Thankfully, like bad gas, the misery works its way out of your system, leaving you relieved in the aftermath. And maybe a few asking if you smell something…  < Still not, you know.

(Those who decided to pray for me at the beginning of this post, just got on their knees. Again.)

I’m still gripped by sourness as this post comes to an end; I’m still annoyed as hell (Bloggers are people too! Yuh-huh, are so.), yet know it’s temporary.

…and maybe just one drink won’t kill me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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