I’m so eyeball deep in the January Funk. I feel like my limbs are lead and my brain is opiated. I want to eat bread and butter by the loaf, or maybe two or three pizzas, and enough chocolate to boost entire South American economies. I want to lie in bed with TV & movies and sleep until May. Damn parenthood. I can’t. I am grateful for Her Pixiness and the cuteness and perkiness of her, but it’s like swimming against the current or walking up a really steep hill to resist my whole being wanting to coccoon. Interestingly enough, it’s been unseasonably warm today and yesterday. This is depressing me more, sitting in an office and knowing that by the time I get home it’ll be dusk and cold again. I have a horrible laziness with house stuff after work, and when it’s dark out it’s so much worse. whinewhinewhinewhine.
Ah! New moon. This is PMS, the extra SAD-enhanced version. Lovely. OK. So, one minute at a time, gentle internal crazy-girl pep talks, attempts to force the Wiccanself to appreciate All Four Seasons
even the one that is longandstupidanddarkandevilcold and try to reframe my day to day stuff as small comforting rituals. The house is a sacred hearth to be nested and nurtured, not a disgusting pit of filth and cluttered sanity-stealing chaos. Repeat until I believe.
Am running seriously low on self-talk positive energy be a human being at all mojo. Must. Resist. The Funk.