What a Funk

Ugh – What a funk I’ve been in.

A suffering to be sure; mostly of my doing, and unclear as to whom is the victim.

For though these masquerade as genuine annoyances and frustrations and others be the cause, it is my nerves that give them jagged names. Otherwise, they just might only rank as needs or another plea for love that I, sadly, didn’t have it in me to fulfil.  To be sure, it is me that elevates them among the echelon of pains.

So, oh what a funk.  Another term for inward focus.  Selfishness some might call it.  Its sticky mire is hard to see through and weighs a ton.  Pulling one leg out to change direction seems like it might pull apart sinews and the strength to do so sets on the ledge just out of reach.

Sure, I might take sympathies and call it weariness, but rest or retreat would not remedy it, would not bolster me from the muck of my own depravity.  No, the funk would still be there to have my morning cup of coffee with me.

Thank you, funk, for dragging me around, down to where Self is still comfortably living; a bonafide squatter.  I do have it to thank for all the unintended humility it serves up.

But I have its ticket, and the repentance has already begun.  It’s only a matter of time and refining till I am graced with an eviction notice.

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