S is for…

Succumbing to shit. S is for secrets. And, yes, S is also for that pesky form of ideation that, at some point, eventually becomes unshakeable.

We’re at that point. By we, I mean me. Of course. All of my intelligent readers, I realize I didn’t have to explain that to you, but I did anyway because my brains are becoming defunct. Headed toward the landfill. Whatever that is.

I’m not quite there yet. I will say, I’m waiting to catch my breath, though, and I’m not sure how much longer I need to wait. I’m a very patient person, or so I’ve been told. So I wait…

In the meantime, something that cheered me up a bit today: I was listening to my Spotify playlist aptly titled “For Funsies” and George Michael’s song “Too Funky” came on. Oh, the thrill. I love that song. What I loved even more was the video. I haven’t seen the video in years upon years, but I remember it heavily impacting my 12 year old self when it first aired on Mtv. It helped define my interests in women, fashion, the obscure, music, well shaped facial hair, and androgyny. I loved that video. So, because it played on For Funsies, I jauntily clicked my sweet ass over to YouTube, found it, and watched it. And immediately was taken back to the early 90s and I just loved every minute of it.

That was today’s Hooray.

What will tomorrow’s Hooray be? Tell me something interesting, anything, and give me something to Google tomorrow.

Perhaps a stumble…

Falling, tumbling, etc… My brain is nearing done. I don’t know what form or type or anything, but…..fuck. it’s been a rough go and I’m tired, man.

I don’t really know what to say about that or anything, really. I have plans to do stuff, art related or otherwise. But I’m getting some pretty gnarly input and it’s stating to override, if you get what that means.

I can take a lot. I can take on a lot. I can handle my shit and I can handle others’ shit and have done so for decades. I know this. I got this. But, fuck it’s heavy. I want like….I don’t know. Just breathing is laborious, if you know what I mean. My own inhales and exhales carry weight that’s not solely from the fat gut I’ve developed over the past 19 months.

Pancakes and Booze is on the 22nd of this month. And I was looking forward to being a participant this year, rather than an attendee that scored some good local art. My “looking forward” feelings are dwindling, yo. I’m not well. I know this.

So, tonight, I’m going to lie down, put my head on a pillow (I’m so lucky to have that), try to rest and, maybe when I wake tomorrow, things will be different. It’s not that I’m ungrateful for life. I just need to say that I practice gratitude daily. Seriously. I’m fucking lucky and fortunate. I have a roof. I have a bed. I have a goddamn pillow in my bed. I have cozy blankets. I say, into the ether, every day and every night, how lucky I am.

Shit’s just bad, though. I have a lot of “input”. You know. The voices, the visual shit. My meds are being adjusted (I’m lucky enough to have meds). I don’t want to go on more. I don’t want to go back to the heavy ones. I just really wish I had more control over my brain and the operations there in.

Alright, enough whining and rambling. I’m out. Sleep well, y’all.