UGH.
Can we say F U N K?
Big fat FUNKITY FUNK FUNK.
Cause that’s exactly what i’ve been in since Sunday morning when i heard the news . . .
News that i really can’t & don’t want to talk about anymore . . .
But honestly my funk started waaaaay before that. For the past two weeks, i’ve been in a MAJOR writing funk – still kinda am. i . . . just . . . can’t . . . seem . . . to . . . get . . . myself . . . motivated to express myself on the page . . .
It’s not that i’ve stopped feeling (wouldn’t that be nice – a light switch to your feelings?!?), but i’ve lost my way and frankly my ability to process them on the page.
Do you ever get like that?
So i’ve been doing EVERYTHING BUT writing . . . i’ve
- updated(ing) my website
- binge watched True Blood
- fucked off on Facebook and other social media
- cleaned my drag room (GOD did it need it though)
All to keep myself away from writing – to keep myself from evenĀ thinkingĀ about writing.
But perhaps i’m being a little bit hardĀ on myself . . . i mean this week i did:
- clean my drag room
- cleaned up and simplified my website (still a work in progress)
- finished my Patreon page and sent it to some friends to look it over and provide feedback
- asked Candace’s mother for her blessing to marry her daughter. She (unlike my parents) said yes.
i guess it’s all about perspective.
And this week just wasn’t the time to make art.
Until it was.
Monday morning i opened up a blank Page document and began the process of just getting the shit down.
6.12.16
my partner woke me up at 3am.
Babe put some clothes on and come downstairs. Thereās something i want you to see and i donāt know if itāll be there tomorrow.
Out the X years iāve known my partner she has never once called and asked me to do this. i had no idea what it could possibly be, but in light of the mass shooting at gay club in Orlando i wondered if it had to do something with that.
Earlier that night, i made the decision to go out – to sit and have a drink at my partnerās bar in memory of the 50 lost souls who no longer could.
Dirty. Ugly. Unfinished.
All my feelings. Three pages. All my emotions. Internal sewage.
Spewage. Ā Raw. Un-grammerly.
But it was more than i had written in the last two weeks.
AndĀ i just let it be.
And i just let myself be.
i let myself cry.
i let myself feel deeply.
i let myself be in the middle of a funk and still write.
Because i’m allowed.
i’m allowed to feel heartbroken because some of my rainbow family in Orlando will shine no more.
i’m allowed to be pissed at the world for being afraid to say HATE CRIME before TERRORIST ATTACK.
i’m allowed to feel heavy because Candace’s mom saw passed the semantics of homo and just saw love – and my parents couldn’t and wouldn’t.
i’m allowed to feel sad because in one human hate won over love.
i’m allowed to feel like saying fuck it to everything and just go off the grid.
i’m allowed to feel all these thingsĀ and do nothing but feel them – without expectation of making art of them.
Which brings me to right here right now at 7:30pm Thursday June 16th.
i fell off the wall.
i had big fall.
And all my rhinestones and creations
And all my wishing and wanting
couldn’t put me back together again . . .
Only i can do that.
And i’m slowly piecing the parts of me that have been fractured back together.
And perhaps in different ways and shapes then they were originally.
But i will be whole again.
i will heal myself.
And then i will work on healing the world.
xo-b
#ReWe Reinvention Wednesday is a {live} series on the art of reinvention and becoming. Every Wednesday(ish) i share my experiences in real-time as i shift from 9 to 5 into living + becoming what i love – a full-time creative, writer, and empireĀ š . Read how it all began here.
Missed a few? Catch up below.
#ReWe 02: i have officially quit my job.
#ReWe 03: One big fat fucking rejection.