Funkytown

I’ve been in Funkytown the last few weeks.

 Not this kind…

More like this kind…

And I can’t really pinpoint exactly when or how or why I traveled there. I feel like those adolescent “Emo” kids with the dyed black hair and baggy pants look. I feel blah and blue-sy, worry-full (new word) and wistful. 

I threw myself a Pity Party the other day. Nobody came. And that made me even sadder.

I’ve been in Funkytown before. I like to think I’m a blessings-counter type of gal, a look-at-the-big-picture person.  I am blessed. And the big picture does indeed look wonderful.  I know that this is just a comma in the paragraph of  life, and that this too shall pass.

But I’m still in a big F A T funk.  

I mean, I’m a bit worried about Mom’s kidney stone — whether it’s breaking up properly and whether Dr. G will be pleased with it when we go see him next week. I’m a tad anxious about Julia’s 18-unit, jam-packed, against-her-counselor’s-advice semester that she starts on Wednesday. (But if anyone can do it, you can, J!)  Admittedly I’m blue about summer’s wind-down, and the reality of no more trips or sojourns to plan for a while. 

And then…And then… all I’ve seen on my Facebook the last couple of weeks are the “bragging” Moms out there (they’re all friends who I love and adore, but I’m still jealous), showing off their pictures of ever-so-darling Mary on her first day of 4th Grade, or handsome Mark as he stands proudly by his first car on his first day of Junior year. And then I kinda brood, because I don’t get to “brag” about that stuff anymore.  Because that ship has sailed.

It’s all just everyday stuff. In the scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. Right?

But still…  

And I’m getting annoyed with the more frequent, intense and even hotter hot flashes that produce droplets of sweat on my face and neck. Don’t even get me started on my face and neck.

Here’s another thing. Cassidy is home now, between opportunities.  The house has shrunk, the tension can often be cut with a hatchet, she misses her single-hood, and we actually miss our Empty-Nest-hood.

To all you potential employers out there — major corporations and small companies alike — to which she’s applied, or will apply: She’s extremely motivated, ambitious, very intelligent, college-educated, degree’d, super creative, hard-working, and pretttttty darn cute. So HIRE HER, like tomorrow, and be done with it. And quit futzing, please, with all the “One of our recruiters will call you back tomorrow and we’ll set up an appointment for next Thursday”  BS.   The wheels of recruting/hiring, I’ve learned, move even S-l-o-W-E-r than the wheels of justice.   

And that really irritates me.

And it makes me feel like this….

 “Hire her, you Moron!”

And I’m impatient…

I want to redo and repurpose at least one of the girls’ rooms.  Oh, and of course their downstairs bathroom is a disaster that’s crying out for a makeover.

And I want thee perfect shade of dark brown, wide-planked, hand-scraped hardwood floors throughout the entire house. Along with a complete reno of the master bath.

And I need (yes, need!) to find an old vintage armoire to make into a bar to put in our living room.

Kinda like this…

Pretty cool, huh?

I’m cognizant of the fact that all of the above take time, and money, and patience, none of which I possess at the moment. But I still want it. As soon as possible.

So yeah, I’m in a funk — blah, impatient, intermittently sad and sometimes crabbier than my usual crabby self. But it’s all temporary. That I do know.

And please: no need to put Suicide Hotline or your local fave psychiatrist on speed-dial on my behalf. Nothing like that, trust me. Save that for those who really need it.

Please do, though, tell me you too have traveled to Funkytown, that you’ve come out on the other side unscathed; that you’ve thrown a Pity Party also, and no one showed up; that you too have stressed and worried about trite and inane things, and that you beat yourself up for it. Please tell me you too have “been there, done that.”

 Because there is comfort in numbers, and knowing you’re not alone. :)

 

 

 

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5 Responses to Funkytown
  1. Diane Bertsch
    August 20, 2012 | 4:13 pm

    The most important thing in your latest blog is acquiring that armoire! If you know what I mean, and I know you do! And, of course, I have been to funkytown. You certainly are not alone and like you, I can openly admit it! Love you, Jode.

  2. Lois
    August 20, 2012 | 5:17 pm

    Funkytown has a standing reservation for me…been there, and to the pity party without escort as well. It too shall pass, and I think may come round again for some other benign reason. Having something to fixate on, like that armoire, and working to make that happen makes it bearable.

  3. Wavy Davy
    August 21, 2012 | 5:56 am

    We have all been there Jodie. The only thing I could advise is to watch some videos of our service men & women coming home from war. The joy on the faces tells the whole story. Family is the most important part of our lives. We tend to think ‘OUR PROBLEMS’ are the biggest in this whole world. Our dear friend Don Bryan who is going through this rough patch in his life, is another ‘eye opener’. We are blessed with health, family, friends so instead of wants we have to look at what we really need or what we could do for others. Love ya

  4. zo
    August 21, 2012 | 7:32 am

    I wrote a text talking about how proud I am of you for doing the blog. I’m hooked. You are a talented writer who should write a book and make loads of money.

  5. Jane Gassner (@MidLifeBloggers)
    August 29, 2012 | 4:42 pm

    Perhaps we should get together to moan into a glass or two of chardonnay? Nah, I don’t really like chardonnay. I’m more of a Pinot Grigio girl myself. Go read my post today on MidLifeBloggers.com and you’ll find a fellow sufferer in Sacramento County.

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About Me

It's true! Despite playing defense virtually all my life against the onslaught of this sometimes-ugly aging process, it...has...arrived! I naively thought I would escape cellulite (the Cottage Cheese) and crow's feet (the Crepe Paper). But I didn't! And why didn't anyone tell me about this emotional roller-coaster that comes with being an Empty-Nester?! My name is Jodie Barringer Myers. I'm a 54-year-old Friday/chardonnay/ hydrangea-loving wife/mom/court reporter living in Sacramento (Gold River!), California. Writing is cathartic for me. And because I look to find humor and humility among the rubble that is my now very peri-menopausal self, I'm hopeful that you will laugh, cry, learn, enjoy and, most of all, relate to what I have to say. After all, we're all in this together, right?

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