Ballin’

I am in a funk. I haven’t written anything since 11/30. I finished my NaNoWriMo’s 50,000 words at just almost the minute my Dad was breathing his last breath. I haven’t worked out the exact timing but it’s at least close enough to be spooky.

Since then, aside from not writing I’ve also been flaky. Things out of nowhere set me off and I’ll rail into a crying jag. Out of control. The opposite of me. I normally don’t rail unless a mood altering substance has been applied.

The jags aren’t an often thing but when they happen they’re pretty comprehensive. I had one today and it put me into a genuine funk. My lovely wife can generally bring me back fairly effectively. Today, not so much.

“I’ll watch ‘Emmet Otter’ with you” she says. Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas is one of my favorite movies of all time, one of the three I see every year to make Christmas complete (the others are the Rankin/Bass ‘Rudolph’ and one of several versions of ‘A Christmas Carol’ (Patrick Stewart’s is my current fave). Emmet is not on her top anything list.

“I’ll watch ‘Emmet Otter’ with you” means she sees I’m in trouble and is trying to help. I know she offers this only because of her love for me. She doesn’t see Emmet the way I do.

This doesn’t matter. I don’t care about Emmet right now any way.

“No, I don’t want to watch Emmet” I say. I’m moody. I feel … goth. I let her fade off. I’m fine, just need to work things out.

She’s undettered.

A half hour later she returns. “So I’m watching a Sports Illustrated special about the Buffalo Bills in the Jim Kelly era. It’s really cool. Would you like to watch it with me?”

My college ball loving, ACC centric bride has gone and found a special presentation celebration for a team she knows nothing about, because she knows it’s a thing for me.

One hour and one sportsball narrative later, the funk is blown.

The moral of the story: Choose your mates wisely! They know what ticks inside you.

Also, I started writing tonight. Probably not a coincidence.