Christmas came and went, and I am thankful. Yall know I get the winter blues, especially when it’s December and we have summer temperatures. I never even fully decorated our tree. I was seventy-seven percent dedicated to not decorating at all, but somehow the twenty-three percent won. It is that fucking undying love I have for my sons. I usually wait until after the new year to remove the decor, but not this year. This is where my seventy-seven percent revenge took over. This. House. Needs. To. Be. Cleaned. And. Organized. I instantly felt better and as a result, everyone else did too. You are welcome.

What a funk man. Look, when I am feeling funky, I know what I have to do to hold on and get out of it. I know it takes time, lots of dancing, less red wine and tequila than I suggest, more miles on my running shoes, kind words in the mirror, some serious truth talking in my head, and slowing the fuck down. Speaking of which, when I got out of the shower and walked to my sink I turned to toss my dental floss in the trash can. My right heel slipped and turned outward in a small amount of water that had run down my leg. I took this as a sign to just stop and dance for a moment. I almost ate shit, so clearly I needed to pause and increase my potential to eat shit and break something. Therefore, I stared in the mirror with my white towel wrapped loosely around my contorted body, pointed at myself, and said “Nice save, girl!” I then proceeded to start doing some pulse squats while singing my own variety of lyrics to a popular female rap song. 

Pulse-squatting is not dancing…or is it? To me, anything is considered dancing. Especially if you just make faces and move your hands around. I am a pro. I was texting a friend the other night as I stood in the shower pulse squatting to music and staring out of the skylight. I told them how I star gaze and pulse squat around to the beat of each song until I can see the moon. And then I stare at the moon and think how wonderful the light is, how some people enjoy a sunrise instead, and by the time I exit the shower, my hair is frizzy and my thighs are toned. It is like rolling my ankles while I write. Please never tell me I am not an overachiever. I am. 

I have been thinking a lot (Insert fake shocked face). Thinker Britt Britt. If there is a specific area in which I overachieve, it would be a tie between thinking, and laughing at my jokes. It really is tough being the funniest person I know and having to think about that all the time. This reminds me of a song by Chris Knight, “It Ain’t Easy Being Me.” I think you get it without listening, although I was introduced to his music when someone said his song “Nothing On Me” reminded them of who I am, and I would have to agree. I am an incredibly strong and resilient being just like this song describes, but a lot of how and why I am takes place in my head and also while I am pulse-squatting in the shower. 

I write a lot on the side. I started writing when I was very young and fell in love with it when I was eleven. It gives me comfort and clarity. The paper always accepts what I have to say, and takes for me what I no longer wish to carry. I write things I would not put in such a playful place. Material not meant for an Open Journal that I approach so blasé. I write song lyrics, poetry, and short stories. Deep extremely meaningful pieces of writing that are absent of the word “fuck” and rather filled with a constant and steady stream of thought and purpose one may have a hard time following. The book you pick up and start and say, “What the actual fuck? I cannot follow this while lying poolside with kids playing in the water.” Things you have to pay attention to and succumb to forgetting the feeling of your body and your own thoughts. Writing that would make you become me while you indulged, and when you finished the last word would leave you in a weird state as you find your way back to you and forget about me.

Ok, back to thinking. Back to finding your way back to you as I talk about me. Me and you. All of you. I have been noticing this parallel of sorts. Positive things people say when they are drinking versus negative things they say. Although they seem quite the contrary, to the sober ear they float and land in the same part of the mind. They make an equal impact and can have shared consequences. People say that liquor is a “truth serum” and while truth can certainly be positive or negative and anything in between, maybe people should simply speak truths without serums. I do love some fucking tequila though. The other portion of the parallel is going to require a new paragraph…

Some people let people in instantly, take them in, hug them, try to make as much of a contribution to their missing pieces to help them feel more whole. “Some people” is me (insert fake shocked face again). No one is whole, if they are they are not alive anymore. I am not even sure we start as a whole. Like a baby is whole and then as life happens and they get damaged they lose the wholeness…or a baby is not whole and life is intended to work towards becoming as whole as possible…? Which brings me to this thought I had today on my run. A fucking fabulous run by the way. One of the best I have had in a very long time. I was nearing the last leg and came around the corner, this man was running towards me. I see this same man almost every day on the same path. He wears the same shirt and shorts. Bright blue. Simple runner. No phone. No music. No eye contact. We just toss up a peace sign at one another as we pass. Maybe because he is whole. Anyway. I come around the corner seemingly just out of the woods, definitely not whole, smiling and my lips moving but not to the music I have playing but rather to the thoughts that are untangling themselves each time my foot touches the ground again. If Mr. Blue Shirt was a lip reader he would have seen me say to myself “Do the people who let people in instantly and often value those relationships more than the people who do not? Or is it the other way?” But like I said, we don’t even look at each other and you could not even walk slow enough to understand one fucking word leaving my lips. 

Stay with me here. Ok, so just like nice things and mean things said while drinking have the same potential to fuck up the recipient’s head…the approach and frequency people have with opening up and letting someone in has the same potential to fuck up the recipient’s head. Someone who doesn’t open up easily may value when they do an immense amount because they are more cautious and less exposed to this. It is rare and therefore valuable but maybe not maintainable for them. However, a person who easily opens up and lets people in is experienced in it and therefore knows how to handle it, preserve it, and nurture it. These people may prioritize this aspect of life because of how important it is to them but may take it for granted due to the frequency they experience this. And then again, the others who do not often do this opening and connecting with another may not ever learn to prioritize it even though when they find it they recognize how valuable it is or could be. So I kept running because that sir was too much to fucking untangle in one run. I decided I would have to try again later in the shower whilst I pulse squat to “Dance Like You” by loWrence (IT)  and ring in the New Year with burning thighs to match my burning inquisitiveness about life and people.