I woke up in a funk this morning. Not the good kind. Not the shake it mama kind.
The kind where I mumble and growl at every unfortunate soul who crosses my path. The kind that is very unbecoming of a lady.
I threw back two cups of coffee and waited for it to pass. No luck. I did some light hearted bitching to co-workers in a weak attempt to filter out my bad attitude.
Then I checked my inbox. And apparantly the universe has deemed it okay for me to be a grumblepuss today!
According to Free Will Astrology:
You're invited to celebrate Unhappy Hour. It's a ceremony that gives you
a poetic license to rant and whine and howl and sob about everything that
hurts you and makes you feel bad.
During this perverse grace period, there's no need for you to be inhibited
as you unleash your tortured squalls. You don't have to tone down the
extremity of your desolate clamors. Unhappy Hour is a ritually
consecrated excursion devoted to the full disclosure of your primal clash
Here's the catch: It's brief. It's concise. It's crisp. You dive into your
darkness for no more than 60 minutes, then climb back out, free and
clear. It's called Unhappy Hour, not Unhappy Day or Unhappy Week or
Do you have the cheeky temerity to drench yourself in your paroxysmal
alienation from life? Unhappy Hour invites you to plunge in and surrender.
It dares you to scurry and squirm all the way down to the bottom of your
pain, break through the bottom of your pain, and fall down flailing in the
soggy, searing abyss, yelping and cringing and wallowing.
That's where you let your pain tell you every story it has to tell you. You
let your pain teach you every lesson it has to teach you.
But then it's over. The ritual ordeal is complete. And your pain has to take
a vacation until the next Unhappy Hour, which isn't until next week
sometime, or maybe next month.
You see the way the game works? Between this Unhappy Hour and the
next one, your pain has to shut up. It's not allowed to creep and seep all
over everything, staining the flow of your daily life. It doesn't have free
reign to infect you whenever it's itching for more power.
Your pain gets its succinct blast of glory, its resplendent climax, but
leaves you alone the rest of the time.
If performed regularly, Unhappy Hour serves as an exorcism that empties
you of psychic toxins, while at the same time -- miracle of miracles -- it
helps you squeeze every last drop of blessed catharsis out of those
Pronoia will then be able to flourish as you luxuriate more frequently in
rosy moods and broad-minded visions. You'll develop a knack for
cultivating smart joy and cagey optimism as your normal states of mind.
Well well well, Universe. Does this mean that my life is really going to begin this year? That my days are going to rock once I get over this hump? It better. I'm giving it an hour and I'll try to be less this:
More coffee and music.