Booty Pop

I can get in a funk. Sometimes, it’s grumpiness. Sometimes, lethargy.


Sometimes, I feel like a sloth. Other times, a slug.

When it’s really bad, I call myself a “sloth-slug”.


Everything is a challenge. I’m a pretty stern self-task-master with an underlying belief that there’s not enough time or enough of me and that I need to just push through no matter what. So, I don’t usually devolve into sitting on the couch doing nothing. But, there is no pep in my step. My energy is down-regulated.


Before my body started breaking down on me and my knees broke out in arthritis, I used to go for a run. Or maybe I ran when I had too much energy. It’s been so long, I can’t remember.


I don’t have a go-to “pick-me-up” when I’m in a slump. I usually just ride it out, complain that I’m a sloth-slug, and hope for a brighter tomorrow.


I was recently in a funk. Body pain. Emotional blah. Brain fog.

Sloth.


Slug.


I took a shower after working out. (The hardest part is showing up.)


I had my external speaker and put on some tunes. I do this occasionally. Okay, rarely.


The next thing I knew, my hips began to wiggle ever so slightly. My neck pulsed back and forth. My chin jutted forward and back.


The beat kicked in, and I let the rhythm move me. My arms grabbed the shampoo bottle to the meter of the music.


Full body roll.


Step touch. Hold. And another.

Suddenly, I was queen of the world, capable of anything.


I’d never heard the song before. It didn’t matter.


I let the music fill my soul and contort my body.


Shake, shake, shake, shake.


Booty pop.


Stank face.


Getting in touch with my body always lifts my spirits.


Why is it so hard to remember that?


When I’m stuck in the ditch, slowly sliming my sloth-slug self along, turning on some tunes and cranking the volume doesn’t even cross my mind. Too much effort. And if it does, it doesn’t seem worth it.

When you’re feeling down, what’s your go-to, to turn that frown upside down?

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