MOJOVATION

Feeling a little poopy? A little droopy? Mopish? Bummed out? Weighed down? Unmotivated? Down in the dumps? ME TOO. And this “state of mind”, being the thief that it is, has STOLEN MY MOJO and I WANT IT BACK!! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

But, I ask you, what’s a person to do?

SOS.

Yoo-hoo…

Anybody at all?

Okay, OKAY – I suppose I could distract myself by organizing my underwear drawer. But while picking through the black, white and beige it would become apparent that new undies were indicated.  Subsequently, I would imagine myself in lovely, gossamer dainties followed by a computer scroll-through looking for fancy underthings. Navigating and clicking to check prices (OUTRAGEOUS) I would quickly lose interest. That sh*t’s expensive.

In that case I would leave the undies to wallow in their disarray and wander elsewhere. To the TV. And excluding current events scuttlebutt I’m sure to find some rosy optimism there. Right?

Settling down with buttocks super glued, I might be inclined to watch one episode after another of Call My Agent (on Netflix)… which is in French and since I don’t speak the language I had better prêter attention to the subtitles. Too much time flies and then it would be time to peel off that tush of mine. There’s no doubt television would be a welcoming brightening – but what about my to-do list that I didn’t to-doed?

At which point that ‘feeling’ (poopy & droopy) would come right round again. 😢

What next?

In the event that there are dishes drying atop a kitchen towel I could potentially exclaim, I’ll put those away!  How very efficient of me. On the other hand, while stacking plates, carefully tucking knives into their housings and returning glasses to cabinets I would probably notice that someone has positioned the glassware incorrectly.

It follows that I would remove all drinking implements to restack and restyle from one, two and even three shelves. After cluttering up the counter, I’d probably wonder if shelf paper (per my mother’s obsession) is in order. Yay mom. But since no stockpile of the like is stored in my house I would feel the urge to hightail it to BB&B in order to grab a couple of rolls.

But first, that would require getting dressed.

Entering my closet, stepping over piles of this and that, I’d take notice of unfinished business related to the stowing away of winter clothes in bins. Bins located up high. Now where is my ladder?

On the hunt for the ladder, I may eventually flash back to the time I used it to plant some flower boxes on my patio.

While heading out to the shed to retrieve it, I could acknowledge that my flowers need some dead-heading and perhaps a dose of fertilizer. But more than likely I’d just sit down to admire my flower children (see how they’re grown!) and raptly listen to the sounds of the city, where hypothetically the sun is shining – but not too much, the breeze is blowing – just a gentle flurry of air… it’s so lovely outside that I would have to take advantage of all that loveliness. Now we’re talking!

So naturally, I’d duck inside to grab my book off the bedroom nightstand. And while climbing the stairs I may well hear a familiar sound. The cat. Gagging. Heaving. HAIRBALL.

Grabbing one of the MANY versions of cat-cough-up-cleaner-uppers, I’d spray and wait the required five minutes ‘til it’s time to blot. Next, I’d scope out the rest of the carpeting and spy the additional blotches besmirching the carpet. Time to haul out the big guns… the deluxe steam vac with five rotating brushes. In that case the clearing of clutter, removing movables and tucking in of linens draping the floor would take place. Now where did I put that jug of cleaning fluid?

While searching, a thought would occur to me. Why did I come up here in the first place?

Interrupted by my phone dinging, ringing, signaling… whatever it does …my bestie will likely be the line. We would chitchat, jabber, confer and expound on this, that and the other thing – eventually segueing into that current events scuttlebutt that I thought best to avoid. The poopy, droopy washes over me. More like surges and engulfs. 😭

And to make matters worse… while chitchatting, jabbering, conferring and expounding …I would need to do a google search. But where was my phone?. Where in the heck did I leave it? The phone I was holding in my very own hand.

Exercise would be good – something about endorphins doing away with the poopy-droopy. I could dance about my bedroom, check out all the new and exciting online options, skip rope, run around while swinging arms in big circles (that used to work for me).

Or be in the poopy-droopy by subscribing to a popular cardio workout that will whip me into shape… and just sit back and watch them go. Seriously. Sit my behind and observe. 

wah wah WAAAH.

UGH. What a Debbie Downer. Feelin’ un-motivated, under-motived, motivation-less. And by the way, where did my mojo go? I need it back. LIKE RIGHT NOW.

And then it came to me…

MOJOVATE. MOJOVATED. MOJOVATION. MOJOVATIONAL. I had compounded a new word. This commingling should be trademarked! It’ll be the catchphrase of the year!! Coffee cups, stress balls, koozies, yoga mats, sticky note pads, face masks!!!

What an idea. I know!

You’ve got this. I do!

Isn’t it exhilarating? It is!

I am fully MOJOvated!

Then I did my due diligence – google. And there it was (on the google)… a song by Clear Grey,  the name of a horse born in 2015, on a fitness website AND In Urban Dictionary: “An extreme motivation inspired by swagger, mojo or other psychedelic feelings”. And last but not least – IT’S A HASHTAG. 😳

I crumbled a little, demotivated.  DEMOJOMOTIVED, if you will. And before long I would surely make my next mistake.

In taking a quick tour of my house surveying the state of my bedroom, closet, kitchen, and after a moments’ deliberation, it follows that I would simply walk out my front door. Firmly shutting it behind me.

Now what did I do with my key?

~image from personal collection of way-too-much-saved art projects by my kids. I added the ‘arghhhh’.