resting…

sometimes
it is okay to rest
sometimes
i can let myself
step away
take a break
from trying to save the world.

i’ve got a bit of the covid, y’all. this is the second time i have had it. the first time being the fall of 2019. it was much worse that time, but i am recovering.
in addition to being sick (or because of being sick) i am in a god-awful mood. terrible mood. i am grumpy as fuck.
i am trying to re-imagine my world.
messing around with my art & writing.
feeling miserable about myself as a mom.
wishing i could just figure all this shit out….

i hope y’all are having a comparatively easy autumn slide into the holiday overtures.

bird feeder of epiphanies

i find myself once again
trying to figure out
how to make money
fall from the sky
meanwhile, the universe reminds me
i need to do what i love
do what i love
do what i love…
no matter what
i need to snatch my happiness up
hold tight to my faith & trust
to just
fly.

so i totally watch my bird feeder out my office window all day for messages from the universe. a few days ago, i looked out and wasn’t sure what i was seeing. but once my brain wrapped it’s way around it, i realized i was looking at an enormous hawk, on the ground, under my bird feeder. he saw me seeing him and took flight, carrying away a plump squirrel who had surely been raiding my bird feeder.
it was pretty fucking amazing.
i took it as the universe telling me to just fucking dive in & take my life by the talons.

fresh inkings

my “inspirational” inkings will cut to the chase
they’ll tell you what’s what
with a good dose of anxiety
depression
and troubled mothering…
you too can replace your “hang in there” kitten
with some fresh quixotic inkings

for sale directly from me via paypal (quixoticmama@gmail.com) or through my etsy store.
all are 9X12 $45.

a warning

i hold my pain
cupped in my hands
a wounded bird
my pain is a precious thing
i hold it close
protected.

i was reading “pleasantville” by attica locke which takes place at election time in 1996. the epilogue is then at election time in 2000. reading that brought back a sharp pain with the memory of that election–not so much how it took weeks to claim a winner–but how during those weeks, my democratic sister got married and at the rehearsal dinner, my republican brother went around asking everyone who they voted for.
when he asked me, i told him, “ralph nader” he said, “i have no response for that” (or something to that effect which made me laugh.)
2000 was the first major “stolen” election in the u.s. that i know of. my brother worked for the republicans, worked for the bushes, as an IT guy. it wouldn’t be until 2008, the day he was killed, that i would learn just how involved he was.
november is his birth month.
december is his death month.
all this came up in my chest, in my heart, just reading a work of fiction referencing that 2000 election.
and i marveled at my response to the pain.
i gathered it up, holding it close, making sure i could still feel it. i don’t want to lose that pain. that pain has meaning. it has significance. it is all i have left of my brother.

doodles

i am trying to stretch my brain
my abilities
i feel like there is more i can be doing
should be doing
with my art & writings….

as i doodled the above doodle (inspired by my 10 year old telling me that she saw one of the hills around us move), my two youngest watched & egged me on. it felt good. it made me wonder if maybe i should write & illustrate a children’s book…
at the very least, i want to be doing more comics.
and then there is the question of putting myself out there for other possibilities…facing my fears…self-promotion & all things scary….

show your work

every once in awhile i start fucking around with further developing/diversifying my style. i have been using an ink brush for quite awhile now, but recently i started practicing (again) the chinese/japanese style of using said brush. here are more pages devoted to that.

one of the many things i like about sumi-e is that white space is an important part of the work.

character

i don’t like feeling
i am a character
in a story
i did not write.

i prefer my own narration. in my narration i am a total rockstar…. but then there are those days where the narrative is that i am a fucktard with body image issues & a complete lack of faith in myself. the person that will die alone. disillusioned.
i don’t want to be that character.
i want to be the rockstar….

related? unrelated? i had a dream recently that seemed to go on all night long. it started as a standard slasher movie dream where the slasher was terrorizing the general public & dismembering pretty much everyone.
i was running for my life, terrified.
but by the end of the dream, i was having a conversation with the slasher. he was no longer a slasher, just some guy not killing everyone in sight.
and i was no longer terrified.
i am thinking it is as simple as this: face your fears…they might not be that scary.
right?

does that mean i have to start promoting myself?
i guess we will see….

not your problem

he is a problem
you cannot fix
a puzzle
you cannot solve
walk away, babe
walk away

so there is a serious decline in attention paid to me & my art & writings…which is kinda discouraging. hence my lack of color in this journal page.
luckily, my yogi tea keeps giving me support & love (i haven’t been drinking alcohol but have been drinking lots of tea–the yogi tea has little inspirational fortunes on every bag.)
i’m trying to stay motivated…but, then again, if no one is paying much attention to my obsessive journaling, maybe i need to start going in other directions. maybe i am stuck in a rut?
i am totally working on a novel. slowly.
& comics. slowly.
what else?
inkings with free verse (like my journal pages–but for sale!)

any suggestions? what do you all want to see from me?
xo

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