sober thoughts

just for fun
i’m only drinking
when i really
really really
feel like it
(not just as a reflex
happy hour for one)
&
sometimes
not even then
opting to notice the *need*
& just
let it go…
so now
i notice
when my mind turns
to craving
the numbness
alcohol
brings
i am noticing
now
when
&
why
i wish to be
numb.

mostly it is times when being a mom feels overwhelming & impossible…or when my ex is picking picking picking at the energy field around me, whittling it away…

but today, my neighbor (mentioned yesterday) came to my house to complain about my twelve year old. yes. he is annoying. sneaky. manipulative. & plays really really rough sometimes (he has sensory processing disorder & doesn’t always respect boundaries) …but he is also a scapegoat for women/mothers like my neighbor. hyper judgey gossipy drama queens. i’ve noticed a pattern.
& it’s not like her kids are any better.
also, she is best buds with the kid who is my kid’s arch nemesis. another sneaky & manipulative boy about my son’s age.
so it’s kinda annoying that she thinks this kid is golden while mine is garbage?
& the other day i told this rotten neighbor kid to stop making drama & to play nicely with all the kids instead of causing problems.
he told angry neighbor lady (not his mom–i don’t even know who his mom is) that i yelled at him.
i did not yell at him.
so bitchy neighbor lady is telling me i cannot talk to kids? i have to talk to parents??? i told her bullshit–if a kid is causing problems with my kids–fuck yeah i’m going to say something.
otherwise
who the fuck is checking these kids’ behavior?
if my kid is being an ass, i expect someone to tell him (nicely & as an adult) that he is being an ass.
it takes a fucking village, right?

long story short–i really could have used a drink after throwing said neighbor lady out of my house–but i did not partake.
just noted the urge.
& let it go….

i’ve noticed that i have inked faces familiar to the one on my journal page above several times. maybe i should name her?

just keep dancing

i have decided to join
the church
of ann-margret
if i look
half as fabulous
when i am almost 80
if i can
shake my ass
half as gloriously
when i am her age…
i have accepted
the teachings
of ann-margret
into my heart
never
stop
dancing & being
fabulous.

i was binge watching “happy” & ann-margret appeared to me in a vision of loveliness and changed my life
or at least gave it a push in a good direction
so now
much like in west side story
i am determined to dance my troubles out.

(adopting this philosophy is still a work in progress & might take awhile to fully adopt, but my first step is a dance step)

if wishes were frogs

i regret
that i only have
one beer in my
fridge…
ideally
i should have
one drink per child
available to me
at
all
times.

self-medicating…. proof that i am not an alcoholic, when i wrote this, there were actually two more beers in my fridge…i just wasn’t looking hard enough.
you may have guessed i’m still struggling with stress levels & being a mom…& just for shits & giggles, dusty is freaking out on me again now too. but i have a new coping mechanism for that….
sock puppet renditions of “texts from exes”!! coming soon to a youtube channel near you.

ps. for anyone wanting a copy of my book. i just need your address & $10 sent to my paypal or mailed to me (ask me for my address).
you can email me at: quixoticmama@gmail.com

fort building

here is a box of me
a box of my comics
my art
my thoughts & stories
here is a box
that kind of
terrifies me
no one is going to want this,
i tell myself
oh fuck…what if someone reviews me?
how will i answer them
when they ask me,
who the fuck do i think i am….
remember
when you were 17
& you just knew
you were
destined
for greatness
ready to take on the world
a famous novelist
in the making?
what ever happened
to
that
girl?

so, yeah…. if you want an autographed copy of my book, let me know. meanwhile, i will be using them as weight while building my blanket fortress of solitude….

wrong puzzle box

i am a puzzle piece
in the wrong
box
i am the squarest
of square pegs
searching
for where i fit
a puzzle
box
where i belong
i am not willing
to change
my shape
change who i am
force myself
into a space
that does not
honor me…
so…
where does that
leave me?
forever lost?
forever
alone….

ack! i like the idea of this post…but the inking kinda got away from me. wet page & black ink & my lady looks a bit like a munster
but
then again
i feel a bit like a munster
so maybe it works.
i was at the creator’s group i am creating last night. four people who were exploring writing as a retirement activity, re-discovering their inner writers showed up for my group…. & i totally felt like a fraud. at one point i even confessed that i did not feel like i belonged in the very group i started.
ack
to be me…or not to be me?
(that is the question)

falling to earth

i’m quite a way
away
from my comfort zone
(i cannot
see
my house from here)
major tom to ground control
who
do i think
i am?
my demons have launched
a counter
attack
(they are calling it
a rescue
mission)
to tow me back
to my comfortable
confined
cubby
where nothing happens
so i have nothing
to worry
about.

more anxiety art journaling due to venturing out of my comfort zone. i think these demons might live in many households, whispering, keeping people from doing things they want to do….
i think of that scene from labyrinth where sarah is manipulated by goblins into thinking she is safely back in her room with all her favorite things instead of rescuing her baby brother.
that’s totally what it feels like.

isn’t this cozy

my demons whisper
“what if you never
left
the comfort of yourself
ever
again?
wouldn’t that be cozy
not one bit
scary
just build a fort
out of your
journals & art
your books
& stories
rather than letting
the world
see your soft
& vulnerable
underbelly…
trust me
we are the only ones
who really
truly
care
now put down your pen
& come back
to bed.”

my demons are having a heyday. my art show being hung. a book being released. & last night i met with people interested in creating some magic here in the driftless. i left my house & risked my safety to interact with who knows who…but it was cool. i met an authentic person wanting to move forward with this vision. someone who shared a similar worldview…& who also had to wrestle a few demons to leave the house.

in other news…

the freestore i started last winter is open again!

i am starting a writer’s/artist’s group on monday…

my art show (the invisible exhibitionist) is going up this weekend?

& my book is due for release on october 1st.

i’m only freaking out a little. okay. so i am super-dooper freaking out & my imposter syndrome feels like i am about to step off a cliff & spiral downward into the abyss…but, you know, otherwise…exciting stuff.

highs & lows

i am happy…
or is it just mania?
a high following a low
what is normal
i wonder
i feel
happy
like everything
is falling
into
place
& the life
i imagined
is finally finding its way
into
reality
will i crash again
tomorrow?
what is normal
i wonder
knowing i love
the ups
& downs
& would never trade
my chaotic
everyday
for a medicated one
of flatlines
& no stories
to tell
no poems
to write
i will always choose
paint splattered walls
over
white ones.

a thought i had while talking to a friend diagnosed with bipolar disorder. what is crazy? really… i mean, is it just a matter of riding out the ups & downs? i’ve always valued the fuckedupedness of my life for it’s giving me fresh perspectives & sparks in my imagination.
maybe i’m crazy…but i wouldn’t trade it for the world.

a muse ing

mental health
is a loyal muse
she never wanders
far
away
& seemingly
is quite easily
summoned
sometimes just
by a song on the radio
or a careless word
mental health
is an accommodating muse
willing to wait
with open arms
for you
to
crawl
back to her.

i have a friend who got a mental health diagnosis &, fortunately, has herself submerged in a writer’s workshop…so she immediately wrote it into a story.
i love that.
i love people using what could knock them over to, instead, create.
which is one reason i am starting a group of creators (writers & artists) to come together as a community to support & encourage & listen.
i am pretty excited…or, rather, terrified about it.
but i’m doing it.

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