saint nobody

the tower falls
as faulty towers do
but could it be a blessing
& not a curse
like what if the tower
is built out of
all my terrible
relationships
what if it is constructed
out of my self-doubt
& insecurity
my believing i am
unlovable
has saturated
brick after brick
creating this monstrosity
of an
unstable structure
that needs
needs to be
knocked down
so a new me
can grow.

got the “tower” card in my tarot draw again. the scariest card in the deck. disaster! defeat! disrepair!
crap.
so i tried to look at it a different way. like, what if the unstable structure i have built–the one that needs to fall down–is my believing i am an imposter. a nobody. worthless…. could that tower fall?
could it not be a disaster so much as a chance to rise from those fucking ashes?
let’s find out.

washed away

i was letting myself
get washed away
in the current
when i got stuck
in a whirlpool
of me
caused by a pile
of my own
debris…
so then
so then i started
picking at
kicking in
fighting & crying
but the dam
held steady…
so now i relax
i float on my back
watching the sky
spin
above me
& i have faith
that my problems
will break free
make space
&
let me flow forward
once more.

more metaphors on my clogged stream of energy.

this inking is a self-portrait in honor of my upcoming self-portrait collection, the invisible exhibitionist.
my floating in a pool of me….

and also in the spirit of selfies. my publisher suggested i take a selfie with my book proof.

i am happy to say that reading through my proof made me laugh several times. it feels nice that i’m not making myself cry at the moment.

buffering

“keep your distance”
is what my energy worker
tells me
is lurking in the energy field
just next to my skin
& i know
it is true
true of me now
& for as long
as i can remember
i don’t let
anyone
close
i am an open book
friendly even
sometimes…
but there is always
that invisible buffer
to keep you
form getting
too close
to me.

ah yes, the walls of the emje. carefully built & tended.
of course, in my tarot yesterday, i drew an upside down warrior who told me: putting up walls is a sign of weakness–not strength.
poop.
i guess i might need to dismantle the catapult and bake some muffins…
but seriously, after a lifetime of keeping everyone away, how do i learn to let people in?

messed up

if i identify
as broken
if my narrative
is
what a mess
i am…
what then?

just trying to work the feelings out. that fucked up self-talk can really do a number on you.
i really don’t know what i would do without my being able to ink it out.
art therapy, y’all.

easy

sometimes i wonder
why i can’t just
do things
the easy way
be pleasant
stay married
rent
not choose art
work nine to five
buy the stuff
all of it
to make life
easy
don’t swim
against the current
don’t find a home
on the fringe
be sweet
be sweet
be sweet
let people
love you.

on the 5th i did several journal pages (they will appear over the next few days) and got a lot of my angst onto the page. the messed up mood i have been in since…like over a month. more? i am done with it. just. fucking. done.
art journal to the rescue!
it really seemed to do the trick. by evening on the 5th, i felt my heart start to lighten.
what would i do without my art therapy?
the sentiment on this page is something i have often felt. why do i make my life more difficult? why can’t i just go along with what most people do?
i can’t. i wouldn’t be me.
but that does not mean it’s easy.

dove soup

the dove sits on the telephone wire
watching me do yoga, poorly
like i was feeling out of sorts
& yoga only confirmed
how badly my mind & body
are aligned. how ungrounded
how uncentered i am
& the bird watches all of it
through my picture window…
usually a lone mourning dove
is a comfort
an echo of my own lonely heart
but today it feels like a taunting
a mockery
& all i want to do
is shoot the damn thing off of its
spy’s perch
& have dove soup for lunch.

deconstructing

i feel like anger
has been woven into me
& now
i need to undo all these fibers
work backward
get the knot out
the fucked up stitch
& re-weave myself
into the person
i need to be
the person
i want to be
but
fuck me
it feels like so much work.

of course, if i don’t do the work, that will drive me crazy. looking at the mess of me will bug me until i finally do do the work.
and i will do it.
i will. just, right now, i could really use a nap.

“lydia”
8X10 ink on watercolor paper
$45 ish

art journal art therapy

this is what i was working on with me
right before i crashed
it is safe to suggest
that i am reacting to my own efforts
to shine
by now
feeling extreme sadness
a sinking sort of
hopelessness
in a similar vein
i have begun having a reoccurring dream
that i am swimming in waters
that i am terrified are shark-infested…
but the waters are clear
in one of the dreams
i was trying to keep little me safe
(also a reoccurring theme lately)
in another
i am having fun interacting with other adults…
i suspect
the waters are me…
i fear i am infested with sharks when in fact my waters are clear?

ack.

happy ostara

yesterday was the spring equinox
i inked this for an equinox party i went to
while day & night are balanced
i am still feeling off-kilter
it’s getting old, y’all
this feeling of angst…
i wonder if it is due to the upcoming book
i wonder if it is due to trying to open up to love
i wonder if it is due to being overwhelmed as a mom
i wonder if it is this feeling that i need to evolve my art & am not sure how to do that
i wonder if it is due to being overwhelmed by everything i need to do at madness manor
i wonder if it is due to the anti-versary of nasty nastiness with dusty from 2015….
i wonder if it is all
all all all
of the above

poop.

in other news i have been binge-watching veronica mars with my kids and am concerned about my weird attachment to the character “logan.”
in other news i am working on a short story about a possible cougar….

to give a fuck or…

opposite this page in my journal is a list of ALL the people i have been “romantically” involved with from love letters to handjobs on amtraks to every position ever….
it is exactly the same as the number of u.s. presidents!
i was looking for a pattern. i think i secretly have a math brain because i do enjoy me some patterns.

in other news. i picked up a copy of mark manson’s the subtle art of not giving a fuck at the suggestion of my friend & fellow blogger, jason sandberg.
it’s pretty much a philosophy i have been following forever with many life suggestions i had already figured out through all my obsessive naval gazing…but it’s still nice to hear someone else say it.
so now i am wondering what i have to do to get a quote from mr. manson for my book the invisible exhibitionist where i expose everything in my own struggles with and embracing of a couldn’t-give-a-fuck mindset. hmmm…. anyone know him?

something i am examining from mr. manson’s book is that i have chosen my own struggles. sometimes, when i am wallowing in my sinkhole–completely overwhelmed, i act as if my life is not of my own choosing…when it so much is. four kids & a fixer upper…life as a starving artist & single mother…. that’s all on me. i did that. like, on purpose even. now what?
i will let you know what i figure out from this.

i

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