embracing my failures

i’m not living in the past
i’m not living in the future
i’m in the right now
& it fucking
sucks
it fucking
hurts
like hell
but i’m present
i’m here
embracing
my failures.

i was doing “yoga with adriene” last night. the theme was “embrace.” she asked us, her youtube audience, to embrace something.
being one to often cry during yoga
being one who having a hard day has become more of a given than an exception
being one to spend too much time inside my head
try as i might
all i could come up with was, “i embrace my failures.”

then cried some more because i had nothing better to embrace…cried while i stretched & toned in an effort to stay sane & fit.

i wondered at my embracing failure. it sounded like negative to me at first. like a failure in itself. i had not found anything good to embrace…only bad.
but then i wondered if it might be a good thing to embrace my failures.
right?
what else do you do with them?
hide them?
hidden things tend to fester…at least in my experience.
so maybe my embracing my failures is a step in the right direction after all.

embrace
resolve
turn around
try again….

so while that percolates on that flame of my brain, on another burner i have this noticing of a recurrence of the number six in my daily life. i have never gotten around to studying numerology, but i do notice when the same number keeps popping up. like when the clock shows my birthday…or my brother’s death day….
being a good (though recovering) catholic, i especially notice a triplet of sixes–which recently showed up on the odometer of the car i just bought. and although i do not cross myself…i do feel an impending doom when i see it.
however, being a born again pagan, i thought to myself today, what does numerology say about the number six?

i found this on a google. six as a life path number. basically spelling out all of the character traits that i have that i do battle with on a daily basis. i mean, yes, of course i want to change the world & fight for the little guy…but why can’t i just lay in the grass & drink a beer? or be a traveler with no responsibilities, leaving when things get rough? why can’t that be who i am? why do i have to be the ultra-responsible, high morality, wanna-be savior of mankind?
does mankind even deserve being saved?
can’t i take a vacation?

no. because i have actually shaped my whole fucking world around raising four children to be different. to not be like everyone else. to creating a better tomorrow in the only way i know how. by being a good mom. a strong mom. and i can’t run away from it. i have to stick to it and keep trying no matter how much i feel like i’m failing…even though it seems like i am always failing…i just have to embrace my fucking failures, and i have to keep
fucking
trying.

wow, see that?
i came full circle.

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creative process (aka how i draw me)

you may have noticed
that my favorite subject is me
you know
just like all the other great artists
i am available
to pose
anytime
anyplace….

but here’s the thing. i don’t look at myself when i draw myself. or, rather, i look inside at me instead of outside at me.
when i look in a mirror or at a picture of myself,
sometimes i am all like, “hey, hot stuff.”
other times i wonder when i became a bloated hag.
so i tend to avoid mirrors & photos
especially when i do a self-portrait.
like check this out…

smaller me3
here is a photo i took because my hair today looked like the way i draw it. so it was my proof that i’m not always exaggerating. then i decided to show y’all how i draw a self-portrait from an actual face of mine.

selfie
yikes.
i am not a portrait artist.
i like the way i look in my head…or, rather, the self-portraits i draw while remembering what i look like…or what it feels like to be me.
that’s it–
i draw me the way it feels to be me.
that is my creative process.

disclaimer: i took like five minutes to do each of these self-portraits as my minions are waiting impatiently to go for a walk.

same old song

yesterday i started crying
not because my four year old
was screaming at me
the entire drive home
to unbuckle his seat belt
so he could get out
not because of that
but because I had no one
no one
to tell it to
no one
to commiserate with
to vent to
to laugh about it with
this morning
i started crying
because the only one to fix me coffee
in the morning
is me.

the person i am in love with
does not love me back
& the father of my children
i cannot trust enough
to even have a conversation
& that leaves me
raising four kids
alone
desperately
devastatingly
alone.

i don’t think i can pretend anymore that there is a snowball’s chance in hell that seymour feels the same way about me that i do about him.
and then i wonder, if he did magically write me back or call me or show up on my doorstep, would that change the hole in me?
i am asking seriously.
i mean–i know that only i can fix me. i know that. and i have spent like forty years working on that and am optimistic that i might have made some real headway. i estimate that there is only about forty more years of work left to do.
but
my question is
will another person…a person i love truly and who truly loves me back
should that person happen into my life
would that fix my lonely?
the lonely that seems to spin in my chest
a black hole
of longing?
if the answer is no.
if that is the world we live in…
i’m not sure i want to live in that world. that “we are born alone; we die alone” world. that cynical and rational-minded world.

it doesn’t seem like the right world for me.

adrift

he is so good
at handing his problems
over to me
waiting for me to fix them
so he can blame me
when they just aren’t
fixed
does he even know
what i struggle with
every day?
he is so good at showing
his injuries to me
getting me to cry
over every little bump
& bruise
to his heart & soul
does he even see
how my injuries
bleed out
next to his
& leave me
empty?

okay. maybe you will understand. dusty thinks i have written him off because he was “honest” with me & told me about his still being in contact with hello kitty fuckface (not her real name.) he refuses to comprehend that the reason i am telling him to fuck the fuck off for good & forever is that fact that i have been asking him since 2013 to end his contact/relationship with her. that there should be absolutely no reason for him to be “honest” with me about her because she should not even be part of the equation.
five years.
five years of his using this other woman to manipulate me. holy fucking shit. why have i let him do this to me for five years?
seriously. what is the psychology behind that? am i a chump? a masochist? a desperate & lonely soul? that fucking desperate? that fucking delusional. that fucking dedicated to a happy ending?
what the ever-loving fuck.
and now i find myself having to learn to just walk away. it is so hard…so hard to just walk away. to suppress that urge to have the last word. to suppress that need for him to understand–to just fucking get it for once. i have to walk away. every word i say to him. every conversation i have–it’s the sticky strands of a spider web. his spider web. to keep me engaged…he just wants me to stay engaged…because then he somehow wins?
i don’t fucking know.
or fucking care at this point.
he keeps talking about how we need to talk…thing is, he never talks to me. he never listens to me…he just manipulates and plays me like a fucking pawn in his demented game.

guess what, motherfucker, i quit.

not so bad

if i stop
to take inventory
i’m not doing
so bad
not so bad
if i stop
& take inventory
i see that
i’m actually
kind of
amazing.

if i stop
to see who i am
i see that
i’m not so awful
not so awful
as i’d thought
if i stop
to see who i am
i see that
i’m
actually
quite a good person
after all.

last night i kept myself from being drawn into a fight with dusty. a fight via texting. a fight we have had many times. furious messages flashing back & forth between his smart phone & my dumb one. (his messages flash a bit faster than mine.)
i did respond, with minimal engagement, to let him know i was getting his texts and that my feelings on the matter were indeed final. if i don’t respond, he will become more & more hysterical & paranoid. i can’t have him doing that while he is with our children.
but obvious ploys to evoke a response, i let them slip past me like keanu reeves in the matrix.
so i was actually quite proud of myself for that.
and
though i have an almost full bottle of whiskey, i chose instead to do yoga and have a cup of jasmine tea.
look at that, y’all. it’s like i’m growing up or something.

bonus for anyone who made it this far…i did a rough draft/sneak preview of moses jones page four. very rough…in fact, the final draft might not look anything like this….

mjepisode3p4rough

inside me

inside me
electric
i feel
so much
i feel
everything
deep
deeper
it’s all inside
me
the whole world
inside me
& i can feel
all of it.

i don’t know about you other ladies out there, but my ovulation rocks. will i miss it when it goes away? or is there something else out there in my crone years–a different electricity?

the more i open myself up to feel, the more i feel. it can be pretty awesome. i have noticed this pattern of feeling extra open & extra electric a couple of weeks after my period.
wow.
so now i have to figure out how to understand & accept this open & alive feeling without compromising myself. how to celebrate my fertility & not just give it away to someone else.
you know, unless i make a conscious decision to–instead of letting my ovaries do my thinking for me.
because as soon as i feel that electric feeling, i start looking for someplace to put it. and maybe i just need to hold onto it. harness it into my life, my art, my creations…so, like, instead of manifesting something in my uterus…i want to use that energy to manifest something in my art, in my day, in my world.

do not disturb

of course i’m falling down
try to walk around
with this broken heart
of course i need time
to rest; to heal
carrying the weight
of my bruised & battered
soul
i need my cocoon right now
but y’all know what happens
when this worn down
tired out
broken & struggling
creepy crawler gets a chance
to rest
to recover?

i guess if i’m going to let dusty break my heart for nine or twelve years, i can go ahead and take a week–or however long i need, goddammit–to recover.
back in the last century, after seymour & i broke up, i was seeing a therapist who started pushing pills on me because i was depressed. i fired her saying, “of course i’m fucking depressed, i just broke up with my fiance.”
seriously!
it’s like in this culture you aren’t allowed to suffer through anything. it’s weird to just suffer through. instead, here, take a pill.
suffering is part of healing. i don’t give a fuck what anyone says. i have to be sad right now. my second marriage (though it legally ended in 2010 & physically ended last year) just ended for me. i still had a little bit of hope for a happy ending hiding somewhere in my mind.
that hope just died.
of course i’m fucking depressed. of course i just want to sleep & do nothing else. and you know what i realized this morning? as much as possible, i should sleep & do nothing else. i should take care of myself. i should give myself time to heal.

so listen up world, i’m going to give myself time to heal. i’m not going to rush it or feel like i have to push through the pain or sedate** the pain.
i’m going to feel it.
feel the pain so i can feel how fucking good it feels when that pain goes away.

**(please note that i am not a medical professional, & i do not suffer from clinical depression or reference clinical depression when i do reference depression. also, i am being more metaphorical than literal…though i did have two unmedicated births, i cannot make it through a migraine without taking a tylenol.)