the far beyond

days & days
of staring at an inkstain
drawing a line here
& there
squinting to see the shapes
in shadows & smudges & splatters
meanwhile,
putting up beehives
raising chicks
building pasture
planting seeds
& trees
& flowers…
eleven days into april
just one inking,
but so much work

i’m exhausted. but i finally finally finished this. there were several times when i thought i was done…but then the light would hit it just right & i would see another face…another creature…more magic.

i am having trouble focusing on my artwork. it shouldn’t take me eleven days to do an inking. or should it? i am distracted. with spring and all the work of a budding homestead.

but, also, with dusty around, the little voices whisper to me that he thinks i am wasting my time.that he thinks i am neglecting the minions. that he thinks i am being silly–thinking my art is a worthwhile endeavor. that i should be doing something else–something worthwhile.
when dusty is nearby, it echoes of my childhood & when my dad would enter a room, i feel like i have to look busy…i feel like my artwork is not real work.

i could very well be projecting this.
or i could very well be sensing it from him.
he has made snide comments in the past.

some days i think i can keep dusty in my life.
i am trying really hard to be nice to him
to see if that changes how he treats me…

…but most the time, he is still a turd.

sigh.

dream weaver

i have a wicked head cold.
which might be responsible for this inking & its title.
which may have been a psychosomatic response to my letting dusty move back in.
i can barely breathe.
i can barely think.
my functionality is pretty limited.

sigh.

dreamweaver3

it might be a defense mechanism of mine.
i was once sick for a month straight in one doomed relationship.
i can’t remember which one.
it’s like my body says, “this is bullshit.”
and shuts down.
my immune system gives up on me.
or thinks, “maybe this will get her attention.”

fuck.

dreamweaver2

how many times can i fuck up in the exact same way?
maybe that should be the title of my memoirs….

dreamweaver1

trying to save the dead

i have been working on the same inking for days now. playing sick (and actually being sick with a vicious head cold) from my art and blog life.
i think i am afraid to finish a new picture because i will have to blog something here about my life…& i’m not so happy about my life right now.seems i am back in re-runs again…but the inking is almost done, and i will post it tomorrow.

…so i buried a newborn lamb this morning.

not the cutie in the picture, but the twin that was later born…stillborn…sometime in the night or early morning. i found her curled up in her sac. perfect, still, and cold. i buried her, and then spent the rest of the day–first obsessing that i should have checked on buttercup (the mom) through the night and earlier in the morning. and then obsessing that maybe the baby wasn’t dead and that i just needed to get her out of her sac, rub her vigorously, warm her up, maybe give her mouth to mouth….

and then i wondered if i was doing the same thing with my relationship with dusty. obsessing over all of the things i’m doing wrong…trying to resurrect a dead thing.

because this just isn’t working out.

again.

his being here.

what went wrong?

other than everything.

it’s very possible i cannot be in a relationship with anyone. i have a touch of the OCD and am very particular about so many things…and he takes it personally. i have been trying to not let it get to me–you know, when he moves things from the place i keep them…or leaves things in a state that i would not have…. when i was nineteen, i thought if i ever got married i would have separate houses.

and then there are his issues. he goes on the defensive. he has started accusing me of gaslighting him (after i pointed out how he gaslights me.) he goes on the offense when he feels he has to protect himself. like mean & shout-y offense. an offensive offense.

and then i shut down.

and the circle spins. our vicious circle.

the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. but i get so hopeful & deluded so easily.

maybe it’s not hopeless…but it sure as fuck feels that way.

a little ditty

in the late 90’s i was living in lexington, kentucky, waiting tables at a pub with a club attached. one night i was next door at the club when random older guy starts talking to me. i was enjoying the conversation to some extent, when he mentioned that one of his employees had a huge crush on me.
i perked up & got a lot more interested in the conversation.
i have always loved the idea of secret admirers and spent most of my childhood imagining someone was secretly watching and would swoop in & show the world my genius…yes, i had a talent scout as an imaginary friend.

so guy is telling me not much about my secret admirer, except that he works for guy’s pool building business and that they often eat lunch at the pub, but my secret admirer is afraid to approach me & will not.

guy goes on to tell me that his own name is “chester.” adding that he is not a molester. note to y’all: if someone feels compelled to tell you they are not something–that is a red flag.

so chester who says he is not a molester invites me to go have some food at perkin’s. i am always game for free food and adventure, so i agree. i was not getting any too-weird of vibes off of him…and free food.
plus i wanted to hear more about my secret admirer.

so i went to perkin’s with him & he fed me & entertained me. when he finds out i have the next 3 days off (fourth of july weekend) he invites me to come out to his farm & ride his horses. he assures me that he has guests out there all the time & that he is very popular.

of course all i hear is “ride horses”…something i had never done despite my life-long love of horses.

i am not a normal person. if you read my blog, you know, i am special…& i say that with my tongue in my cheek. where most women would be like, “hell no, strange man, i will not go out to your remote farm alone with you at night.”

not me. i’m like, “sure!”

horses and a secret admirer…it was like he knew & was offering me my favorite candy to follow him home.

once at his place…i started to get the serious creeps. he had way too many antiques (i have a fear of antiques) and he kept standing way too close to me.

he had to get up early to work at his pool building company where my secret admirer worked and asked, “you can sleep in my bed of the guest room.”

GUEST ROOM! i told him.

“i have to warn you, i sleep naked.”

GUEST ROOM!

so i go to bed with my body on high alert. his dogs come and get in the bed with me. which is great because i trust dogs, even if they are owned by a molester. i wear all my clothes. i only take off my shoes.

sometime in the wee hours of the morning, he creeps into the room and shoos the dogs off of the bed and climbs in, naked, and cuddles up to me. i am rigidly laying there, pretending to be asleep, waiting for him to have to get up and go to work. like a opossum, playing dead/pretending to be asleep is one of my go-to defenses. not a practical one always, and it has pissed off many a boyfriend…but i just kind of shut down. i freeze. on retrospect i wish i had jumped out of the bed and kicked him right in the crotch…but i was conflicted, scared, confused, and had no idea where i actually was in order to escape.

he left for work.

i took his van…& left him a note??? what? another thing i would change on retrospect.

other than being totally creeped out & traumatized by mr. molester, my big worry was that he would tell my secret admirer that he had slept with me.

i know. what? really?

my boyfriend at the time (yes, i had a boyfriend, but he was an awful boyfriend who i just couldn’t seem to get rid of) blamed me. he told me it was my fault.

so i went back to work, but i kept an eye out for my secret admirer. here’s the thing about me. i love blue collar guys. i love cops & firemen & farmers. given the choice between a successful clean cut banker and a scruffy guy who builds his own cabinets and smells of the outdoors…it’s really no contest.

so i picked out my favorite blue collar guy who ate lunch at the pub. he was a little guy (i also have a thing for little guys–check out my adam ant post) with a shaved head and a big nose (yup, add big noses onto my list of attractions.) i would watch him whenever he came into the pub with his co-workers. but he never ever looked at me. we never made eye contact. it was almost as if he was actively avoiding looking at me.

but he stayed my favorite pretend secret admirer.

i left kentucky to escape the bad boyfriend. i waited until he went to work, packed everything up, left a note (again with the notes?) and had one of my sisters drive me to illinois. my plan was i would stay with my folks and save money & go to school in the fall. but my folks pissed me off and i packed up and headed back to kentucky where i was going to meet up with another sister who was going to let me move to galveston, texas with her. she had a couple more weeks before she was moving to lexington.

naturally, i went out to the pub & to see a show at the club. i was drinking and perched on the edge of the pool table, watching the band, when i noticed my pretend secret admirer was there and he was actually making eye contact.

so i hopped down and went over to say hi.

we got married about a month later.

he was the guy who was secretly in love with me. when he found out i was headed to texas, he proposed. again, normal woman would be like, “hell no, strange man, i’m flattered, but maybe we can take this slow…or, you know, too bad–you snooze you lose.”

not me. i married  him. thing about me is i want so badly to be loved, that i will marry a stranger if he says he loves me.

i think the only reason a serial killer hasn’t gotten me by now is that i wear pretty boring underwear that may or not actually be underwear. there isn’t much about me to feed those fetishes. but tell me you love me, and i will marry you.

i think it helped that i had been pretending he was in love with me for so long–and then to actually find out he was in love with me–it was like an overload to my brain.

a month after we were married, he said he didn’t think he loved me.
and i threw up.
and i moved out.

as i like to do (or else why would i do it so often?) we had an on-again/off-again relationship for three years. i divorced him in the middle of that time, but we often dated and even had long-distance relationships when i would leave lexington to adventure in other cities. but, overall, he was so withdrawn and barely present in our relationship, that my ego actually suffered and i spiraled downwards until i started losing all respect for myself and moved to wisconsin to get that kentucky funk off of me.

if you are still reading this, i will get to the point.

he emails now and then to flirt with me. i get pissed off because where was this devotion when we were married? and my being pissy sends him straight back to his cave.

but the other night i was out with a friend who reminded me of my secret admirer in a way. so i texted him, not realizing he did not actually have my current number. once he figured out who i was, i ended up asking him to come see me.
and he said yes.
and he is supposed to be here tomorrow.
and i am excited to see him…but worried i am setting myself up.
like i’m feeling too strong lately so i need to knock the wind out of my own sails.
would i do that–yes, well, i have a history of doing that….

he says he has changed.
he says he is a better man now.
i tell him that my other ex-husband says the same things.
i tell him that i have had two lonely marriages & don’t want to do that anymore.

he’s coming to see me, trying to bring baskets full of rainbows & unicorns & being together.
i told him, come see me, yes, but leave the promises at home.
i don’t trust promises.
he won’t get any promises from me.
i don’t want any from him.

what is it with my fucking ex-husbands and loving me after i am gone?

so, anyway, all that is why i haven’t gotten any ink done in a couple days. i have been busy, physically & emotionally.
but i should have this finished by the end of the day.