disappearing boyfriends

when i was twenty-two, my therapist told me to stop dating.
she feared i had a sexual addiction.
in fact, i was (am?) addicted to relationships (which is one reason it took me ten thousands attempts to break up with dusty)
& being also afflicted with contrary personality disorder (i just made that up)
i shook off my therapist’s instructions & found some troubled
& troubling
boy to date
whom i wasn’t even really attracted to
(a re-occurring personality in my grab-bag of relationships)
anyhoo
long story short
when i realized i was being stupid
i called the boy up & told him i needed “to talk” to him
…& i never saw him again.
i mean
he disappeared before i could break up with him
strangely
or not
that is not the last time i had a boyfriend vanish before i could break up with him….

okay–so while i was doing the illustration/self-portrait/comic for this, i messed up my drawing & had to cover it up and then when i was doing background color–my ink smeared??? but…i think i salvaged it.
my ink is not supposed to smear. bad ink.

so it looks like this might be the direction this whole experiment turns to. a comic. an illustrated journal/memoir.
that would be kinda cool.
let’s see what other noteworthy memories i can dredge up.

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witch’s garden

picking parsley
after dark
in my witch’s garden

a quiet & gentle therefore atypical page from my journal.

the other night i found myself searching under pitch black skies for some parsley for a tomato sauce i was making. i miscalculated a time or two, but once i put my hands in the lush & fragrant patch of parsley–thriving despite the cold nights here–i felt as if i had found a treasure.

sometimes i love homesteading with all my heart.

of course, later that night, i re-injured my back lifting the canning vessel onto my stove in order to can my tomato sauce…and have been in more pain than ever since.

and due to re-injuring my injury, i have been unable to send dusty back to wisconsin…sacrificing my mental health so that my back can mend…

so! much more anguished journal entries to come!

yay!

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

bat accordian rough draft

so i guess today is the first day of the rest of my life
i know things won’t magically get better
just because i ousted the man
who helped me make myself
miserable
but i felt a ray of light
and thought,
“i’m just going to relax.”
when i faced this first day
officially on my own.
then i felt the need to defend my decision
to relax
as if i was doing something wrong.
but, fuck it.
i’m going to sing & dance & play
and be ridiculous if i want to be
the person
who made me feel as if
i had to be the grown-up
while he did whatever he wanted to do
is gone.

i spent the past two days taking dusty his stuff and severing those ties. we now live in separate states. separate physical states. i think we always lived in separate mental states.

so maybe the spells & stones worked after all? maybe i had to go to that dark dark dark fucking place inside me to find the strength to separate myself from him and all he has taught me i am in the years we have been together.

to let go, i had to die a little.

but it worked. i am free. maybe for the first time in a decade or more. maybe for the first time in forever.

i am free and i am going to work all this anger out of my bones. all the anger i have absorbed over the years. i am going to work it out and learn to believe that i am worthy of love.

that will be weird.

if i believe i am worthy of good things?
that would be amazing.

so while on the road, i only got this doodle done. so i missed two days of posting. but i’m back now and will finish this doodle. here is what it looks like with just the first ink on the ink stain. more ink to come!