why i’m not a sex worker

so someone over on tumbr asked me to illustrate a story for his girlfriend’s book. this is the work in progress for that.
however, as usual, i said “yes” without agreeing on a rate/price for the artwork.
i mean, i love doing art.
i love seeing if i can illustrate someone else’s ideas.
it’s fun & challenging for me. i like fun. i like a challenge.
but, yes, i need to start being more professional & less quixotic sometimes. like…when i’m done with this, there is going to be that awkward email where i have to say, “um, in order to get the finished piece, i need money.”
and what if they are all–you never said it cost! and yes…they should know artists do not work for free nor donate their talent (except for a good cause.) but i still dread that point when i have to ask for a fee.
crap. i should have settled it sooner.
right?
i can’t afford to give it away for free.
(that’s what she said)

meanwhile, for another commission i am doing without settling on cost first, i am googling images of every cool sea creature i can think of to make a set of greeting cards and getting excited about painting them.
however, there is probably no way someone expects to pay as much as i think they should pay for a hand painted series of greeting cards.
and i do know this person–which makes it even harder for me to ask for what i feel my art is worth.

crap.
i need an agent.

out the window

some days
my son is so much
like his father
i want to jump
out the window
i can leave the man
but i cannot
abandon
the boy
some days
being a mom
is so painful
so challenging
that i catch myself
wishing
i’d made different
choices
fantasizing
about a life
i did not have
a life
i will never
know
some days
as hard as i hope
for peace
all i know
is
chaos
inside
& out.

i sit & suffer in silence as a mom. which is weird, since i am so quick to share all my other angst.
is it the taboo?
is it our instagram existence?
only show the smiling children. only show the confident moments. only show the clean faces. carefully crop out the crap.
i read kelly’s post yesterday about how we may be causing damage by only showing the positive stuff regarding people’s challenges and how we view neurodiversity.
it made me think, today, as i was struggling with my challenges as a highly sensitive person & mother of four highly sensitive children. we do this with all of life, don’t we? only show the good stuff to each other? hide away those moments where we feel weak or out of control or not good enough?
maybe we should just air out our dirty laundry. form an alliance of imperfection.
i know, i do it all the time with my anxiety & relationship issues, my imposter’s syndrome, my abusive childhood, and all my other “failings.”

and yet i still hesitate when it comes to showing my–almost constant–struggles as a mom. like, i can show you all my cracks & crevices…but what will you think of me if you know i sometimes wish i wasn’t a mom? if you know the chaos of my every single day?

posting this has given me so much anxiety. i feel like i need to put on my helmet & buckle down because surely i will be judged–a bad mom. but, i have not deleted the post yet…. hoping that my pain & suffering will let someone else know that they are not alone.

(my favorite quote from one of my favorite novels, the hotel new hampshire–by john steinbeck, is to “keep passing the open windows.”)

inktober fifth

okay.
i’m tired of what i have been doing with ink brush painting.
yesterday i used some leftover ink to make random panels on a sheet of paper.
today i pulled a comic out of my ass…
about panels.

inktober5

and then i ended up spilling a bunch of black ink
so in the spirit of sustainability and not wasting and taking lemons & making lemonade,
i did a quick sketch using the spilled ink…which is the inking showcased at the top of today’s blog.
full moon long shadows.

i like it.
i like my art.
i like being me.

so there, world of no recognition…or very little recognition. i like my stuff. i know i am good. i don’t need your fucking “likes” (but, you know, they are nice)

on a personal note
because it has been too long without me over-sharing…
i had half-invited dusty to live here–as a paying lodger…but now i am re-thinking that. i mean, it sounds like a recipe for disaster.
he just won’t grow up.
and it’s not like i am so good at being a grown up…but i manage.
meanwhile, he pays a minimal child support…occasionally.
he has a crap job because he won’t bother looking for another one.
he lives with his crap-ass mom because he won’t bother finding his own place–nor does he have the money to do so.
and he has a crappy car that does not run because he just stored it in a garage for seven years while he made me give him rides.
and now he is dependent on him mom for rides.
and i keep thinking…why?
why won’t he just get up off his ass and do something?

well, i guess he’s just waiting for me to pick him up again.

so what happens if i don’t?

sometimes i just feel extra invisible…

ack.
social media sucks ass.
i mean
at least
for us super sensitive
extra damaged
introverts
sometimes i hate
facebook
so so so much
stupid tool
i feel like a stupid tool
extra invisible
everyone hates me
why do i do this
stupid
tool.

inktober3(3)

this is the third inking i have done today.
i am about to post it on facebook. in that stupid group i am in. and it will get zero “likes” as have the other two today.
inktober3(2)

c’mon.
my art doesn’t suck that bad.
why can’t i get a “like”….

and why do i care?

fuck a duck

i am ready to just quit facebook. a fucking social media site should not be able to cause me this kind of torment.
it’s stupid.
i know it’s stupid.
yet i am tormented.

IMG_0023

i am going to keep doing inktober.
i am going to keep doing art.
i am going to keep practicing my ink brush painting (right now i am opening the book the photo ark to a random page and painting it.)

and! and–i am going to get back to my comics. my moses jones and all the others.

it’s been too long.

so fuck you, facebook. even if you hate my art. i love my art.

i love being an artist.

a nice fucking neurotic artist.

mister chicken

so as it turns out,
i’m not crazy–i’m an empath.
okay,
sometimes i’m still crazy.
but when i get super sad and then feel elated the next minute–
the thing is–
i often don’t feel my own emotions,
i feel other people’s emotions.
so weird.
i always knew i was really really empathetic
but only in the past couple of years have i learned about being an empath.

so i’m an empath.
i feel things
and know things
that other people cannot sense.
i know when someone is lying.
i can see an aura better than i can notice the color of your eyes.
and it has come to my attention that being an empath–& not knowing how to protect yourself–is a dangerous & even a bad thing.
i don’t know how to protect me.
i lay open for everyone to just dump their emotions in.
and then i turn into a raging pond of dumped emotions.

so today i was reading a book about service dogs for families that have special needs children and i felt profoundly sad. ¬†and instead of just feeling sad, i examined why i felt sad…only to realize that the sadness was not my own, but the sadness of these families.
it finally clicked.
i was not feeling my own emotions.
i was feeling someone else’s!!
and just like that, the sadness evaporated.
how often am i doing that?
being angry with someone else’s anger?
being happy with someone else’s happiness?
being frustrated with someone else’s frustration?

i wonder.
when i was a child, i loved¬†animals. all animals. i loved them. i collected them. i had over fifty pets as a kid–and even more imaginary ones.
but my dad was so angry.
and he put that anger on us kids
and on the animals.
and i felt myself absorb that anger.
i felt it grow inside me.
i recognized it when it came out–it was his anger, not mine.
but over the years i adopted it as my own.
i was the one being angry at the animals.
it stopped being his and became mine.
and i felt so horrible about it
about myself.
i cringe to think that that is who i am.
but what if it isn’t?
i wonder…
if i now realize it is not my anger after all…can i send it on its way?

 

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