down to earth

i am not safe
i am not easy
however
i am down to earth
i am right down to the
molten rock
lava in my veins
i am the hurricanes
on the sea
i am the tornadoes
on the plains
i am the rain that falls
to create life
i am the moon
waxing & waning
& pulling the tides
to me
i am alive
so
no
i am  not safe
i am not easy
& in my experience
i have found that nothing
nothing
worth having
ever is.

note to all you well-meaning men–if you aren’t interested, just say, “no thank you.” don’t make excuses. don’t prolong the inevitable. don’t rationalize & make nice. just fucking say, “no thank you.”
if there is need for further explanation, we will ask for it.
sigh.
i told guy to “be safe” after he pleaded “ptsd” and “not being that the kind of person to be sponateous” and “having too many responsibilities” to have a rendezvous with me.
first off, raise your hand if you don’t have ptsd.
fuck.
my ptsd has ptsd.
also, i have severe social anxiety.
yet i still reached out to him because i feel that the day i let my fears dictate how i live…i am no longer alive.
and who doesn’t have responsibilities? my whole life is responsibilities…which is exactly why i, for one, was dying to do something spontaneous.
i texted him that spontaneity is good for the soul.
he channeled somebody’s super fuddy-duddy father to text me back about not being able to do that for this & that reason.
why didn’t he just say, “no thank you” from the get-go? i am honestly wondering. this is not a rhetorical question of mine. i would ask him, but he shuts down communication with me pretty good with his fuddy-duddy father voice. i’m all like, “yes sir,” as i scamper away to look around for someone else to play with.
bleah.
so i told guy to “be safe.” i was being snarky, but thanks to text messaging ambiguity, he has no way of knowing that. (unless he reads my blog…but i don’t think he is that invested considering he turned down a booty call thinly veiled as an invite to a h.s. reunion….)
he said, “you too.”
and that inspired this page.

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the hunt

when i was in my twenties
i would have chased you
like a wolf pack
on a caribou
but…
you know…
in a sexy way
except
i’m not sure i’ve ever been
sexy
mostly maybe
aggressive?
that’s what they called
girls like me
…& not in the good way
now
now i am a tired wolf
a timid wolf
gun shy
& a bit more leary
before i give chase…
&
my chase
is more of an amble
like…maybe i’ll catch up…
if you trip?
or
maybe you could chase
me?
before i head on back
to my cave.

seriously. i was relentless when i was younger. i chased, and they ran. i hunted boys for sport.
but those days are long over.
i really don’t want to chase boys anymore. i don’t want to be chased either. i want something mutual and perfect. right? but does that ever happen?
meanwhile,
i also want to be a mongolian falconer. that just sounds like a much better way to live. i wonder what romance is like in mongolia.

the colors kind of got away from me in this one. this might just be the most color i’ve used in an inking? maybe? it’s a bit over the top. but that’s what came out of me tonight.

random thoughts

i am not on facebook or twitter anymore because i always feel i am spitting into an ocean… (though i did just find out that my facebook accounts have remained up despite my deactivating them last spring. i deactivated again…but if someone sees they are still up, please let me know.)

i have random thoughts throughout the day.
i am single & rural & in the company of children.
if these random thoughts are not “art journal worthy” they just waft away with the wind….

like…
“i think i’m just going to have another beer & be sad.”
now i can’t remember any other random thoughts…maybe because of the one beer i did have.
but here’s a hypothetical for y’all. say a super cute, very cool guy contacted you via okcupid. he was what you were advertising for: an artist farmer.
so he contacts you & you message back & forth & seem to have a lot in common & possibly some chemistry….. then he gives you his contact information (website, phone number, & instagram) & he deactivates his okcupid account.
so you go to his website & you message him.
& wait
& wait
& he messages back that he is very busy but thinks your artwork is great & smiley face.
& that is the last you hear from him

is that it? is it over? i am not great with relationships (what? no!) and i am a bit socially retarded (impossible!)
crap.
that was it, wasn’t it? something didn’t click after all? maybe i’m too crazy? or i have four kids? or he found the perfect woman for him in between messages to me?

this is impossible. dating is for sadists…& the masochists who love them.
i am going to have that second beer.
fuck it all anyway.

ps. i went outside to put away goats & ducks & chickens & geese & hamlet the turkey and now i feel a bit less morose…but i still might have beer & watch a tragically romantic movie.

pss. does anyone else get a little sad when they post something they think is smashing & it gets lukewarm response?

who do you think you are?

stand up for yourself
so i can push you over
knock you down
think better of yourself
but no–not so much
what? you think
you’re better than me?
hold your head high
there. that makes it easier
for me to punch you
when you least expect it
why do girls like you
always date assholes
instead of nice guys
like me?

because….
with an asshole, at least
you know know what you’re
in for….

i got expressive figure drawing by bill buchman. i regret i never took a figure drawing class. i mean, i know the basics…but i need a lot more work. a class would have been fun. so i got this book. i haven’t read it yet, but i did do a self-portrait using the sketch on the front of the book after writing this poem.
the poem is inspired by lots of things…mostly by my own experiences with men feeling simultaneously attracted to & threatened by my strengths, my independence, & all those things about me i won’t apologize for.
i have a profile up over on okcupid–to basically just meet people & have conversations…maybe build some bridges…and now more than one guy has seen my profile as a challenge?

to you fuckers who think i’m some kind of challenge, something for you to conquer–fuck the fuck off.

an open apology

to all the men i’ve loved before
& to the ones
i didn’t care all that much about
but played with anyway
to all the hearts
i crushed & twisted
pushed & pulled
like play-doh
to shape into something
that pleased me
but they never did
& i was quick to
toss
them
away
far
away
hurl, more like it
shot put champion
with the hearts of men
this is my open apology
to my many men
some hurt me back
some never got the chance
but
i wish
i had been better
more noble
more careful with those
possibly tender?
probably tender?
then bruised
hearts.

i feel like i’m doing a 12 step program. i thought of actually contacting my list–but holy crap there are way too many…and i only know where a handful of them are…and some of them i cannot have contact with for my own safety.
so!
here i am. realizing through old journals, conversations, and introspection, that i was a shitty girlfriend to a lot of lot of lot of guys.
crap.
when i did bother to remember this side of me, i always remembered her as kind of a warrior, kick-ass take no names, awesome bitch.
but
but but but…she wasn’t nice.
i wasn’t nice.
and i think a lot of it had to do with thinking that no one really cared about me so i couldn’t really hurt them.
but that’s no excuse. i shouldn’t have been such a shit–and often to guys who didn’t even deserve it.
i was a shitty girlfriend. i was a shitty wife. i’ve touched on this before, that i saw my mom as a weak victim…and i internalized that i needed to be the opposite. so i was. i broke hearts & abandoned relationships.
frequently.
so this is my open apology.
i have no idea if any of my exes even read this blog–and it might be more rude than nice to tag them all–plus, that would be a lot of tags…but if you do read this blog & did once get walked over or callously treated by me, i’m sorry i was a bitch.

mostly sorry.

(i recently commented to someone that i am better at understanding than forgiving…it occurs to me with this that i am better at knowing i should be sorry than actually being sorry….but i am mostly sorry)

ancient history

before i met & married dusty and had an on-again/off-again dysfunctional relationship from hell with him…i had a practice run for two years with his kentucky twin.
in 1996 just after i lost the best boy i’d ever known, i fell in with this narcissistic, emotionally abusive asshole.
it should have just been a rebound…but he was so good at manipulating me that it lasted for two awful years. he conned me out of thousands of dollars, put my ego in the crapper, and cheated on me like crazy.
this poem was written about six months in.

holy crap.
i should have read these journals back when stuff started going funny with dusty. i had no idea what a narcissist was–not really. nor that they preyed on people like me…people with too much empathy.
i had no idea.
i thought it was love.
just like i thought it was love that kept me with dusty no matter how much of a fuck he was to me.
i should publish these journals as a warning.

shooting star

i am not
“down to earth”
i am not
“drama free”
i am human
i am messy
i am a comet
sparks
shoot out of my butt
as i rocket
through the stars….

yes. inspired by online dating & actually part of my profile before i shut that motherfucker down.

i am still off-kilter. drawing this was much more difficult than it should have been. my hands would not cooperate with my head. i can’t say what’s wrong with me right now…other than that i need to put it right.
i need to put me right.

but how to do that?
right?
how do you fix it when you don’t know for sure what is broken? or which part of the massive mess that is you needs some immediate & intensive care?

i listen to music. i stare out the window. i watch the snow fall. i keep the livestock’s water from freezing. i drink whiskey and wait for nightfall.
there it is…some of it anyway. i don’t seem to know what to do with myself when i am not playing the part of “mom.” though i battle with that role in my life…it is somewhat necessary for me to function. if i don’t have four squabbling minions to maneuver around, i don’t know how to collect my thoughts. i don’t know how to do art. i spend my days thinking they are preventing my life…when in fact they are shaping & enhancing my life. they are creating who i am.

if i ever do find that person who is missing from my life. that other part of me. if i ever find him (i think it must be a him,) he will have to be someone who eagerly craves the chaos that is my life.
another shooting star…or someone who has wished on one.