more journaling on my recent realization that i am no longer haunted.
i don’t think very many of my current readers were reading me back when this blog was obsessively dealing with my ex-husband’s infidelity.
my ex-husband had a relationship
with a crazy stalker chick (other than me.)
she would leave little presents
yes, like a cat
for him on our doorstep
& other various places
she would hide in the bushes
& wait for him
i would even find things hanging from trees
in our neighborhood
intended for him.
i became more than slightly unhinged by it all
i began searching his pockets regularly
kidnapping his phone
searching the neighborhood for clues (she liked to graffiti his name about the place)
& throwing various objects (keys to her apartment, love trinkets, & even his phone)
into the river by our house
it ended up being–i’m sure much to the delight of my narcissistic ex–a battle of the stalker chicks
hitting a climax when i found them together
kicked her in the knee
broke my own arm in the process
& got charged with disorderly conduct.
i will never forget having to talk to two cops on my doorstep–having them ask what everyone asks
why didn’t i kick him??
that’s how sick i was with the whole thing. sick & crazy & completely manipulated into being someone i was not.
why do i bring this up?
dude. there is a torn piece of a shirt stuck in the tree branches of one of the silver maples in front of my house, and it is all i can do to not have flashbacks to her weird little leavings meant for him ….
i’m trying to learn how to not hate him…maybe this is the universe’s way of challenging that?
in other news.
i have an appointment to look at a house in an idyllic little town in iowa. it’s an area heavy with norwegian roots–so i’m thinking–lumberjacks??? (or i dig vikings too)
i thought about putting up a new okcupid profile in the area seeing if i could find someone to help me unload my moving truck should i get this house i am looking at on sunday….
oh! & before i forget…stuff over on my patreon page:
the best trick
i have ever done
now you see me
i’m still here
submerged in a tank full of every tear
i climbed back out
we got the eleventh series of doctor who
from the library
jodie whittaker’s first season
as the doctor
we are beyond excited
i am making fish fingers
as we have been watching
the matt smith episodes
i could not find custard
in the aisles of a midwestern grocery
& all the pudding had food dye &
so i am making custard from scratch
it is ridiculously
easy to make…
i may suck
in other areas of motherhood
but i know how to
celebrate a new
in other news…i need to find a place to live. as soon as possible. i can feel the need to be out of here. it sticks to my skin & makes me irritable like time is running out and i do not know what my mom is capable of so i just want to be gone…to be
a quick & messy inking of me as the fourth doctor, a man who opened windows in my young mind….
it was the early nineties when i had the dream.
i had been in therapy for awhile
terrified of the dark &
but one day it lifted and like a light switch
i was happy & no longer afraid–of anything
it was around this time i had the dream
was it before?
was it after?
are the two things related at all?
the dream was disturbing
a crazy-ass dream
where i was a mighty warrior
and other clans would send warriors to fight me
i would mercilessly slaughter them
the other clans would send me young girls
to be with
as a way of collecting
fucked up, right? that’s a fucked up dream for a 21 year old girl in iowa. i have been thinking about it a lot lately. wondering if the dream & my becoming happy & brave, have anything to do with each other. a past life remembering healing a present life hurting.
in the dream, i was represented as a tiger–but i was human. recently, googling like crazy, all i have been able to figure out is that tiger is representative of warriors and the such in china.
so i started reading up on china’s history to see if i can figure out anything about this dream…but i find myself more drawn to the mongols, of course.
i keep looking to so-called professionals & friends, but as usual, no one ever answers my emails. so i guess i’m on my own.
my own master
the answer to my own question.
as well as the very first postcard being sent out to a patron!!
oh! & all of these illustrations remind me that today is the spring equinox
balance between day & night…balance between light & dark…balance between rest & change.
wake up, it’s time to grow
embarrassed to be
i was weird
of the way
of my being
to his own
to be my dad
that i wanted to be
he tried to convince me
of the mistake
he did not believe
i could possibly
i would be a failure
a man who did not
show his hand
who kept so much
he could not bother
i was to give a speech at my high school graduation because i was the salutatorian of my class.
my dad did not want to go to my graduation because he was sure i would embarrass him.
on my perfect little sister’s wedding day, i was put in the uncomfortable position of being her maid of honor. my dad’s words to me?
“don’t embarrass your sister on her day.”
he told me i would regret following my dreams. he told me that no one actually follows their dreams. he told me i had to be practical.
spent so much time pushing me down.
when i eloped with a stranger (because i just wanted to believe that someone could really love me,) he said, “you’re not my problem anymore.”
now that he’s dead
i can say that right back to him.
thanks to edward gorey for this illustration inspiration
i could tell “worse” stories about my dad. about his alcoholism and his violent temper & how terrifying my childhood was…but the weird thing is, though that stuff was terrifying…it didn’t hurt nearly as much as living a life knowing what he thought of me.
i was at the doctor’s office yesterday as i have been avoiding a physical for a number of years. you would think after four kids & not even knowing the number of people who have seen my lovely crotch in baby related matters…i wouldn’t be fazed by having my lady bits cranked open & ogled…but maybe one never learns to enjoy that experience….
my doctor–literally–said to me, “tell me about your mother.”
it was everything i could do to not launch into a re-enactment of the scene from blade runner...you know the one–and if you don’t, you better get the fuck to a library & check that movie out (the original one.)
i can’t remember where i was going with this.
so my dead dad was going to be shipped back to illinois (aka the place where i live) to be buried with his family in the local catholic cemetery. i have had a stress headache about it since monday. i have been cleaning (i hate cleaning–it seems i do not have a domestic bone in my body) & dreading the descending judgement of my family who would be returning to our childhood home & how i would be viewed. bracing myself for enduring snide little comments about cobwebs & dust & having microwaves & coffee makers (i also hate most appliances other than blenders) brought from the basement to clog the counter space. and do i need to take down my pagan alter & put away my art & witchy things?
then this morning i got word that my mom has decided to cremate him & keep him in texas.
i suspect she is doing it as a last ditch effort to keep him away from his mom whom she was always jealous of & who is buried in the cemetery he was headed for….
but! whatever reason that crazy lady has for keeping my dad in texas, i am grateful.
when i heard my dad had died, all i felt was relief. like the scene in wizard of oz…then dread when i realized that his death meant i would have to see my family.
though i am lonely & isolated, i am not so desperate for company that i would relish a visit from my family.
knowing my little world is safe once again, i feel at peace.
either i am the most awful person in the world…or…i dunno. maybe i am the most awful person in the world.
ah well–fuck it.
oh, & here are snippets of projects available over on my patreon page…an art journal page plus the final page of “fetish” & two more pages of “stolen”
i usta sit
this same window
i now make art
with the light of
i stared at the dark
reflecting little me
reflecting damaged me
waiting for him
to come home
he would not
for daddy dearest
only forty years later
yesterday as i was driving back from dropping off the minions, my cell phone rang & “pure evil” came up on the screen.
i did not answer.
when i got home, i listened to the message. my mom, telling me that she thought he was asleep, but that my dad is dead.
that’s my mom, phoning around for a reaction before actually calling the paramedics.
so…my dad is dead.
don’t say you’re sorry, because i am not & if you say you’re sorry, it will only make me feel like a bigger shit.