my own reflection

alone
who can i blame
but me
alone
my screams
fall on my own
ears
alone
i look at my reflection
really look
this time
not me reflected
in someone else’s
eyes
but
me
standing before
myself
will i hold
myself
up
or push me
down?

i’m thinking of changing my look. i think i could pull off some faux fur. and maybe martinis might be in order.
i have been sober many days now…it is not pretty.

i am going through some stuff.
what? no? not you!
yes, but different stuff. like my usual stuff is sorted & put away, and now i am on to new stuff.
i feel like i am trying to wriggle out of an old skin…but i am struggling to get that fucker off my back.
lots of anger & snarky behavior…which then causes a spiral of guilt & oh-my-god-i-suckness.
fun fun fun.

i wish i knew how many layers this onion has…how many more levels i have to do before i win.

this is a card i’m sending to my sister for her birthday (shhh)

INKtober twenty-fourth

when i have first
swept him out of my life
my heart
every first time
i vow not to be his
every time
i feel
lighter…clearer…relieved
but
he is able to stick
in my heart
in my head
in my life
due to our children
together
the life that is woven
together
&
i do love him
i do
& it isn’t easy
to keep that love buried
it crawls back
out of the grave
& he keeps ready
waiting
for another chance…
one day
i will figure out how
to have love
without
confusion
one day
but i am
over-the-top
filled-to-the-brim
with my feelings
they spill out of me
they spill out
all over
the place
causing chaos
creating confusion…
one day
one day
i will learn
how to have my feelings
without my feelings
having
me.

it’s a bit clunky as verse, this thought. but i was writing it to a friend & thought it deserved to be fleshed out a bit.

i always think i don’t get more done, art-wise, because i am not trying hard enough, but–holy crap–my days are long & hard.
between cooking for & cleaning up after four kids, training a puppy, figuring out a budget on almost no income, doing the bare minimum (sometimes more!) to look after a large crumbling  3 bedroom on five acres with livestock & gardens….
i don’t really have much time for art.
but art keeps me sane.
so i find time.

i’m working on illustrating a story for someone.
also, i just got an order for a set of ten thank you cards (my underwater collection) from my librarian.
plus i am determined to finish inktober.
and need to do new moses jones.
art keeps me busy…er.

on a different note, i would like to brag that my 11 week old puppy knows “sit” & “down” & is in the process of learning “stay” “come” “shake” & “sit pretty.”
she is a quick study.
house training is still difficult, but she is way ahead on her vocabulary skills.

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plus she is super cute even though it turns out that she is part velociraptor.

donovan’s critiques of this page:
“you never wear yellow.”
“you don’t have freckles.”
“you don’t have a hat like that.”
“your neck is too long.”

in fairness, my freckles may be fading with autumn, but he also denied that he had freckles…which he totally does. while all of my children have developed freckles throughout their lives, donovan was born with freckles. kisses from the sun, my mom used to tell me.
freckles are cool.

spring garden

my spring garden
my spring garden keeps me from getting any art done
i am so tired by the end of every day
it feels like i never sit still
i go to do one thing,
and i do three other things on my way
because
well
they have to be done.

springgarden1

so my inkings are few & far between as i am overwhelmed with garden, livestock, a yard to tend, a house to keep clean-ish, four kids to feed & care for….
spring is a busy time.

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now i have to focus all my art on finishing a project
i agreed to illustrate
i am excited about it. yet my sketchbook eludes me.
i think about working on it all the time
but i need to sit & actually put pen to paper.
i need to be sketching the characters ever day
to get familiar with their faces…

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i also need to learn to cultivate mushrooms, grow herbs for health, become more confidant about checking my bee hives, build a bigger house for my ever expanding poultry, and learn more about goats (i’m getting goats next!)

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homesteading
alone
with four kids
is just non-stop

attack of the buttheads

i started writing this post a couple of weeks ago.  unbeknownst to me, dusty started reading it over my shoulder & got all pissed off.  you know, instead of initiating a conversation about it, just got pissed off & hateful towards me.  so i stopped writing it & haven’t felt like trying to write ever since.  last friday, i made dusty leave again.  go back to wisconsin.  again.  & i realized i would rather be alone than to be put in a box.  i would rather be alone than to be told who i am.  i would rather be alone than to not be heard.  to not be understood.

i don’t know if he reads my blog or not….i guess i will find out.

what do you do
when the one person
you always want to tell your thoughts to
funny stories
what happened today
just now
what happens when you no longer
feel safe
talking to that person?
when you feel it might be a bad idea
to open up
to that person?
what happens when the person
you used to wait for to walk through the door
what happens when you start dreading
his walking into the room
when you feel like you have to guard yourself
your heart
your thoughts
for surely he will find something
to criticize
something
to attack
some flaw in you to burst wide open
and leave to spill onto the floor
as he walks away

the other day i was in tears. in the barn. yelling at the sheep. the other day i let my sheep get the best of me. i wondered–loudly and with a great many curse words–what i was even doing here, on this half-assed homestead, trying to get milk from meat sheep who clearly hate me, running from me, and in the case of tyler durden the ram, stalking me and ramming me in the thighs until i cry.

what am i doing?

the other day, i tried to talk to dusty.

stop. right there. that was my mistake. i tried to talk to dusty. i tried to talk to dusty. dusty. who on the day of my brother’s funeral (8 years ago) asked me what was wrong, and when i told him i was upset that he didn’t bother dressing up for my brother’s funeral, he responded, “well look at what you’re wearing.”

dusty.

he likes to ask me what is wrong, and then punish me for having feelings. lately he asks me why i don’t respond when he asks, “what’s wrong?” but the weird thing is, i don’t remember him asking me. i think i have learned to tune him out so that i do not even hear him ask because then, if i hear him, i want to answer…and then i get punched right in my emotions.

so i don’t even hear him anymore.
i don’t look forward to seeing him.
i don’t tell him anything.

or i try not to. i can be a bit of a blabbermouth, forgetting who i can & cannot trust with my feelings. i am like that. soft in the head.

so i tried to talk to dusty, about “us.” it was, of course, somehow interpreted as an assault on him…maybe it was an attack. i don’t know the fuck anymore. but i tried to talk to him. i used the wrong words. then it got ugly.
he accused me of being a facebook junkie (i’m not)
and i responded by slamming shut his video game
and possibly breaking his laptop?
and then
he murdered three of my potato plants.
and tried to knock the internet dish off of the roof
with a steel t-post.

this is where i stopped writing.
his laptop is fine. my potatoes are trying to recover, but look like my heart feels.  wilty & broken.  undernourished.  struggling to survive.

 

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