i always wonder, as i work on ink blot doodles, while i wait for misha to have her speech therapy, i always wonder if anyone walking past notices my pictures.
her speech therapy sessions are in the same grade school i went to as a child. a small protestant town. a farming town. a very straight, white community (they are getting better–more diverse!)
so i feel weird just being there. weirder working on my art. but i think most people don’t notice. and i am generally treated as if i do not have two heads. to clarify, i do not have two heads–but i often feel that that is how i appear to strangers. as a complete freak of nature.
anyhoo. today a little girl walked past me as i doodled on this inkstain.
she said, to herself, not to me really, “what happened to that notebook?”
i answered her, “i spilled ink on it.”
when i interact with children…even my own…i have a tendency to be on their level. maybe because i have never really grown up? maybe because i feel intimidated by everyone–even your newborn child. i never approach a kids like, “i am the adult.” it’s more like, “hey, can i share your sandwich?” i always noticed how kids seem to like me, and i think it is because i make eye contact, i smile, i talk to them like they are people…because, well, they are people. when i worked in daycare, when i worked with teenagers, i never was able to be the authority figure. i was just me, hanging out with a bunch of kids. i don’t know if this is good or bad–but it is something i like about myself…so let’s call it “good.”
so when the little girl commented to herself…in surprise? in disapproval? in wonder?–about the state of my ink soaked journal. i answered her with a no frills no judgement this is what happened kind of answer.
she walked on.
also! i remembered a dream i had last night. i remembered it while i was driving today and wondering if there was car insurance on my parents’ truck which i was driving. i had talked with the insurance lady who kept calling (i hate talking on the phone and avoid it like the plague) trying to let me know that i needed insurance…but it’s my parents’ car, right? so i told her i would have them deal with it. and i called them and left it up to fate that they would actually call the insurance lady whom i was avoiding talking to….
so apparently this is weighing heavy on my conscience because last night i dreamed i was flying and in the clearing where i usually land, the insurance lady was working. so i had to acknowledge her existence as i flew in.
“did my mom call?” i asked her.
“yes,” she assured me. she did not seem surprised that i could fly. i waited for her to comment and she never did. so off i flew.
once my therapist had me write a list of good things about me. that was on the list, “i can fly.”
when exhusband#2 scoffed at that, i told him, “well, i have never tried…so i just assume i can.”
another thing i like about me.
yet something else i like about me
(isn’t this nice? this is nice, right?)
is that i find things like this in ink spills.
i like that these things live in my head to haunt and to inspire me.
i like that i can look at a blob of ink and think, “well that is clearly a tree’s ass.”