hotel california

the drone of the fans
in the basement
will hopefully help me sleep
’cause last night
i was awake
or fitfully sleeping
twisting & turning
as water
crept & dripped into my basement
gallons of water
absorbed into
powder
fucking
blue
carpet…
i used to call this place
bullfrog song
now i call it
hotel california
i just want to be
anywhere
but
here
but road trips detoured
by leaky
basements….

i was totally going to go to iowa & look for a place to live. however! water coming in through a wall dumping gallons onto the floor despite the floor drain just feet away….
this place is a fucking nightmare.
& my mom is pissed that my dad died first & left her to deal with it.
& i’m pissed that i got tricked into living here by siblings that wanted to live footloose & fancy free far away from familial home….
added to my list of things i never wanted to do alone: deal with a flooded basement.

i am brain dead.
all i can do is watch ryan renolds movies, drink beer, & wander to the basement on occasion to bail out this sinking ship….

fuck me.

wrong way

as i was loading up the inkstain for this inking, i saw several different figures i did not see when i did this drawing. i kind of want to go back & do it with what i see in the ink now. that’s what i get for working while watching doctor who while minions crawl all over me.

wrongway1

i dunno. i’m not sure i like this one. i’m not sure what it is about. if it is about anything. are my pictures really ever about anything? or are they about everything? i draw what i see & what i feel.

but overall, i really do like my work. i really do. i was looking to see what it would look like on t-shirts & mugs…on leggings. i think my ink would be cool on leggings.

and, of course, it would look nice hanging on walls. i have mine hanging all around me. my favorites…or ones with elements that i want to use more. inspirations.

also! my nephews read my¬†moses jones zines & now want to be part of the story. i was like, “what the hell…i can do that.” maybe that’s how i can make money. write personal graphic novels for people. ha! let people star in their own comic.

it didn’t work out so well for my exhusband #2. he wanted to be in moses jones, and that is how dusty was born. i didn’t plan to make him into a “bad guy” or “dead-beat dad” (as one comic review labeled him.) i wrote & drew what i felt, and it turned my ex into dusty knickers.

he will never forgive me for it, either.
oh well.

how is that going, you ask?
great!
though i am still struggling with doing it all on my own, i have not once regretted asking him to leave. i do not want him back. he wheedles and manipulates and tries to wiggle back in, but i am so tough i won’t even go to eat culver’s with him. yes. you heard me. i turn down free culver’s so that i do not have to interact with my ex. that, my friends, is a strength i have not felt in years.
so
yay for me.

sleepover

i found something to do with my anger.
i was striking out at everyone i cared about, seemingly without remorse. well, there was remorse, but i tucked it away.
i was getting uglier and uglier.
then it occurred to me, that i could use this absence of remorse to stand up to the person i never have the absence of feelings to assert myself to.
if that makes sense.
in my head, i am always telling him i want him to leave, but in reality i only say it during fights. then he dismisses it as soon as the fight is over.
so today, knowing my heart was cold
i told him not to come back.
you know what a cunt i am? he is in wisconsin for the death of his grandma. i took that opportunity to tell him not to come back.
that’s how cold, hateful, frozen and dark my heart was today.
i told him, “there is no good time to do this. there just isn’t.”
and that is true. but it doesn’t make me think i am being something of a cunt by kicking him out right after his grandma died.
but the thing is.
this horrible depression started as soon as he left for wisconsin. this horrible hateful madness. which is weird–usually i am happy when he goes.
but i realized i was depressed because i knew he would come back.
that he would come back.
that he would be back in my home.
tormenting me.
that i would be right back stuck in a terrible situation
of his living here and refusing to leave.
fuck me.
i felt better after i told him not to come back.
i felt better after standing up for myself.
even if it does make me a cunt.
i stood up for myself.
i said the words i have been thinking for months now.
god,
what a fucking relief.

i don’t feel good about it,
but i’m glad it’s over.

this is from an ink splatter i did
a few days ago
when i was feeling this terrible energy.
you can tell,
the ink is pretty agitated.

inkstainsleepover

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