a bee stung me
in the face
mowed down my ditches
i had left wild
with hopes of cultivating
for the bees
& then crop dusters
somehow within their
dive bombed the fields
leaving poison in their wake
& all i could do was worry
for the bee who stung me
for her sisters in the hive
for her sisters foraging
in the ditches & fields
because i know
without a doubt
& can see
despite my eyes being
almost swollen shut
that their lives
are vastly more important
vastly more meaningful
it is not that i think my life is meaningless. well, relatively speaking it is as well–but i was saying all human life is meaningless. seriously. what are we good for? we hurry around this planet acting so important & superior…but what do we do?
we are a plague worse than any other.
we destroy land.
kill off species after species.
why? what is our purpose?
the bee is an honest & hardworking creature. one with purpose. look to the flowers & fruit. that is the bee’s work.
have we ever done anything half as important as that?
my misery is evolving into epiphanies about the misery of all of us. this is exciting, right?
when last we left off with our hero, she was slaying zombies in the forest while foraging for supplies….
actually, i started a new episode after this called “the return of dusty.” but it puttered out.
i have been trying to get it re-started…but i really don’t think i want dusty in my story anymore. i think it is time to write dusty out of the script.
which i did, last night. i have yet to draw it though.
meanwhile, the real dusty is threatening to come visit. i am torn. while i wish i lived in a world where i never had to see him or his hell-spawn of a mother again…i also hate the idea of my minions going away to wisconsin again to spend a week with him & his hell-spawn of a mother again.
it is one of those things i have severe anxiety/control issues about. i mean i became a stay-at-home mom when i realized i could not leave my child at home. instead i was taking baby fidgit with me when i went out to pick up stray animals. he was sitting in on dog evaluations with me at the humane society where i was employed when he was born.
realizing i could not leave him, i quit my job.
i know i cannot control their lives. it just seems dumb to let him take them to wisconsin when he doesn’t even know what the fuck he is doing with his life.
he is taking my minions to live in his limbo.
it just seems dumb.
so my choices are to let them go…or deal with dusty in my space.
fuck a duck.
so i am currently trying to figure out which hurts less….
in other news. i am having a crisis of faith with my art.
i guess that’s not really news….
today i tried to read a comic book & found i could not. comic books seem dumb to me now. maybe not all of them, but definitely the mainstream ones.
i tried to post my page that i made yesterday (archangel carl) on a facebook group called “women creating comics” along with my lament about my crisis of faith…but as soon as someone started suggesting things i could do to make my art more “acceptable” to the comic world, i deleted my post & almost quit the group.
what would van gogh do?
oh! i almost forgot! (thank goodness for blog titles)
so we recently entered year of the dog. i was born in the year of the dog. i looked back, and other than my 12th year, i could remember having a life changing event in every year of the dog since my birth. maybe there was one when i was 12 too–i just can’t remember for sure. in retrospect, every decision i made in my years of the dog were the wrong ones.
so this year
i am determined to get it right.
to be true to myself and to stay true to my path.
whatever it may be.
so with the first full moon of this lunar year…i am struggling to find the path that i have determined i should stick to….
wish me luck.
the harder i try
the more invisible
the louder i cry
anyone can hear
the more i look
the bigger pariah
put the last three journal pages together & it is my trifecta of torment.
poppy was screaming at me almost the entire time i was drawing & painting this. he wanted cream cheese & toast, but he has been holding his poop lately and i am afraid of creating a dairy stoppage…so i told him no.
over & over
as he screamed at me for cream cheese & toast.
i offered him other foods…but he only wanted cream cheese & toast.
eventually i relented.
which makes me the worse mom? having him scream at me for something that might make him sick? or giving in & giving it to him?
being a mom is a catch 22.
i woke up in a good mood this morning. however, fidgit & iggy were relentlessly cruel to me–in the way only children can be to their barely-holding-it-together, ultra-tormented mother–until i snapped.
which is why there are so many demons in my drawing.
i feel like i am filled with demons.
y’all are probably tired of reading my journal & looking at my self-portraits. y’all are probably tired of hearing about how i never wanted to do this alone. never wanted to wrestle with four headstrong children by myself. never wanted to be single & lonely & overwhelmed by my roles in life.
i’m still talking about it. still. it still weighs down my heart.
i’m still writing about it.
i’m still drawing it.
i see you
i see you now
you hide in your chameleon’s skin
you turn the tables
you play victim
you say, “i wouldn’t have done it if you–”
you say, “but look at how awful you are”
you are a master of distraction
a master of disguise
while a moth wears predator’s eyes
you are a shithead in sheep’s clothing
bear with me, y’all. i am working through some angst & frustration.
nothing to see here!
it’s all a part of the healing….
now i need to go do some art.
(the minions are out of town & i am down in the dumps)
i don’t know what’s going on in this picture
i don’t know what’s going on in my own life
sometimes i feel at one with the universe
sometimes i want to scream until my voice is gone
maybe i want to scream
because i am one
with the universe
why isn’t the universe screaming?
or maybe it is
& we just aren’t listening.
maybe i can feel it screaming
and that is why i am so angry.
i just want to paint. to draw. to not feel so angry.
and i have a son
who is the essence of his father
i catch myself having the same
arguments with him
that i would have with his father
the same circle
ending in screams
because we don’t know how to do this
i don’t want to hate my son
i do not hate my son
i just hate the circumstances
that create the chaos
that i find myself in.
that makes about as much sense
as my picture.
so we have come full circle.
so as it turns out,
i’m not crazy–i’m an empath.
sometimes i’m still crazy.
but when i get super sad and then feel elated the next minute–
the thing is–
i often don’t feel my own emotions,
i feel other people’s emotions.
i always knew i was really really empathetic
but only in the past couple of years have i learned about being an empath.
so i’m an empath.
i feel things
and know things
that other people cannot sense.
i know when someone is lying.
i can see an aura better than i can notice the color of your eyes.
and it has come to my attention that being an empath–& not knowing how to protect yourself–is a dangerous & even a bad thing.
i don’t know how to protect me.
i lay open for everyone to just dump their emotions in.
and then i turn into a raging pond of dumped emotions.
so today i was reading a book about service dogs for families that have special needs children and i felt profoundly sad. and instead of just feeling sad, i examined why i felt sad…only to realize that the sadness was not my own, but the sadness of these families.
it finally clicked.
i was not feeling my own emotions.
i was feeling someone else’s!!
and just like that, the sadness evaporated.
how often am i doing that?
being angry with someone else’s anger?
being happy with someone else’s happiness?
being frustrated with someone else’s frustration?
when i was a child, i loved animals. all animals. i loved them. i collected them. i had over fifty pets as a kid–and even more imaginary ones.
but my dad was so angry.
and he put that anger on us kids
and on the animals.
and i felt myself absorb that anger.
i felt it grow inside me.
i recognized it when it came out–it was his anger, not mine.
but over the years i adopted it as my own.
i was the one being angry at the animals.
it stopped being his and became mine.
and i felt so horrible about it
i cringe to think that that is who i am.
but what if it isn’t?
if i now realize it is not my anger after all…can i send it on its way?