where’s my ass?

in a valiant effort to ignore the fucking heartache i am suffering right now, i am trying to update some of my pages so they don’t look like utter crap…right now i am working on my page of comics i have started…but not finished.
(if you want to volunteer any web-building skills? i can pay in inkings! or duck eggs!)
so i’m scanning in some old comics when–i realize i am missing comics! hard copies…yes, my filing system would indicate i am a genius per all those “you are a genius if” articles that i suspect are designed just to make those of us who have a tendency for absentmindedness feel better…however, it makes it impossible for me to find things.
i always put things in a safe & obvious place, and then promptly forget where they are.

so i’m in the process of tearing my house apart (aka: cleaning) to try & find said comics. so far, no good.

meanwhile….

man, i miss making comics.

this comic is one i started writing as i became increasingly disillusioned with living in a co-op. if you ask me, it is brilliant. of course, i never finished it…yet.

in my dreams

you were in my dreams last night
all of them
sweet dreams where i laid my head
on your chest
& hoped
that i would always feel that way
as i stared
into your warm brown eyes
hoping that you would always
love me.
how am i supposed to live like this
without you?
how am i supposed to embrace
the loneliness
of a life
without
you?
you are the ghost that haunts me
the haunting that leaves me
repenting my sins
you filled my dreams
last night
& now
i just want
to go back to sleep.

emperor ming: destiny’s chicken

maybe this is what happens when a comic artist
starts homesteading.

i like this. this is page one. i haven’t figured out page two yet. i have been too busy obsessing over on okcupid.

dammit! i so said i wasn’t going to do that!

fucking loneliness. and the more i read about other people the more i become convinced that i am an anomaly and that the only person who is going to embrace me & my lifestyle is the grifter/drifter character (played by both paul newman & don johnson) from the movie/mini-series the long, hot summer.

so that’s what i’m looking for now.

here’s a funny one. i got messaged that women like me used to be worshipped and the said messenger would happily cast rose petals at my feet & worship me accordingly as his queen.
i love messages like this. i was all ready to message back:
yes. i used to lead armies, burn cities, and demand the sacrifice of first born sons…but now i am trapped in illinois with four kids & no money or viable options for romance. fucking karma.

however, on okcupid, you now have to “like” someone in order to message them & i was unwilling to like this guy because he saw meteor showers as a waste of time & would never go for a walk in the woods or on a road trip.
seriously.
so what did he think our chances were? did he even read my profile?

silly internet dating.

the guys i do like do not message me back. (sad face)
but it is kind of fun digging through the brain closets of random strangers via not-so-well-thought-out multiple choice questions.

that’s all i got right now.
disillusionment & dead chicken comics.

aren’t you glad you’re following me?

hey, who left my heart open?

my heart is wide open
maybe too
open?
i can feel love everywhere
blowing in the
wind
i sniff around
smelling the heat of it
in the air around me
my heart
is wide open
an uncomfortable
but not
unwelcome
sensation
i wonder if i should
lock it away
again
i wonder if i even
remember
how to.

so this has been going on for awhile. each new connection with a person excites me. like falling in love. like my heart is that thing they have in submarines checking around for shapes in the water & going “blip” when it hits something.

that’s poetic, right?

blip goes my heart screen when it senses someone…a kindred spirit.
blip.

i’m not sure what to do about it. do i let it keep searching? should i keep getting excited with each possible spotting? with each blip of my heart?

i’m having no luck on the internet dating. i know it’s been all of–what? three days? i am just going to think of it as setting out the bait & checking back if i hear something go snap.

or blip

instead of obsessively checking it & reading profiles and answering 10,000 personality questions in hopes of finding that perfect match.
my profile is up.
i will either get a bite or i won’t.
plus, i think i have either terrible luck or choose the wrong guys. so i am trying to see who chooses me. i have messaged a couple…no reply.
i know i’m pretty. i know i’m smart…i also know i am irretrievably strange. so maybe there will be no takers?

blip

in other news:

1.)  agatha…& maybe quixote, have figured out how to get over/past/around the new fence if they feel compelled to do so.
goats are a pain in the ass…but, like my minions, i would not trade them. i love my goats as much as they piss me off sometimes.
i am going to put a permanent pasture up where i have the temporary fence as i have the woven fence in a place where i cannot properly electrify it.
do i ask dusty for help? or do we learn how to do these things without him?

2.)  i spend an extraordinary amount of time & energy every day getting my four year old into costume. he wakes up before the sun with a costume in his hand demanding my assistance. lately it is a full body ninja outfit which means he then needs my help to take it off when he has to pee. then back on again. then off when he decides he is no longer a ninja. then back on again.
seriously. i am going to lose my fucking mind.
again. i love my minions…but this one won’t take “no” for an answer, and i can only tolerate about an hour of shrieking before i give in.

3.)  so what’s the deal with freckle haters? (speaking of answering 10,000 personality questions) what do people have against freckles? i have answered at least two questions about whether or not i like freckles & how my potential partner should feel about freckles. what the fuck, y’all? what is not to like about freckles?
to quote my mother, “freckles are kisses from the sun.”
y’all should be so lucky to date a freckled goddess.

4.)  and i had to break down & buy some beer. hops. hops calm me down.
i had to fucking calm down.

5.)  i totally drew a picture to go with this journal entry…but i am still out of sorts & it is totally affecting my art. so i am not posting the picture because it super sucks enough that i am unwilling to share it. is that a first? that might be a first. i think i am going to watch lovesick on netflix & try to doodle out of my funk.

don’t look at my little heart

you haunt me.
21 years after i lost you
you still haunt me.
am i ridiculous?
why can’t i let go?
you did.
you left me.
even though i was the one
who got on the greyhound bus.
…every time i left you
i left you for someone
who wasn’t even half of who you are.
that should have said something
about how fucked up
i was.
and how much i wanted to destroy
myself.
when you left me
it was for a wife,
and some would say
you gave me too many chances
before leaving.
but in the end,
you did leave
and leave me
haunted.
if i ever had a heart
i lost it
when i lost you.
if i ever was
able to love,
it was only to fail
at loving you.
the universe’s way of kicking me down
when i boasted
that i didn’t believe in regrets
living my life without regrets
until i realized that my life is one big
regret.
regret…
i burned every picture
i ever had of you.
every
single
one.
cutting you out
and leaving myself alone
in an attempt
to get over you
but only making my regret
that much bigger
and myself
that much more alone.
haunted.

saint valentine’s day massacre

i am a mess.
i can’t seem to create.
i am all grumpy & screamy & desperate for space from children…& closeness with a grown up.

i tried to do an inking yesterday. it sucked ass. and then a minion got something on it. so i burned it in the fireplace.
it was called “unraveled”

yesterday i also got the bright idea to make valentines.
so i spilled red ink all over the place.
now i actually have to find the focus to make them.
when all i feel like doing is hiding in the closet with a bottle of whiskey.

i used to love valentine’s day.
you know, when i was stupid & optimistic
(i still am…now i call it “quixotic”)
i have no good experiences on which to base my love of valentine’s day.
just that annoyingly optimistic willingness to be loved.
i want(ed) so badly to be loved…that i was willing to enter hopefully into every valentine’s day.
i have never been the type of girl to get flowers from boys. no matter how much i wished it.
i’m just not that girl. i don’t know why. and sometimes i let it break my heart.
usually after i have a charlie brown valentine’s day.

i have written about my lost love of my life.
the one i have finally accepted that i will never get over (which really doesn’t make it that much easier to live with–my acceptance of my infliction, that is)
when our relationship came to it’s terrible conclusion, it was valentine’s day. he was in love with someone else, so he got me something i really wanted for valentine’s day.
a pair of white wingtip doc martins.
and i knew i had lost him.
guys only get me good stuff when they feel guilty about something.
that’s what i have learned over the years.
i get guilt presents.
not love presents.

i’m not a materialistic person. but i do like getting presents. i like flowers. i like feeling special. i like feeling like someone loves me.

i’m struggling with this so much right now. this crappy loneliness and heartbroken bullshit. i’ve had two lonely marriages. i have two ex-husbands actively regretting that they treated me so callously. do either of them get me flowers or a bottle of whiskey?

no.

they just lament treating me like crap.
loudly.
as if that helps.
it doesn’t.
because then all i wonder is where this devotion was when i was in love with them?
i’m not anymore.
i’m not in love with them.
but they behave as if i should welcome their renewed love
with open arms.

but, still, no flowers
no chocolates
no whiskey

and the one man who i want to hear renewed devotion from
remains quiet
except for the occasional flirty text:

what’s better than roses on your piano?

tulips on your organ.

and that’s the closest i get to a man giving me flowers.
and the closest i get to having a sex life.
sigh.

well, to make myself even more miserable
i put a price tag on my art.
to make myself feel even more rejected
i am putting my art out there…ish.

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