memoir in progress

i started working on a memoir over on tumblr (link is on the right hand side there… “meet me in the sunroom”)

i am writing it on tumblr because, frankly, i fit in better with the hopeless romantics over there…the open hearts & injured souls. i get more of a response over on tumblr than i do here. i mean, i totally appreciate y’all who do read me, but there just aren’t very many of you.

so i will keep this as my “website” for business (if that ever happens) purposes…but i might start doing my ranting over on tumblr.
i am trying to decide if i should delete my blog & just keep my artwork up? we’ll see.

anyhoo. in more efforts to exorcise demons, talk to ghosts, and figure myself out, i have started a memoir about seymour and myself. i used a stock photo of matt dillon to do this quick portrait. it doesn’t look like either one of them…but it does what i need it to do.

that’s all for now.
xxoo.

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silly love song

silly love song

i’ve realized
you are the only person
i want to be
with
not someone like you
(as unlikely as that is)
not someone who treats me
like you treated me
but you
exactly you
only you
when i think of dating
of loving
anyone else
i feel repulsed
when i imagine
dancing in my kitchen
with you
waking every morning
to you
my whole body tingles
& i swear
i must glow
with sweet longing.

writing this was easy…sharing it–not so much. so i started wondering as i tend to do. why is it easier for me to share my dark & disturbing parts?
my sad & barely surviving parts?
my anxious & depressed parts?
my struggles & shortcomings?
my feelings of worthlessness & isolation?
my oh so crazy bits?
but sharing something i wrote about love…my feelings of love…for another person…i feel like i have gone too far.
i feel like i have crossed some sort of line.
this shouldn’t be allowed!
and, to boot, it is unrequited love i am celebrating.
yuck. so gross.
why do i react to love as if it is something unspeakable? unthinkable? illogical? is this cultural/generational or is it reflective of my damage? or…is my damage also reflective of my culture/generation?

there are entire movies. entire tv series. books, poetry, and songs. all of these. dedicated to love. all kinds of love.
so why do i feel so stupid admitting that i love someone?

so in art journal psychotherapy today we have learned that i am more comfortable with & even celebratory of my darkness & my damage and will happily shove it right in your face….
but when it comes time to share my thoughts of love & devotion & romantic longing…for a man of all things…to admit that i have these feelings…then i ready myself to fall on my sword.
i find being morose a more natural & acceptable state than being dreamy.
yet i call myself quixotic and think of myself as whimsical? a puzzle inside an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.
do you see the exhausting challenge of being me? of living in my head?
but!
in the interest of balance
here it is
a little of my yang for all of the yin
a silly love song.

let’s take a little break with some moses jones

holy crap, y’all
i got a little addicted to the okcupid.
i jokingly told my kids that it was my favorite
online game.
i would go to the profile of someone
who supposedly
i had more in common with
& very little uncommon with
and i would read through their answers
to those random
fucked up questions
i think i lost two days?
three?
depression, loneliness, & online dating
my idea was
get this
i would find someone sane
to date, fall in love, & rule the world with
and i looked at all these guys
while giving some vanilla (vanilla for me)
answers
to hard questions
(some i did answer more hap-hazardly)
hoping to find mr. right-minded.
you know the guy who
lets me be as crazy as i need to be
but is there to catch me when i fall.
i messaged some of those guys.
nothing back.
so then one night i come across the most bitterly
funny
& dark
& admittedly not-right-in-the-head profile
and i’m all like
yes!
i love you!
&, of course, not being right in the head
myself
i message him this.
nope.
not even the crazies
are crazy enough
to date me.

but enough about me.
here is page two of my graphic novel moses jones: apocalyptic mama. i haven’t done any art in the past couple of days due to binging on okcupid & then crying myself to sleep, but i hope to do some tonight. maybe a new page of mojo? so those of you who have never read it, take a peek. there is a link up yonder.  and if you feel like collaborating &/or dating & running away with me. give me a holler.

(“rosanna” by toto just came on my mix, so i’m guess that that is a sign that the one crazy enough to sweep me off my feet is near 😉 )

ps. i put this photo of me awkwardly playing with my bokken on my okcupid profile…bad idea or good idea?

picture7

a human connection

oftentimes i have hope
other times i don’t
belief that there is a person out there
willing to be there for me
willing to care about me
willing to help me up
when i fall down…

i so often fall down…

sometimes i have hope
sometimes i just want to hear a friendly
voice
share a laugh
talk about mundanely inane things
a warm body
so to speak
when i feel so cold
& alone

why do i feel so cold & alone?

sometimes i have hope.
maybe i shouldn’t
maybe hope is a thing that just hurts
maybe hope is a thing to put in a box
and forget all about
i wish i could forget all about
my hope
i wish i could put myself
in a box

when i posted on facebook about how my date-to-be not only cancelled on me but also blocked me on facebook, i had a “friend” comment this:

You may not like what I am about to say, but why are you looking so hard? Buy a “toy” online, and focus on your kids, your art, your animals. Isn’t the last thing you need another ex?

what the what the fuck? if you need to start your statement with “you may not like what i am going to say,” maybe you should re-think saying it. is it helpful? in this case–no it is not fucking helpful. i let this woman know that i am not “trying so hard” and that i have toys already. i also let her know that my kids, art, & homestead are my life. they are all i have. literally & figuratively. i asked her why she would begrudge me a human connection? and asked why she assumed it would be another ex?

mother fucker.

earlier that day i did my tarot & they warned me about a petty & jealous woman whose advice i should not heed. i wondered & meditated on this because i could not think of anyone like that in my life.  i concluded that it must be me. that i was petty & out to fuck myself over…huh…i guess i was wrong.
fucking tarot could have warned me that dude was going to flake out on me.
but i knew it already. i felt it already. i don’t know why though. i wonder sometimes if i was communicating with more than one person (that’s how different the impressions were when i was messaging with him.) i was sure he had lost interest. then all of a sudden he wants to see me. then he blocks me on facebook.

or is that just standard internet dating?

my brain likes a puzzle, so i keep going over details in my head.
is he married?
is he crazy?
did one of my outspoken opinions on facebook freak him out?
is he secretly a republican or a moron? (from his pof profile, fb profile, and conversations, he presented himself as someone intelligent, sensitive-ish, and on the left…however, he posted two sophomoric posts a couple of days before our supposed date…then deleted them the next day.)

i have heard other women talk about things like this happening. and on pof it happened once before for me. some guy coming on strong & then vanishing. and i kicked myself for falling for whatever ruse it was.
same here, i want to punish myself for being stupid enough to have any kind of hope of a human connection.

is it my fault for being naive & believing in people? i guess you could look at it that way. and i know plenty of people who have sworn off any hope of ever being in a happy relationship.
i can’t do that.
i can’t give up because giving up would be…giving up.

i can’t give up.

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.