unfinished

i grew up in a house
that was never
finished
a house that was never
whole
the house was built
before i was born
but remained
always
unfinished
incomplete
through my entire life there
after i left
they built a sunroom
remodeled the prison cell style
bathroom
carpeted
the basement
but still left the house
unfinished
incomplete
i cannot imagine
the house i grew up in
as ever finished
but as i look around the unfinished
house
i live in now
i can clearly see it whole
if not
finished.

so how much did it affect me to grow up in a house that was never finished? was it a reflection on my birth family? my parents?
it kind of drove me crazy. two large rooms in the house just became a parking garage for crap. they could have been finished. they just never were.
what does this say?
now i have my madness manor which has missing floor. missing walls…. & i wonder, am i just socialized now to accept an unfinished house…or did i buy an unfinished house so i could finally finish the unfinished part of me?
does any of this make sense?
(it totally does to me)

this is the last page of my art journal started on april 6th of this year. while i was trying to ink my monarch woman, i watched a monarch butterfly flit around the flowers in my yard. seemed kismit at the time 🙂

value impaired

i don’t value myself.
why don’t i value myself?
how do i learn to value myself?

case in point. yesterday i realized i had no idea where i had left the box full of my books i have available for sale should someone want an autographed copy.
i searched for over an hour, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
i eventually found the box being used to prop up my daughter’s doll house.
nice.
so how do i learn to value myself? why do i continue to make myself the lowest priority? the last person i will support?
fuck me.
(wait! don’t fuck me–be nice to me! believe in me, goddammit)

reading for me

am i searching for signs
of me
in every book
i read
pleasantly surprised
when i see
myself
in a character
in the reflection
of another writer
so i can whisper
“i am not alone
i am not a complete
anomaly.”

i have been reading a lot lately. you can check out my fickle reviews on goodreads (i think there is a link on my sidebar?) i notice that i gravitate towards writers who remind me of myself, either in style or in the characters they create…or in the message their works seem to have.
being crazy empathic, i also disappear into stories sometimes, actually taking on the grief or anger or joy of a character. sometimes i wonder how healthy this is. especially when my kids need me, & i have vanished into someone else’s work of fiction.
if i am on a writing streak, i can also disappear into my own fiction.
i feel like maybe i need to ground myself more when characters are running amok in my head….

i’m glad i’m me

“i love myself
i’m glad i’m me
there’s no one else
i’d rather be”
goes the storybook
i read
to my children
& it’s true
even with all my self-loathing
there is
no one else
i’d rather be.

but i really am not happy with this illustration. oh well. some days you eat the bear. some days the bear eats you.

buy my art

i am currently working on more pieces for my etsy shop.
i am also half-assedly working on my novel & will be doing more pages of moses jones. these are two projects i am passionate about even though i wander away from them too frequently…i do wander back. i am not sure they appeal to others…but they do make me happy.
my journaling has once more ebbed…waned…but i will continue to keep my journal close. it might morph into more memoir writing? less of the vomited free verse & more of the spastic prose? i guess we will see. there are just three blank pages & one half-finished page left in my most recent journal, & it has been a few days since i have used it other than to make new pieces from old pages. i don’t want to give up my journal. i just might need to adjust my relationship with it as i seem to have entered a new phase of my ever-changing life.

to summarize, my posts here might be more sporadic, but i hope y’all will stay tuned.
xo.

page 61

another page of moses jones: apocalyptic mama.
i have been working on this comic on & off since 2013 when i was in madison, wisconsin, attending university & living in a housing co-op.
my relationship with my ex. my children. and my experiences in a housing co-op have all heavily influenced this comic.
as well as my early exposure to apocalyptic dystopian themes in movies.

one day i hope to publish a collection of these.
one day.

soul mates

just doodling.
i never really know what i am doodling until it’s doodled.
i never know if i am going to like it or not.
i still haven’t decided about this one.

in other news…i am still trying to figure out a way to make money.
i slashed prices on all of my art.
i was thinking i could start selling baked goods…but i still don’t have an oven or a chimney….
man i need a chimney.
it’s going to be cold this winter if i don’t have my woodburning stoves up & going.
i have a yard full of hard wood stacked.
i have a woodburning stove on my porch.
but i have no chimney & cannot find a mason for the life of me….

oh, and i need income
because i am running low on funds….

sex education

i learned about sex from HBO
i learned about sex from sidney sheldon & stephen king
sure my mom told me the basics
the technicalities of it
but HBO showed me how it was done
cinemax on friday nights
before internet porn there was cable tv
before internet porn there were smutty books
i have never regretted coming of age
in the 80’s
way before the easy availability
of porn
when sex was still magical
with bits left to the imagination.

random thoughts from the too much information bits of my brain. hmmm. maybe i have sex on the brain. i can’t remember for sure what triggered this random thought.

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