what’s the opposite of rolling with the punches?

so…i’m no longer living on a bus!
y’all–i managed to get off the bus!

me & the minions have a house in a quaint neighborhood of a quaint town in wisconsin.
and! i claimed a room as a room of my own! except for the pet rat, the dog, and being also a space for books & puzzles…i have a room that is all mine for writing & drawing & just staring out the window!
so that’s nice.
but i have flunked out of therapy…not before reprising my list of ideals for a romantic relationship, however.
next on my list of “what i want”…that guy who won’t make me feel like crap.

& then, also on the list of things i desire (after a roof & a man) is a job doing what i actually want to be doing.
i am working outside the home for the first time in forever….but the honeymoon is over on the new job.
now i just want to sit at home & draw…and write…and go for walks & on bike rides…garden a bit…travel….
sigh.

though i forgot about INKtober, as sarah of fresh hell pointed out to me, every day is kinda inktober for me. actually, ever since INKtober 2016, i have been covered in ink.
it’s a bit scary how much i have drawn in these last three years.
i should have a book…or something.
but, no, i am not exactly rolling with the punches….
i feel like a complete failure as my patreon page whispers softly to me, “my god you suck….”
& in other areas of life, mother–(crap…am i anything other than a mother???) i am also sucking suckiness.
if you want to confirm this for me (my failure as artist, writer, & mother) feel free to check out my patreon page.

so there is my way past due update, dear reader…

ps. i do not have internet (but would accept it as a gift) so any online postings are sporadic at best

self-portrait with bandaged heart

self-portrait with bandaged ear

it seems i am unable
to not
fuck things up
sabotage
is my secret weapon
against myself
do you laugh
or do you cringe?
silly stupid
crazy hostile
me
do you laugh or do you
cringe?
when you left
you left
a hole in me
for 22 years
i have worked to
deny it
fill it
fix it
mourn it
claim it was never there
& cry my heart out
over it
but i imagine
when you left
all that remained of me
was an
echo
maybe i am cursed
maybe i am
silly stupid
crazy hostile me
if anything
if everything
i am
ridiculous
i am ridiculous
who does this?
who holds on like this?
& why?
what will become of me?
another 22 years
limping along
living despite
this hole
this missing part?
i guess that is it
others have hurt me
but no one else
has left me
feeling
split in two.

if i were a van gogh…or a bronte sister…or adele, maybe this would be more romantic & less disturbed.
am i disturbed? or is it just that my heart knows what it wants
despite my best efforts to make it shut up and grow up and get over it already.

but i carry my cut out heart in a stained handkerchief to hand to the one i love.
figuratively speaking.

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