sky blue eyes & an artichoke heart

i have been a bit brain dead of late & have not been furiously journaling as usual.
i’m not sure what is going on, but future journal posts will touch on my weird state of non-agitation since, fuck it, i have to journal about something!
this page of my journal was just my trying to get my brain moving. as lynda barry teaches, i started with spirals. at the very least, spirals work to calm me down.
but, again, i am already strangely calm.
so not used to being calm.
but from making spirals, i ended up contemplating my artichoke heart….

the gathering

so y’all remember when i became obsessed with lynda barry and tried to get her to be my friend?
no?
well, do you remember when i became obsessed with amanda palmer and tried to get her to be my friend?
fine…nevermind.
so i’m reading jenny lawson’s book¬†furiously happy¬†and i’m trying really hard not to message her or anything because i really don’t think i can take more rejection right now. i tried to comment on her blog…and the comment never showed up. so now i’m wondering if she just deleted it for being irrelevant? or i fucked up posting it? but i can’t risk trying again because…you know…the rejection part.
maybe if i had had more than just imaginary friends as a kid.
and as a grown-up.
i’m probably fucking up my kids by homeschooling them & not being enough of an extrovert to get them out to meet other kids and now they will someday stalk celebrities that they feel a false sense of connection with….

wait.
that was not where i was going with this.
so i’m reading her book….
i just lost my train of thought because poppy will not use the toilet on his own–he is completely capable–but will not do it. if i don’t take him, he screams at me until i do…then if i forget & wander off without carrying him back to where we started, he screams until i do. yesterday he broke a mirror because i didn’t carry him from the bathroom when he was done peeing…but that’s not where i was going with this either.
but it kind of was.
i cannot handle my life.
i fucked up by trying to have a life.
i cannot handle my dogs.
my kids.
my house.
my yard.
my chickens.
my sheep have overgrown toenails that apparently it is up to me to trim and i just don’t want to do it. i just don’t. i don’t want to do any of it. i want to quit.
quit.
quit.
quit.
but that’s not really an option. is it? i mean, i could sylvia plath…or kramer vs. kramer…but those options have a lot of terrifying consequences.

there it is!
so i am reading her book, and i am confused by her husband. first he seems like a pain in the ass. but she seems to really like him? i keep thinking of him as being played by colin firth and was going to message her that…but, you know, rejection.
so!
then i realize, he is like the voice of sanity in her life. he is her port of safety. then i think, i would really like someone like that in my life. you know, instead of always being in relationships with men who are looking for mothers & try to make me the sane one–the responsible one–the grown-up.
i’m not.
and all these years of having to pretend to know what i’m doing…
it has done it’s damage.
so i need jenny lawson’s victor.
except…i don’t think i could find a sane man (or woman) who would love me & take care of me and that would be asking a lot since i also want that person to help around the house…so i realized that i have to hire someone to be my port of safety.
i need a companion.
a nurse.
a personal assistant.
someone who can talk me in off the ledge.
and buy me ice cream.
i have to hire someone to fill this position. but i have no money. so i have to sell my art to make money to hire someone to take care of me.
that is my new plan.

(crap, looking at the original ink stain, i think i could have done more with this…but my brain feels like a bag of broken glass…so….)

inkstains-5

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