love in the time of ocd

is it love
or ocd
do i want him
or is it just
that i want to get it
right
have a do-over
fix a wrong
scrub a black mark off
my soul
forgive me, ex-boyfriend
for i have sinned
it might be love
but it is most definitely
ocd
he is my crooked painting
my light switch
maybe left on
he is that itch
that involuntary
twitch
getting over him
getting over it
is my
mount everest
(i’m ready to start
climbing)

busy with the self-analysis, and it felt like an egon schiele moment.

i like how it turned out. this is how i feel. lumpy bumpy and dislocated. hunting for publishers and refreshing myself on writing query letters after a couple of decades of lying low…as i said in yesterday’s post, it all has me feeling fragile. trying to ignore the little voices as they snarl, “who the fuck would publish you?”
grumpy bumpy lumpy me.

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contemplation

i have been thinking a lot
about crossroads
decisions
choices made
going the wrong way
like a runaway truck
i have been
thinking
a lot
about fear
why was i so afraid
of you?
why did i run away
every chance i got?
i have been thinking a lot
about needs
about spending my life
unwilling
to need
anyone
would you believe me now
if i said
i am ready
willing
able
to need you?

artist’s note: do you ever get done with a sketch, just waiting for some ink to dry, admiring your work & feeling pleased with yourself, and then the small children chase the dog over to where you are working & before you know what’s happening, the dog jumps up and paws your wet ink? i am pretty sure this is why virginia woolf told us to find a room of our own…..

my puzzle to solve

you can walk a mile
in my shoes
i will take a turn in yours
but don’t
judge
my crazy
whatever gets you through
the night
whatever keeps you
in the fight
just don’t you dare
judge my
crazy
i put it on display
my porch light
so you know you are
welcome
know you are not
alone
my candle to find a way
through the dark
but my crazy
is my own puzzle to solve
you don’t know my pain
anymore
than i know yours
so
don’t mess with my crazy
sometimes
it is the only thing
that makes
sense.

sharp stick

my cruel
subconscious
that two-faced
cunt
has to know
what a mess i am
(it has a front row seat
to my pain)
so
why does it wait
until i am
asleep
vulnerable
to take a stick
&
poke me hard
in the tender spots
with dreams
of you?

nothing like a fresh obsession to get the journal pages going again.

while i wait for my latest case of obsession to pass, i am thankful that i am not really able to ride my bike past his house three times a day as he lives three states away.
and i have a houseful of kids
a yardful of critters
depending on me to not jump in the river of crazy and swim away.
so there is that.

revolving door

i’m ruined
every time i see you
i’m ruined
how are you still able to break my heart?
how are you still able to make it beat faster?
i’m ruined
every
time
i
see
you
it sucks
so fucking hard
to realize
i still love you
i’m ruined
i have let you go
so many times now
i have become a revolving door for you
leaving me
ruined.

another page inspired by seeing dusty and having to fight the desperate longing for him that i thought i had managed to kill.
fucking dusty.

 

my guardian dear

i felt myself
replacing
trading
one obsession
for another
stories to tell myself
at night
to keep me from studying
eternity
& collapsing
into my own
anxiety
i tell myself stories
about someone
that someone
who will love me
no matter what
classic coping mechinism
a therapist might say
sexual addict
my therapist did say
except
this time
i let it go
i let it go
my new obsession
the one to rock me to sleep
at night
i let it go
& i felt
my heart
relax
with a soft
sigh.

i am not sure i said what i wanted to say. i may have to play with this one a lot before i am happy with it. and i have artist’s block. after drawing myself so so so many times (by the way–i put up a new page of my latest self portraits–in the menu above…it’s like over 50 self-portraits…holy fuck, right??) i just don’t know what to do with myself anymore.
plus
in my art journal
the two pages before this one were (ick!) love poems to the person i was using as my new obsession. i did draw pictures for them. one sucked but the other wasn’t half bad…except…ew…love poems. so i am not posting them. because it is just dumb. dumb for me to think about love.
christ, i feel old today. & stupid. am i going to ever learn?
but, yes, i did quit the obsession. i did decide i didn’t feel like having a new person ignore me.
so i am quite quite quite
alone.
even in my imagination.

ps. the title today comes from the prayer i would say at night when i was terrified i was going to die during the night. it’s called “angel of god” i think.

angel of god, my guardian dear,
to whom god’s love commits me here,
ever this day, be at my side,
to light and guard,
to rule and guide.

talk to me

obviously
i cannot come up with the
magic words
that will induce you
to talk to me again…
& maybe
maybe
you should tell me to “stop”
but i am pretty sure
my heart
would turn to dust
if you did
so i keep trying
some crazy stalker chick
to get your attention
recognizing
that you must know
my being ignored
only encourages me more
as i grew up
pretending
hostile silence
was actually deep
affection
a character flaw
i really need to out grow
& totally would…
but it’s you
it’s you
& i can’t stop
i can’t
please
please please please
talk to me
please
please.

it’s my birthday & i can obsess if i want to.
you know, if i ever did become famous…or infamous (really it could go either way with me)…if i ever did become renowned, this obsession of mine will make a great made-for-tv movie.

performance anxiety & high school reunions

emails from ex-cheerleaders
high school reunion
for this small town freak
i was going to be famous
by now
i was going to be
bigger than the beatles
but
you know
life got in the way
now i am a single mom
an unknown
just another cog
turning circles around
social media
but going nowhere
really.

so if anyone is looking for a good time, i have an invite to my 30 year high school reunion….
i wasn’t invited to my 20 year…the only time i actually was in a relationship. granted it was with dusty…but he’s charming & easy on the eyes. he might have been a good date….
my 10 year i was invited to…and i found a date…but then i ended up deciding it would be more fun just to get laid & skip the reunion.
that was pretty much how a lot of my decision making was done when i was in my 20s.

i have been depressed ever since i got the invite.
plus i had to see dusty to pick up the kids yesterday.
plus every song is still reminding me of seymour as he continues to ignore me….

in other news!

i was invited to join the literati mafia!!! so my imposter’s syndrome and anxiety about anyone noticing me is on full blast.
full blast, y’all.
and i am working on a post for them. which, of course, i am worried will not be good enough…but in my head it is an awesome response to the invite to my high school reunion/another obsessive piece about seymour.

so stay tuned!

(the illustration today is my practicing my figure drawing. lots of nipples & cooch in figure drawing, as it turns out.)

ps. i posted my memoir, in full without illustrations over on medium.

stream of consciousness…nipples!

sometimes
you just have to sit
& do nothing
to stare at the ceiling fan
wait!
i have chocolate cake
in the
fridge…
is it possible
i wonder
to fall in love
with just someone’s nipples?
no–
hear me out
black & white photo
selfie
just the torso
in a tight t-shirt
with magnificent nipples
shining through…
why are my ducks so loud?
incessant quacking and–
fuck…now i’m out of ink
how am i supposed to have a train
of thought
god i miss those nipples
ode
to an okcupid
nip pic….
i really need to figure my art
out
i really need to figure my life
out
what if…
no–i almost had it
the answer
the answer to everything
but then i just start thinking
about
obsessing about
those glorious
nipples.

so here’s a change of pace. just a random stream-of-consciousness about a stranger’s nipples…for those of you tired of reading about my obsessive attachment to an ex or my bouts of loneliness & self-doubt.
nipples!
i have been goofing off on online dating sites again. leave me alone all by myself in the middle of nowhere with my idle thoughts and then i’m all like, “you know who would benefit from these idle thoughts? random people on the internet!” and where do you find random people on the internet willing to listen to my idle thoughts (at least for a message or two….) that’s right–okcupid!
so there you go.
it’s like talking to myself…but with another person.
wait…you know what that is?
a motherfucking conversation!

i try to tweet, but i get a much better following on dating sites. i have no idea why. i’m honestly shocked when anyone actually responds to me or my profile. but strangely they do. it’s a nice little ego boost. maybe i should just post all my art over there…..

anyhoo.
i was drawing this self-portrait on this stream of consciousness piece and thought–that doesn’t look like me. but then i realized it does look like me–if i knew how to put on make-up. so i left the freckles out, assuming that make-up would cover them up. but look! i have eyelashes.
and i fucked up the hand again. it’s going in the wrong direction. i’m like dyslexic about fingers. so, you know what? it’s someone else’s hand.
now that’s sexy.

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