a wolf but not in sheep’s clothing (they itch too much) a wolf trapped in a pasture letting the grass grow long to the disgust of the flock hiding in the flowers that the neighbor sheep long to mow down a wolf in plain view terrified of being noticed of being chastised & condemned for being who she is.
(this is about me) i’m freaking out about city ordinances & the fact that i really just don’t fit in. i grew up in a small town. i suffered for it. so now i move into an even smaller town? maybe it will all be okay. but, meanwhile, i am going to be hiding in plain sight, having some panic attacks and visions of angry mobs.
my anxiety is an electric storm sky full of clouds bursting static with lightening my anxiety is a thick heaviness holding me together pulling me under pulling me apart as i try to just breathe just breathe breathe through the panic the terror my heart pounding out of my chest the phone rings the door knocks & my insides shriek while i pretend i can do this face another day a deer in the headlights frantically picturing green meadows.
i had to text my ex-landlord to remind her to give back my security deposit & almost died. (maybe not…but it felt that way.) why do i always assume i am doing something wrong? that i am a bad person? that i don’t deserve what is mine? why do i freak out with fear when i am put in the position of asking for something i am due? like i am committing some unforgivable crime in the asking? as i secretly wait to be crucified…. like the other day when i was getting my dog license in my new village…the city worker asked about my lawn. my reel mowered/scythed lawn. suggesting it was longer than allowed by the city. and now i peek out my window, waiting for the mobs with torches to tell me to stop fucking around & mow my lawn properly…even though i am pretty sure it is within regulations…mostly anyway…. fuck anxiety. just fucking fuck it.
(i have no idea where this illustration came from. i just kind of emptied my head & it sprang up in there. i like it. i miss doing comics & think about comics often…just haven’t drawn/written any lately…though i am back to using my art pens more than my bamboo pen….)
i have moved into my new house which, like me & the rest of my life, is a work in progress. i have had no time or energy or mental focus for any other creative endeavors. mostly i have been spending my time cleaning, moving, or having clusters of panic attacks…sometimes all three at the same time. this is a big fucking change. it’s my house. again, like me, it needs lots of love. lots & lots of love.
it is really tricky feeding four children with only an electric griddle, toaster oven, and outdoor grill. i keep going back and forth between getting an electric stove or a wood stove. i really want a wood stove, but i am having trouble wrapping my brain around it–especially during panic attacks. i also haven’t committed to having a fridge…but i do have a freezer. i want to put in shelves…but i suppose i have to put up walls first, huh. thank god it’s summer.
everything is in piles which wreaks havoc on my ocd. i want to organize everything…but of course, eventually i will have to unorganize it again to work on the walls & floor. i want to do everything sustainably & for as little money as possible. i have started frequenting the “amish walmart” in this area & am planning a trip to check out a nearby habitat for humanity restore as well. i want to be creative and unconventional. any ideas?
here is what i see from my front porch as well as from my office. last night i was able to hear the frogs in the nearby creek…of course, i can also hear the traffic from a nearby highway…but that’s what happens when you can’t decide between rural & urban. so far the town is nice. it’s just 700 and a handful of people. my kids aren’t yet convinced it’s the place for us…but i love it.
i am literally having a panic attack looking through google docs & files files files on my hard drive & months months months of writings here & in the physical journals from whence they sprung …it’s too much too fucking much how many words can there be? how many emotions vomited all over my laptop? now fuck it there is one more.
i am serious about getting together a collection to try to publish…but holy fucking crap. there is so much–crap–to wade through. do i keep it to the actual art journal project? do i add in some older stuff? some sideways stuff? some stuff i don’t even remember writing?
i need a personal assistant/editor stat!
this is going to be one of those “kill your darlings” moments i always heard about in writing workshops, isn’t it?
get me a bottle of whiskey & a blowtorch, y’all, i’m going in!