smoke in the air

he lures me outside with a cigarette
he wants “to talk”
he always wants “to talk”
except when it mattered
years & years ago
& years not so long ago
when i tried
& tried & tried & tried
to get him to talk to me….
he’s leaving again
i’m making him leave
again
& he is sad
& i try not to let his sad seep into my soul…
once the talk is done
(for now)
we come back inside
& as i remove my coat
the necklace that he gave me for a birthday long ago
falls
falls from its place around my neck
a broken cord
…how much more symbolic can you get?

this self-portrait got away from me. i ended up looking like my mom…again. or tom waits…and what the fuck is up with the coloring?

with all of these journal pages, i think i will re-do them as a finished piece…one day…if i like them enough.

maybe then this one won’t look the way i feel inside.

(or is that a good thing–art wise?)

while doing this, i also did a collaboration with misha who wanted me to paint the hand she had drawn. i like the way this one turned out. i think we should print it up and sell it. misha can do all the sales though–she may not speak coherently, but she has oodles of personality & charisma…probably inherited from her dad 😦

collaborationwithclementine

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no fucks left to give

i think i have developed a callus
on my soul
…or is it that i have completely run out
of fucks to give?
it feels
liberating
i feel
free
like the calluses on my feet
the callus on my soul
allows me to run
skip
dance
where others must
tiptoe
& crawl

today, my trump supporting little sister who now lives in germany with her army husband, sent me a big box of german chocolate.
today i accepted a friend request on facebook from a fellow homesteader…and then saw a pro-trump post by him.

and i was all like. whatever.

that was it. no anger. no need for vengeance. no blinding need to light a match & burn that bridge…

weird. i still hate trump. i still want to see him impeached and all of his cronies de-throned…
i still will continue working towards equal rights for everyone and will never stop celebrating diversity.
and i have no intention of stopping my efforts towards resistance & rebellion….

still, all i could muster was a “meh.”

am i de-sensitized? numb? overwhelmed by the bad news sermons of dusty? (seriously, he can put an apocalyptic spin on anything!!)

or does the callus on my soul simply allow me to process without becoming overwhelmed, numb, and de-sensitized?

healing

i don’t believe in physical ailments
i always suspect
nausea
headaches
pulled muscles
the flu
warts, even
of being disgruntled messages
from my self-conscious

i once had a horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad boyfriend whom i had trouble leaving. i got sick with a cold that lasted over a month.
i once was in a relationship that was not a relationship although i had not been told by the one i thought was my boyfriend, and i started sleepwalking.
with dusty, dear dear dusty, i got plantar warts that live far longer than a plantar wart should live and are actually colonizing my right foot. i have tried every remedy, and every remedy has failed. i will know i have learned my lesson, when those warts go away.

i pulled a muscle in my back almost two weeks ago. i was way too vigorously digging yams. so many yams! like almost a hundred pounds? no joke. if nothing else, we will have enough yams to last us all winter.
however!
i yernked a muscle.
and being me, i ignored it and went on with my life. building a small hoop house, pushing a dead tractor, wrestling goats, lifting small children, balancing my whole world in one hand while doing everything else with the other hand.
several days later, i was in excruciating pain.
my back was all, “i am outta here.”

so who do i call for help? three guesses…fuck. i call dusty. and as soon as he gets here i know what a mistake i have made.
so now i am irritated. frustrated. bitter.

and my back still hurts like fuck.

what is the lesson here?
(please, seriously, besides actually doing yoga and taking better care of myself…what? does that include my self-self? not just my physical self? i’m supposed to take care of my whole for real-real self? that’s it, isn’t it? well, crap….)

i look for messages everywhere…because they are there.

just leave me alone

you want me to be the mirror
to your healing
but i can only see the person
you have always been to me
you haven’t changed
you’ve just gotten better
at faking
you want me to be your validation
that you are
different
but i can only see the toxicity
the same toxicity
with more sugar coating
i know you are hurting
i know you are afraid
but i cannot save you
cannot heal you
cannot bear you
in my life
anymore.

dusty just won’t fucking stop. funny how once i wanted this attention so badly. once i would have eaten up his words as if they were the only thing keeping me alive. i wanted to hear him say these things to me so many times when he was cold to me. when he was treating my like second..third..last choice….

of course he is saying the words, but they are lies. he is saying the words, but if i don’t listen & respond & believe, he quickly switches back to the old script. the script where everything is my fault. the script of blame.

dusty can’t keep his disguise on with me for very long if i don’t play along.

he does this thing.
he will woo & woo & woo & flatter & lament his own faults & stupidity…and i will say “no, i’m not buying it. goodbye.”
and, literally, the very next thing out of his mouth is:

we need to decide what to do about the kids.

or something to that effect. something that triggers my anxiety about losing my minions. ever since fidgit was a baby–whenever things get rough & i say i am leaving:

i want the kids half-time.

why is that a go-to move if he is so eager to fix things between us? if i play along and pretend we have a future, he never pushes the child custody envelope. he never asks to see them more than one week out of a month. i know he loves seeing them, but he often resents them as well. yes, sometimes i resent them too–or no–not them–but my decision to have children with him. i resent that he has control over me via the kids. i resent that i do not have a partner willing to support me as i mother our children–willing to parent beside me, sharing the work of it equally. i resent that. being only human, sometimes my resentment effects my mothering…i wish it didn’t.

he has anxiety now. i never noticed it before. maybe it’s because he has cut back on his pot smoking?? but now he has terrible anxiety and it emerges as obsessive texts to me, begging me to talk to him. it is ridiculous. i mean, i am sorry he feels anxiety…i can remember trying to cling to him to ease the madness of my own anxiety…i wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  but i am trying to take care of four kids and a small homestead and a sick turkey and a neonatal kitten and a household of laundry, dishes, meals…and he is freaking out because i haven’t texted him right back.
half the time i don’t even know where my phone is.
i feel sad that i have learned not to let myself feel that need to soothe him.
i feel angry that after everything he has done to me he still turns to me to soothe him.
i feel hopeless that anything will ever change between us.
he says all the right words–but if they don’t work–he says all the wrong ones.
and he has rewritten our history to suit his own needs.
i think he might be delusional.
the alternative is too scary to think about…that he knows exactly what he is doing….

birthday drawing

once upon a time
my birthday was one of my three
favorite holidays
once upon a time
i would count down
from like six months away
telling an unwilling audience
every
day
how many days it was until my birthday
i never had a party
(tried once & nobody came)
i just would spend the day basking
In the glory of a day
that was mine…
then i married a man
who refused to celebrate me
then i had kid after kid after kid
and realized
no matter what day it was
i still was expected to be a mom
then my brother died
and i no longer got my birthday call
from  him
asking, “so what else is new,”
and actually listening to what i said….
once upon a time
my birthday was a glorious day
for me…
i want to find that girl again
she was damaged…but not as scarred as who i am
today
i want to find that birthday girl
and i want to celebrate her
anyway

i feel better today. back on my journey to healing. i feel better–stronger–more able to tackle life.
i wish my birthday didn’t knock me down like it does. i hope i can somehow recover my old sweet love for my birthday.
it is a journey…healing…and sometimes i wander off the path and into a patch of poison ivy….

my minions were sweet to me. iggy wrapped up a dozen rocks & shells to give me. fidgit drew me this awesome picture. misha made an elaborate show of hiding “barbie” dolls & stuffed animals for me to uncover for my birthday. my minions are awesome creatures…even poppy who is three but one day won’t be anymore (please god!)

so i survived another birthday and am back on my journey to being a better me.

ranting wailing mourning

why am i so pissed off again?
already?
okay, so i’m not going to be magically
okay
so i’m not going to be magically
together
i’m going to be bitter & angry
shouting
screaming
crying
wishing things had been different
careful i am not wishing my children away
as i wish i had never met their father.

and
it’s fucking thanksgiving
i don’t know about you
but this was the most dysfunctional
of fucked up dysfunctional holidays
for me
i spent years avoiding
this
fucking
“holiday.”
for years, i couldn’t even eat turkey
without feeling angry
fucking thanksgiving
the holiday of family fights
based on a false
gathering
as white invaders who
murdered & stole from indigenous peoples
after being welcomed into their land
it’s a fucking
cursed
holiday.

fuck thanksgiving.
fuck my ex-husband.
fuck my parents.
fuck black friday
and the mentality of buying buying buying
hoarding goods
made by abused workers
in other countries
as a cloud of pollution forms
over their heads
fuck this fucking country and its killing ways
its stealing ways
its hurtful
hateful
ways.
this whole land
is cursed.