saint valentine’s day massacre

i am a mess.
i can’t seem to create.
i am all grumpy & screamy & desperate for space from children…& closeness with a grown up.

i tried to do an inking yesterday. it sucked ass. and then a minion got something on it. so i burned it in the fireplace.
it was called “unraveled”

yesterday i also got the bright idea to make valentines.
so i spilled red ink all over the place.
now i actually have to find the focus to make them.
when all i feel like doing is hiding in the closet with a bottle of whiskey.

i used to love valentine’s day.
you know, when i was stupid & optimistic
(i still am…now i call it “quixotic”)
i have no good experiences on which to base my love of valentine’s day.
just that annoyingly optimistic willingness to be loved.
i want(ed) so badly to be loved…that i was willing to enter hopefully into every valentine’s day.
i have never been the type of girl to get flowers from boys. no matter how much i wished it.
i’m just not that girl. i don’t know why. and sometimes i let it break my heart.
usually after i have a charlie brown valentine’s day.

i have written about my lost love of my life.
the one i have finally accepted that i will never get over (which really doesn’t make it that much easier to live with–my acceptance of my infliction, that is)
when our relationship came to it’s terrible conclusion, it was valentine’s day. he was in love with someone else, so he got me something i really wanted for valentine’s day.
a pair of white wingtip doc martins.
and i knew i had lost him.
guys only get me good stuff when they feel guilty about something.
that’s what i have learned over the years.
i get guilt presents.
not love presents.

i’m not a materialistic person. but i do like getting presents. i like flowers. i like feeling special. i like feeling like someone loves me.

i’m struggling with this so much right now. this crappy loneliness and heartbroken bullshit. i’ve had two lonely marriages. i have two ex-husbands actively regretting that they treated me so callously. do either of them get me flowers or a bottle of whiskey?

no.

they just lament treating me like crap.
loudly.
as if that helps.
it doesn’t.
because then all i wonder is where this devotion was when i was in love with them?
i’m not anymore.
i’m not in love with them.
but they behave as if i should welcome their renewed love
with open arms.

but, still, no flowers
no chocolates
no whiskey

and the one man who i want to hear renewed devotion from
remains quiet
except for the occasional flirty text:

what’s better than roses on your piano?

tulips on your organ.

and that’s the closest i get to a man giving me flowers.
and the closest i get to having a sex life.
sigh.

well, to make myself even more miserable
i put a price tag on my art.
to make myself feel even more rejected
i am putting my art out there…ish.

on the homesteading end of the spectrum that is me….

this is not artwork…i did not make it.
this is not a fruit or vegetable…i did not grow it.
yet i introduced tyler durden & anna the sheep. i built them a pasture. i make sure they have food & water & clean straw to sleep in should they choose to sleep inside.
so i feel like somehow i made this.
this beautiful little lamb that seemingly dropped out of thin air for as much as i had to do with her actual birth.
i took some friends out to show them our sheep, and there she was. just hanging out with her mama as if she had been there all along.

it was just imbolc, which actually is a word meaning “in the belly” and refers to the lambs inside the sheep at this time of year as we are halfway to spring.

it is time to make ready for spring. time to collect seeds. time to plan gardens. time to start plants that need more time to grow. time to commit to putting down roots.

however, i have been feeling a bit trapped. i am living, as caretaker, on my parent’s land…in their house. i am completely dependent on them as i have no income and have failed to have children with a man who will actually work & pay child support…or show any support at all. the same parents i ran away from as soon as i was legally able to (living in bumfuck, illinois, i dreamed of actually being a run-away, but there was really no where to go & practicality won out & i waited until i graduated high school) i am now somehow indebted to for a place to live and a place to raise my minions.
i am back where i started.
trapped-ish.
depending on how i look at it.
sure, i can have my dream homestead…but it isn’t really mine…is it?

but i keep on keeping on because i don’t know what else to do.

no one is showing up in shining armor upon a white unicorn to save me from being a single penniless mother of four.
this is the best i can hope for right now.

and i kind of want to just cry about it.

i’m really behind on my artwork this month. it might be because on my to do list is just:
max out my credit cards with cash advances & fake my own death.

i know i should be thankful i have a place to live and am not starving or suffering or being deported or being bullied or living in fear…and i am…just some days i still wallow.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑