some may think I'm just a fool tilting at windmills, but maybe I'm not
this is just something i started thinking about pets & livestock & then realized i could include most of my human relationships as well.
i am really really really uncomfortable even suggesting someone might adore me….
why is that, i wonder? hmmm
so i had a dream this morning about my teenage heartthrob of choice, adam ant.
he was at my house…the kids were away…it was the perfect recipe for mischief.
why was he at my house? i don’t remember that part of the dream.
i do remember him coming on strong.
but i wasn’t in the mood
& he was being annoying
so annoying that
i took him by the shoulders & said to him, “i would be the best you have ever had, but you would just remind me of my ex-husband.”
because he already reminding me of my ex-husband
clingy & annoying
but i consented to a kiss…i knew i was a good kisser, but i was having my doubts about him
i went in all gentle & sexy only to get viciously probed by a pointy little tongue
so i stopped, pushed his tongue back in his mouth & told him
“knock it off.”
but he didn’t…so the kissing stopped
then the kids came home so i figured that was that
i offered to show him the posters i had of him from when i was a kid.
he was game
i found the posters, but only one was of him, the rest had changed to me
posters of me
i said, “the posters have changed–like they would if i were dreaming.”
then he came at me with a back rub…the foreplay technique that has, historically, relaxed me into many a tight spot….
so i said, “fine.” & started figuring out where we could sneak off to.
he asked if my bed was clean & i said,
“i gave birth in that bed!”
i asked him if he had protection, & he just shrugged
i was a bit worried about where he has been
i knew i had condoms but i didn’t tell him that
i did start working out a cover story to tell the kids
& readying a room for us….
if you made it this far, that’s where i was woken up by feisty morning minions. i have heard said that no one is interested in your dreams…but this one was so empowering & entertaining for me, that i just had to share.
seemingly laden with messages.
i haven’t quite worked it all out yet, but the dream seems to be
all
about
me.
ps. the image is from an old journal page showing 20-something me & my therapist.
lately i am really missing making comics.
i might be headed back to comics…..
alone
who can i blame
but me
alone
my screams
fall on my own
ears
alone
i look at my reflection
really look
this time
not me reflected
in someone else’s
eyes
but
me
standing before
myself
will i hold
myself
up
or push me
down?
i’m thinking of changing my look. i think i could pull off some faux fur. and maybe martinis might be in order.
i have been sober many days now…it is not pretty.
i am going through some stuff.
what? no? not you!
yes, but different stuff. like my usual stuff is sorted & put away, and now i am on to new stuff.
i feel like i am trying to wriggle out of an old skin…but i am struggling to get that fucker off my back.
lots of anger & snarky behavior…which then causes a spiral of guilt & oh-my-god-i-suckness.
fun fun fun.
i wish i knew how many layers this onion has…how many more levels i have to do before i win.
this is a card i’m sending to my sister for her birthday (shhh)
am i sustained by
rejection
like a panda
surrounded
by bamboo…did rejection
become my staple
& now
now that the bamboo
is scarce
do i actively seek
rejection
lumbering
past greener pastures
to find my
desolate
patch
of bitter rejection
where i can sit
uncomfortably
& gorge myself
on defeat?
one of the problems with not always being able to illustrate my thoughts as i write them (this one was written 10 days ago & i am just getting to it) is that i do not always remember what sparked my free verse ramblings.
my childhood was a big pot of rejection. out of six kids, i was nobody’s favorite. my younger sister (closest in age to me) was mortified by me & even suggested i do myself in. my peers at school actively avoided me. i was charlie brown on valentine’s day. i eventually had to go to a neighboring town to find a boy strange enough to kiss me.
so…did rejection become a familiar “friend” that i sought out as my adult life began? seeking out the boys who didn’t want me. focusing on them. throwing myself, relentlessly, at them. sending out stories to publishers without first attaining the necessary writing skills. staying on the fringes. watching, but never joining.
do i still seek out rejection? will i ever stop expecting rejection? will i ever believe i am good enough that i will not be rejected? has it become a self-fulfilling prophesy that keeps me exactly where i am?
just some musings as i wait to be rejected by a publisher & an art award…not even entertaining the idea of dating because–look at me–who the fuck would want this?
the other day i read my tarot cards. they told me that i need to learn to like myself. they told me to stop obstructing myself. to stop living in fear of moving forward.
but…i am not sure i know how to do that.
they never tell me how to do it.
i’ve spent a lot of today working on my collection of short stories that i hope to publish.
so far i am calling it walk with me.
then i took a break to doodle medusa. (doodling medusa…that would be a good title for something!)
which brings me to the proclamation of how much i fucking love writing. creating. making entire universes and breathing characters alive.
and there are stories everywhere.
just waiting to be plucked & polished.
i feel like i am blooming.
as an artist…as a writer…as a person.
it’s very exciting.
and a nice change from moping.
the only thing
i’m good at sharing
is my pain
…but when i went to write “pain”
i almost wrote “heart”
i started to write “heart”
i am the first to underestimate me
who am i?
who do i want to be?
what if i’m not so godawful as i think
i am?
what if i am already
the person i want to be?
what would my reality be if
i am not
an asshole?
seriously. i started out this journal page with the idea of all that i am good at sharing is my pain.
but instead of writing pain…i started writing heart.
and this totally fucked with my head.
like something i posted on facebook earlier this week.
the more i find out about other people
the more i realize…i’m not really that bad.
i’m not the crap-ass i think i am.
so…well…i guess this means i’m having an identity crisis for christmas.
maybe this will be a good holiday after all….
spigot of passion
a high school friend
dubbed me
because i fell in love
so easily
and back out again
just as easy
“just wait; she goes through men
pretty quick,”
another friend told a girl
who wanted my boyfriend
some years later.
meanwhile
i have a history of
boyfriends of friends
approaching me
like an easy
target
a plaything
…this is what the world thinks
i guess
of girls like me…
i just wanted to kiss a boy
(never someone else’s boyfriend)
what’s so wrong
with a girl
who likes boys?
this one is out of order. and i think it might need a longer platform…maybe a whole comic.
i wrote it today, while i have two pages waiting in the queue to be illustrated.
but the way i wanted to paint it came to me, & i just had to do it.
i was looking through the friends of a friend on facebook and saw one of the boyfriends of a friend who drunkenly tried to get with me. it kind of triggered this. i mean, he wasn’t the first or the last boyfriend of a friend who tried to do this.
so i began to wonder…why me?
and although i wanted to credit it to the fact that i am very different than most people–thereby attractive…i think it just comes down to the fact that i like sex and that was grossly misunderstood by the world at large.
i like boys.
i like kissing.
and i will go after a boy i like.
i guess girls aren’t supposed to do that? they aren’t supposed to be the aggressor?
fuck me.
i just like kissing.
and sex.
and boys.
what’s so wrong about that?
(please no lewd or weirdly suggestive responses to this post. you know what? men, just be quiet here. i am expressing something. don’t make me feel like trash for it.)
i don’t want to do this anymore
i don’t
what if
every life decision
i make
is just my setting myself up
for failure
i don’t want to do this
anymore
but i have built myself
this mighty
trap
& i don’t know how to get out
& then i find myself thinking
well…there is that one way out…
you know
the one we’re not supposed
to talk
about?
& then i think
no.
but when i read
an obituary
i can’t help but think
lucky fucker
this was just about as low as i got this week. of course, there is no escaping my life. it’s not like i can drop the animals off at the humane society & my kids off at the orphanage & go live on the french riviera…
instead i have to do the hard work. you know, learn how to cope. learn how not to resort to being an asshole & then hating myself & hating my life.
yeah.
that.
i guess i need to do that.
ps. though i like to draw myself nude because it seems to portray how vulnerable i feel. i have this weird (catholic?) fear of drawing my pubic area. i was pleased with myself for fashioning a “fig leaf” of sorts in this self-portrait.
ha!
i want you to love me
but let’s be honest
i’m probably just going to
disappoint
you.
so
instead of a handshake
i will cut to the chase
kick you in the ankle
& run away.
one thing i have succeeded at
one thing i am really good at
one thing i can do
i have completely internalized
that i am unlovable
done!
check mark that box!
my beautiful frankenstein monster’s complex
see?
i have even named it
it is a part of me
i have let it become me
i have let it define me
wrapping its sticky kisses
around me
whispering
“who needs ’em? it’s you & me against the world”
a battle i have already lost
because deep down
don’t laugh
i just
want
to be
loved….
a fellow blogger…and dare i say–friend–wrote a nice review of me in an effort to help me override my setting of self-sabotage.
that put me in a tail spin of imposter syndrome & unlovablility & made both really happy–but also want to dig a hole & hide away…so i got to examine those reactions and write journal pages about them.
yay!
see, you too can poke the demons! you just have to be nice to me and make me question those little whispering bastards.
