some may think I'm just a fool tilting at windmills, but maybe I'm not
there are some days
when it is all i can do
to make it through
the day
brain on fire
skin as a prison
just make it through
the day.
i’m betting i’m not alone with this feeling. especially these days. but we do make it through. together. i’m here for you.
to defeat my imposter’s syndrome
i have to
become
what i fear
they think
i think
i am….
if they think i think
i am
an awesome writer
i have to believe
i am an awesome
writer
if they think i think
i am
an unstoppable artist
i have to believe
i am an unstoppable
artist
if they think i think
i am a good
& valuable
person
i have to believe
i am
it is the only way
to stop
feeling like
an imposter.
so i was at a dance party in viroqua. yes, i was. and i was half-assedly dancing…then i remembered i don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of my questionable dancing skills.
so then, as i was reeling from imposter’s syndrome due to my book, my show, my writer’s group, & my freestore…i began questioning whether or not i gave a fuck…& this is what i figured out.
(i was a little disturbed by the size of the head in my inking, but based on the words, maybe it is important to let her have a big head)
i am happy…
or is it just mania?
a high following a low
what is normal
i wonder
i feel
happy
like everything
is falling
into
place
& the life
i imagined
is finally finding its way
into
reality
will i crash again
tomorrow?
what is normal
i wonder
knowing i love
the ups
& downs
& would never trade
my chaotic
everyday
for a medicated one
of flatlines
& no stories
to tell
no poems
to write
i will always choose
paint splattered walls
over
white ones.
a thought i had while talking to a friend diagnosed with bipolar disorder. what is crazy? really… i mean, is it just a matter of riding out the ups & downs? i’ve always valued the fuckedupedness of my life for it’s giving me fresh perspectives & sparks in my imagination.
maybe i’m crazy…but i wouldn’t trade it for the world.
the free store i started is a month old now. it is packed full of goodies. so many awesome people donating.
i have only noticed one problem.
all the accolades i have been receiving have triggered my impostor syndrome & sent me into some serious dark & downward spirals.
weird, right?
like when people tell me i’m doing a good thing, i feel like i am somehow fooling them.
when one woman said, “way to pay it forward,” i flinched. of course, for me it is not about karma. it is about giving the people what they need; keeping crap out of landfills; putting one over on the man….
but am i a good person for doing it?
i don’t feel like a good person…
then i start to wonder…if my art took off, would i suffer in a similar way? spin out to a dark & devastated place where i fear everyone will realize i am actually a fuck up in sheep’s clothing?
however, i can’t help hoping all the spinning i have been doing will leave me standing still
my past
is no longer
my prison
shackles
holding me
in place
my past
is a test
i have passed
with flying colors
y’all
i am
flying
colors.
this kind of goes a long with my post a new day. it is my new way of looking at things. i need to keep reminding myself.
in addition to continuously working on relationships & my bamboo pen skills, i am also continuing to work on my figure drawing skills. i have a few figure drawing books, and when i’m not looking at cocks & boobs, i am really trying to get better at figure drawing. i know i have problems with it. i would list them for you, but i am practicing not drawing attention to my shortcomings. mum’s the word.
so!
figure drawing & remembering that my past–though it has sucked ass–it has made me the awesome fucking person i am today who is able to draw herself falling–no, flying.
i am not safe
i am not easy
however
i am down to earth
i am right down to the
molten rock
lava in my veins
i am the hurricanes
on the sea
i am the tornadoes
on the plains
i am the rain that falls
to create life
i am the moon
waxing & waning
& pulling the tides
to me
i am alive
so
no
i am not safe
i am not easy
& in my experience
i have found that nothing
nothing
worth having
ever is.
note to all you well-meaning men–if you aren’t interested, just say, “no thank you.” don’t make excuses. don’t prolong the inevitable. don’t rationalize & make nice. just fucking say, “no thank you.”
if there is need for further explanation, we will ask for it.
sigh.
i told guy to “be safe” after he pleaded “ptsd” and “not being that the kind of person to be sponateous” and “having too many responsibilities” to have a rendezvous with me.
first off, raise your hand if you don’t have ptsd.
fuck.
my ptsd has ptsd.
also, i have severe social anxiety.
yet i still reached out to him because i feel that the day i let my fears dictate how i live…i am no longer alive.
and who doesn’t have responsibilities? my whole life is responsibilities…which is exactly why i, for one, was dying to do something spontaneous.
i texted him that spontaneity is good for the soul.
he channeled somebody’s super fuddy-duddy father to text me back about not being able to do that for this & that reason.
why didn’t he just say, “no thank you” from the get-go? i am honestly wondering. this is not a rhetorical question of mine. i would ask him, but he shuts down communication with me pretty good with his fuddy-duddy father voice. i’m all like, “yes sir,” as i scamper away to look around for someone else to play with.
bleah.
so i told guy to “be safe.” i was being snarky, but thanks to text messaging ambiguity, he has no way of knowing that. (unless he reads my blog…but i don’t think he is that invested considering he turned down a booty call thinly veiled as an invite to a h.s. reunion….)
he said, “you too.”
and that inspired this page.
i have decided
i will be alone
until i’m not
my weeds will grow
until i pull them
my lawn will get long
until i cut it
the walls
will be
the wrong colors
until i paint them
the world
will turn
the moon
will wax & wane
& i will not give away
my heart
until
i do.
i started to write about this page & realized i had a new page to write.
the same thing happened yesterday when i commented on someone’s post–i looked at my own comment & was all like, damn, them are some pretty words. and i gathered them up & nestled them into my art journal.
page by page.
one page at a time.
it’s not just that
i’ve written these words
before
drawn this face
before
but i have lived
this lie…
li[f]e
often
spinning
in circles
following my own tracks
as if
i am afraid
to move forward
on
&
into
uncharted
waters.
sometimes…sometimes i just start drawing & see what happens. it’s been more common for me to do this than to plan out an illustration for my words. my thinking about what i’m going to draw before drawing it is a more recent development.
used to be, i would just start drawing.
which is what i did with this one.
but i kept thinking…why does this look so familiar (i mean, other than being a self-portrait)…then it hit me. i unintentionally/ subconsciously? drew me in the style of tank girl.
i love tank girl. she was a comic i was turned on to back in the late 80’s–early 90’s when i used to shave all of my head except my bangs wore trousers & doc martin boots & someone handed me a tank girl comic…because….
and i fell in love.
the same thing happened with love & rockets.
and both of these comics were ones i studied when i was trying to take my illustration skills from my confusion perfume days to my moses jones days.
but i did not set out to–or mean to at all–draw me in the style of tank girl. so now i’m wondering about that and about the bubbles that started out as a ball pit but morphed into a bubble bath which i didn’t realize until i read the last part of my journal entry.
uncharted waters.
so…why am i tank girl in a bath?
what am i trying to tell myself?
because, as master oogway says, “there are no accidents.”
this is how it is
with me
i go in circles
for years
convincing myself
i am on the right path
& where i want to be
following my own lead
believing my own gospel
until one day
like a light switch
i see the fork
in the road
& i take a new direction…
never turning back.
fickle? i like the word fickle. it rhymes with pickle.
in high school my friend dubbed me a “spigot of passion.” that works too. i pour it all out, all over the place. and then i shut it off.
i
just
shut
it
off.
but, in my own defense, all the times i have shut off my passion…i have done it in my own defense. i tend to trust my heart with ones who should not even be trusted with a lesser organ…like an ear…or an appendix. i give them my heart and they use it for an ashtray and eventually my self respect, my self preservation kicks in…and i just shut it off. i shut off my love. i close it away to somewhere safe(r).
this happened recently with my seymour saga. he finally crossed the line where i could no longer pretend he wasn’t doing a tap dance on the tattered remains of my heart & soul.
so i shut it off. turned it off.
he has nothing on me now.
he is nothing to me now.
does that make me calloused & cruel?
or does it mean i still have some love left
for me? after all i gave to him…i still have
some
left for me.
okay. seriously. “me & bobby mcgee” (seymour & mine’s song) started playing as i typed the words “so i shut it off. turned it off. he has nothing on me now. he is nothing to me now.” what the fuck, universe-that-insists-on-talking-to-me-via-songs-on-the-radio?? what the fuck? so i got up & turned off the radio & put on some amanda palmer on pandora. (oh do totally watch that video…it always makes me smile.)
the last illusion
shattered
those straws you were grasping
have left you
empty
you are a husk
an emptiness
& all you can do now is
grow
up
& stronger
& towards the light
grow.
thank you to vincent van gogh for inspiration/material for this self-portrait. we probably would have made each other miserable, but i would have been better off loving him. i do like the gingers.
