hotel california

the drone of the fans
in the basement
will hopefully help me sleep
’cause last night
i was awake
or fitfully sleeping
twisting & turning
as water
crept & dripped into my basement
gallons of water
absorbed into
powder
fucking
blue
carpet…
i used to call this place
bullfrog song
now i call it
hotel california
i just want to be
anywhere
but
here
but road trips detoured
by leaky
basements….

i was totally going to go to iowa & look for a place to live. however! water coming in through a wall dumping gallons onto the floor despite the floor drain just feet away….
this place is a fucking nightmare.
& my mom is pissed that my dad died first & left her to deal with it.
& i’m pissed that i got tricked into living here by siblings that wanted to live footloose & fancy free far away from familial home….
added to my list of things i never wanted to do alone: deal with a flooded basement.

i am brain dead.
all i can do is watch ryan renolds movies, drink beer, & wander to the basement on occasion to bail out this sinking ship….

fuck me.

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i am…alone

i am
sylvia plath
i am
vincent van gogh
i am
the bronte sisters
yes
all three
trapped on the moors
watching 
the moon
blow across
a sky full of stars
blown
by a relentless
wind
worlds exploding
within our imaginations
while loneliness
feasts
on our souls.

you are due a little break after this one. an optimistic-ish upturn as it were. i mean, it’s not hearts & flowers…but less doom & gloom. i am the moon after all. i wax & wane most gloriously.

i have not yet tackled the task of going through my journals for “poems” & art work to be put together in a collection.
i have been a bit down on myself (no! me??) and prone to comparing myself to others to whom success seems an easier venture…and hating them most enthusiastically….
but i am going to do it. i’m going to put together a collection. i’m going to publish it. and i will have my own group of people who enthusiastically hate me for it.
also, i need to start the cards i was commissioned to do.
and i am waiting to hear back from the one who commissioned this

as they have told me they want eleven more illustrations. 

plus, you know, searching for a new home…raising four minions…preparing for winter…training a puppy…deciding what to do with livestock who won’t stop being naughty…oh! & apparently bartering with the father of my children to see if he is “willing” to pay more than $200 a month child support so i can take proper care of his four children…just the normal to do. 

home sweet prison

i have created
a life
i want to escape from
i built
my own prison
just so i would have a reason
to tunnel
to file & chip away
to avoid
reality
by any means
necessary
i have done this
i want to guess
on purpose?
…but
why?
my life is the rat on the wheel
running
& running
but going
nowhere
a life
fashioned
for escape
but no
actual
escape.

i just don’t even know what to do with me anymore. today is a wash. what the fuck, emje?
ack!
it’s like–sure, i can see what’s wrong with me…but i have no fucking idea how to fix it. i’m just like in my head saying, “you’re just going to fuck this up too, you know.”
that’s me. that’s my life.

tumbling down

i have lived my life
like falling down
a flight
of stairs
except
of course
i was totally pushed
or
at least
tripped
before i fell into my own life
half-assed
&
so totally
not
paying attention
hitting each step
as i fell
(i’m picturing one of those
circular, iron
staircases
you know
one with lots & lots & lots
of unyielding steps)
now i am
sprawled
at the bottom
of my own
life
…fuck it
time to get up
i guess.

so i was living in madison, wisconsin, attending UW madison, studying art & writing. i was pretty happy…except dusty didn’t like to work & did like to have girlfriends on the side.
i was having trouble affording rent in madison…and was losing myself to my fucked up relationship with dusty.
i told dusty he could choose between his girlfriend & me, the mother of his children & his supposed soul mate.
i told him i would leave madison if he did not choose me.
he did not choose me.
so as 2015 ended & 2016 began, i packed up the minions & moved 2 hours north to rent from a friend in manitowoc, wisconsin. there i started to get involved with the grocery co-op they were starting as well as getting involved in the local farm to school program & the local community garden. i felt like i was finally finding the community i wanted to be in.
six months in, after learning that my parent’s place was available to me, my “friend” kicked me out of her house. i still don’t know why. but dusty (who since i had left him all of a sudden decided to choose me) was on board with moving to illinois and had me convinced that the end of times was coming with the 2016 election. did i want to homestead–or was it a reaction to an unstable economy & society? a paranoia that dusty fed every chance he got….
did i want to move to rural illinois…or did dusty? he came with me and lived here for six months before i kicked him out.

now i’m here alone with a yard full of animals that cost more than they benefit…with a house that is too much for me to care for…with no support system or community in sight….

and i’m pissed off.
i thought i was doing what i wanted to do, but looking back, i think i did what i had to do as well as what other people wanted me to do.
and i’m pissed off.

i know that i can live like this if i have to (butchering my own meat & raising livestock.) and i do want to continue with living sustainably and continue growing my own food, but i was doing that when i lived in town & had access to a community. i don’t have to isolate myself to bumfuck illinois to do that.

crap.
dusty always was good at covertly isolating me. now i’m locked in some fucking tower waiting for him to rescue me?
fuck that bullshit.
i’m building a ladder.

surrender dorothy

i look around
me
& wonder
how much is my own
& how much is done
in reaction
to subtle pushes
& blatant
insults
did i choose this life
or was it dropped
on me
like
a house
from kansas
am i doing this
because
i thought it was a good idea
or because someone else did
i look around me
with new eyes
& feel
the bitter angry bile
of a life not mine
…all i want to do
is spit.

okay. so i have been wondering for awhile now if i want to continue with the life i have. i mean, i feel trapped in my own life. and there are things i cannot change…but there are things i can change…eventually…maybe…some day….
lately, or always, i wonder how i got here.
and i get angry when i think of the decisions i really didn’t get to make. the no-choice situations i found myself in.
like being too broke & desperate to do anything other than agree to care-take my childhood home in bumfuck illinois alone with four kids.

i guess i have just made a lot (a lot a lot a lot) of bad choices.
sigh.
i’m wondering…what do i do now?

i think i need to learn to trust myself…. maybe start there?

INKtober twelfth (beached)

i am paralyzed
no matter which way i go
i am certain
i will fuck
it
up
i am trapped
my life
a torture chamber of indecision
i want to go
i just want to take off
run away
say “fuck it”
& start all over…
but if i do
will i soon regret it?
will i always
always regret it?
i don’t want to be
alone
anymore
but i will
surely
choose
the wrong company
the wrong companion
&
i will
find
myself
missing my solitude…
there is nothing
nothing
i can do
right
i am frozen
frozen
in fear
of
being
me.

so the official inktober prompt of the day (which i am by no means required to use in order to participate in inktober) is “whale.”
while i love drawing whales & am especially fond of humpback whales…it seemed more suitable for me to beach myself.
so this is me
beached.

on a similar note–i realized today that i have no idea how to spell “12th” as a word…good thing my 12 year old knew…(wait–i think i see a pattern)

& i am going through a rough patch. i find myself thinking i should quit the homestead adventure…or, at least, curtail it…. i also want to quit illinois & head back north/northwest (not in a hitchcock way.)
but all this is waaaaaaaaaaay easier said than done when one is broke but with a yard full of livestock living rent-free.
also
i want to be closer to my ex-husband…in more ways than one…& history shows that to be a bad idea…but i am notoriously bad about history.
both of these things are weighing heavily on me. resulting in mental exhaustion & severe bouts of crying as i question every motive i have and every bad decision i have ever made.
it super sucks.
i’m not sure i want to be me right now. i feel like i’m just a complete fuck up waiting for my next fuck up.

sleepover

i found something to do with my anger.
i was striking out at everyone i cared about, seemingly without remorse. well, there was remorse, but i tucked it away.
i was getting uglier and uglier.
then it occurred to me, that i could use this absence of remorse to stand up to the person i never have the absence of feelings to assert myself to.
if that makes sense.
in my head, i am always telling him i want him to leave, but in reality i only say it during fights. then he dismisses it as soon as the fight is over.
so today, knowing my heart was cold
i told him not to come back.
you know what a cunt i am? he is in wisconsin for the death of his grandma. i took that opportunity to tell him not to come back.
that’s how cold, hateful, frozen and dark my heart was today.
i told him, “there is no good time to do this. there just isn’t.”
and that is true. but it doesn’t make me think i am being something of a cunt by kicking him out right after his grandma died.
but the thing is.
this horrible depression started as soon as he left for wisconsin. this horrible hateful madness. which is weird–usually i am happy when he goes.
but i realized i was depressed because i knew he would come back.
that he would come back.
that he would be back in my home.
tormenting me.
that i would be right back stuck in a terrible situation
of his living here and refusing to leave.
fuck me.
i felt better after i told him not to come back.
i felt better after standing up for myself.
even if it does make me a cunt.
i stood up for myself.
i said the words i have been thinking for months now.
god,
what a fucking relief.

i don’t feel good about it,
but i’m glad it’s over.

this is from an ink splatter i did
a few days ago
when i was feeling this terrible energy.
you can tell,
the ink is pretty agitated.

inkstainsleepover

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