be happy

i’m trying on my life
like a new pair of jeans
ugh!
these are too tight
look how fat they make me
look
i will never wear these
why did i think these would
fit
me?
i’m trying on my life
realizing it’s my favorite
pair of jeans
worn in
in all the right places
& look how cute my butt looks
i’m going to wear these
every day
everywhere
&
just
be
happy.

i think, often, when i have this one precious week to myself, my head is able to clear and i figure a little bit more out.
i used to get into relationships so that i wouldn’t have to think about my problems. it was so much easier to focus on someone else’s problems.
it is funny to me to realize i now crave this time alone to examine my own problems and actually try to fix them.

just makes me feel so grown up
in all the right ways

my epiphany is that–consciously or not–i did choose this life. i was not hijacked by it–though i do believe, in a way, it also chose me.
but this is where i want to be. ultimately. i might fantasize about running away…a lot…maybe more than the average person, but this is
where i want to be.
who i want to be.

(and i know this isn’t going to magically fix me & make me happy and make me all gung-ho when usually i feel like crying. i know i’m still going to get pissed off & lonely & depressed…but i think i needed to accept that this is my path–this is where i am supposed to be. and start walking it so i can get where i’m going already…unless life is about the journey. then i guess i just need to stop moping in the ditch and hop to it.)

Advertisements

eat me

i would make
a terrible martyr
i am more akin
to jonah
who had to be consumed
by a whale
before he could embrace
his destiny
oh!
to be eaten by a whale
sounds like a relief
compared
to celebrating
the path
dancing down that path
triumphant
in who i am
& what i need to do.

last night i was ready to give up. i went to bed crying. i don’t know what i’m doing. i feel like everything i do is meaningless. i try to take care of myself, but i still look like crap thanks to having four kids and whatever fucked up genes i have that accompany child birthing with seemingly permanent excess fat loads. i’m all like, who would ever love me? i look like crap. who am i kidding?
and then let’s take a look at my art…my so-called art. my terrible writing. do i even make sense? it sucks. i feel like i am a five year old scribbling in a closet hoping that someone notices…angry that no one notices…crushed that no one notices.
i went to bed crying.
i was going to stop.
stop art.
stop ever expecting love.
stop trying.
i was completely & totally planning on giving up on my so-called life.
no hope for love.
no hope for recognition.
no hope for ever earning an income despite working my ass off every day and going to bed exhausted every night….
my life is futile.
my life is a joke.

then. last night as i was crying in the shower, a spider stared me down. a big furry one. it seemed as disgusted with me as i felt.
then. as i sat dejected at my desk this morning, a swallow flew up to my window. three times. three times exactly.

so being a witch…i try to pay attention to the universe’s messages to me. like with the number thing. if you believe the universe is a living & connected thing, then like master ugwe says, “there are no accidents.”
(i that like better than “everything happens for a reason” which is difficult for me to believe…but, there are no accidents? that kind of makes sense.)
and a bird, a specific bird, flying to my window three times, that seems to be a message.

so i got on google and found this site and this information on swallows as a spirit guide. basically asking, are you fucked up? sad? disconnected from your true self? swallow is here to restore your happiness & to help you embrace your journey in a playful and carefree way.
well fuck me running, that resonated.
so i figured i should check with what spider was telling me in the shower. and there it is. finishing what i start. following my destiny. weaving my magic.
not being overwhelmed.
not quitting.

sigh

okay.
how do i do it? how do i embrace my destiny? how do i dance down my path instead of lying down in the weeds next to it & waiting for something to eat me?

to be continued…
(i wonder what spirit guide will show up next…or just fucking eat me.)

queen of swords II

before my whole fucktardery with dusty…
while my witchy friend was visiting, she & i read each other’s tarot cards. my near future card was the queen of swords. a card that often shows up in my spread–especially regarding dusty. the queen of swords has a high moral position and expects others to live up to it as well.
so is this a good thing?
a bad thing?
just a thing?
it’s true of me. i do expect a lot of myself & the same from others. dusty has never hesitated to fall under my sword.
then i’m all like–am i being too cruel? expecting too much? not accepting him for who he is?

fuck that.

i am the queen of swords.

off with his head.

as i protect myself & re-enforce walls that i had to build after letting him break my heart too many times, dusty does a dance & tries to appeal to my nurturing side. he is trying to get me to rescue him. he wants me to save him. he is trying to be sad & helpless while never admitting that he has done anything wrong.

so i’m going to go ahead & hold onto that queen of swords
because even though i am hurting right now
i know i am going to recover again
faster this time
& i need to make sure i finally remember this lesson
remember this heartbreak
& not let it happen again
seriously
for real this time.

domestication

domestication

i want
to cook for you
a bowl of beef stew
special ingredient…love
i want
to make you coffee
every morning
just the way you like it
i want
to pour you a glass of whiskey
& listen to you rant
i want
to grow tomatoes in my garden
slice & salt them
for you
i want
to draw your portrait
over & over
until i know your features
better than i know
my own.

as a mostly wild & untamed thing, it surprises me when i feel this way towards another person.
when i was nineteen & in my very first relationship, that boyfriend curled up on the floor one evening and asked me, “would you take care of me if i had polio?”
having no sense of normal polite responses i could have made, i blurted out an honest one, “no!”
is it irony or not that he ended up dumping me after i developed a cyst that required his help in the daily draining of? ha! my first experience with being let down easy.

as a child, i watched my largely unnurturing mother give all of her attention to her giant toddler of a husband. i came to believe that it was weakness to care for & to care about a man. sure, i fell in love all the time…but to care about them? to care for them? to need them?
never!
as you can guess, i was very popular with the boys. i once made a goth industrial dude cry when i told him i didn’t need him.
he was not the first or the last man i made cry.

love ’em & leave ’em crying.
that’s me.

except.
except for the one.
i did break up with him twice, but in the end–he destroyed me.
but this is what i am wondering.
is it the end?
i know and–if you read my blog regularly & for more than a few weeks–you know too that this seems to be a cycle for me.
i realize i still love him & am devoted to that.
then i get pissed off at myself
& at him
and vow to forget him & to find someone else.
i try that for awhile
find i can’t stomach it
and realize again how much i love him.

if you have been reading my blog the past couple of weeks…you might notice i am once again winding up to devotion.
domestication.
love & caring.
for just one man.
i have my kids. i have my art. i have my homestead. he is the only addition i would make to that. he is the only one i want.
whether that is stupid, silly, sentimental, & saccharine nonsense or not….i don’t care. it’s how i feel. i have spent so much of my life going over my psyche with a fine toothed comb. i cannot deny this. whether i ever see him again or not, he is the one & the only one i want.

eclectic quixotic mama

i’m going to be the only blog
where someone makes art
talks about said art
draws & writes comics
art journals
memoirs
& ink blot compositions
writes poorly constructed poetry
denies it is poetry at all
tells you her dreams
and analyzes those dreams for you
shares her tarot readings
and other pagan witchy rituals
talks about homesteading
sustainability & low-impact lifestyles
trying to be a locavore
gardening
bees
goats, sheep, ducks, chickens, & geese
maybe turkeys too
and parenting
and depression
anxiety
and other demons perching on one’s psyche
isolation & life as a pariah
horrible relationships
betrayal
emotional abuse
toxic parents
also randomly volunteering recipes
& book reviews
while begging someone to talk to her
or at least to marry her
and she may or may not
mention  her menstrual cup
and how that is working out….

this is my solemn vow to you, dear reader. also, i challenge you to find another blog that offers you all that. and if you do know one, get me in touch with them so i can run away with them & we can be red-headed pirates together.

(i decided just today that i want to be a red-headed pirate…so my to-do list is to become a redhead & then become a pirate.)

speaking of dreams. i have been having crazy-ass dreams. i’m not sure what’s going on there. and i keep making out with dusty in my dreams and then waking up all pissed off. i need to figure out why i am having those dreams…and remember what fish mean in my dreams. i used to know, but i seem to have forgotten, and now i am having fish dreams like crazy.

also, i just put in a kencove fence to make more pasture because i am not sure i have enough hay for my ruminants. it occurred to me, just recently, that i could actually buy hay in the summer and store it for winter. however, i did not do that and now everyone is running low on hay (or have already sold it to someone else) due to the cold, snowy winter.
but the day was warm & pretty, and i put up this SO EASY to put up temporary electric fence. so now i have a third pasture. yay! and dreams of getting more so i can pasture in another chunk of yard where weeds & canada thistle have gone crazy mad.

plus i am working on a comic about a chicken who died this winter.
yes…a dead chicken comic.
it’s gonna be good.

stay tuned.

bandorai

i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
it’s the script
we follow
i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
did we do this
together?
is it easier for me
to believe
i am the bad guy?
do you feel better
being the victim?
i don’t want to play
anymore
i scream
i cry
i insist
but you hand my mask
back to me
every time
i throw it down
“if i am the bad guy,”
i whisper
from behind that mask,
“why do i feel like
crap
whenever
you’re
around?”
because you’re
the bad guy
comes the answer.

always the bad guy no matter which way i play it. i am always the bad guy. i think the other day, when we were fighting about god knows what, i am pretty sure he said i had borderline personality disorder–as he had already diagnosed my mom as having. then, of course, i spin out wondering if i do have borderline personality disorder.
(he would not clarify to me what he actually said–another fun game he likes to play with me.)

why is it so easy for him to convince me i am the bad guy? oh…right… because i already believe i am.
but! i am in the process of changing that.
but the process is slowed down by long visits from the man who strives to be my victim. that weird narcissistic sadistic trick of posing as the masochist.
my ex.
another thing i need to work on.
finding other people i can ask for help in dire times…people that are not my ex-husband.

that one is not so easy for me to remedy. in fact, i am more & more convinced that i am spending the rest of my life alone…and lonely.

the river

yesterday
i was so weirded out by the dragons in my picture
that i never stopped to wonder what a person might think
of my skull wearing fire goddess.
which then i obsessed about for awhile
wondering if i would be labeled too dark
too witchy
mostly thinking of how my younger sister would see it
my conservative republican trump-voting highly delusional little sister.

then i thought
you know
if i had a horned skull and a feather tutu
i would totally wear that.
so it must not be weird,
right?

ha!

then i was fine with it.

and today i have another goddess portrait
a river goddess
wearing welding goggles
because, you know, to keep water out of her eyes.

so tomorrow i go fetch my minions back
the end to my alone time…
and i won’t get a picture done tomorrow…maybe the next day?

so tomorrow i see dusty
very briefly
which is how i prefer it.
i haven’t missed him at all.
i can just pretend he is still sitting at his laptop playing video games
or getting high in the garage.
not much different with him gone.

and i finally read my tarot cards today.
i have been avoiding them ever since they yelled at me about not
taking my art seriously.
today they told me
(abridged)
“keep on keeping on–& don’t fuck it up.”

so that’s my game plan.
steady as she goes…watch out for sink holes & water falls.

and here is my ink stain. i could see a face and knew it was a portrait of someone wearing goggles. i fleshed her out. then i found the river.

inkstainriver