Just quit

Holy blessed of Friday....

I have too many topics in my head.  Watching them all run around is a lot like watching Luna go after a rabbit, squirrel and bird.  Too many targets; each very interesting, all going in opposite directions and everything very fast.  Results are a steroidal spaz attack.

I am laughing at myself and the mental vision of Luna.

Ok, ok focus!

Am trying to get the shell off my daily hard boiled egg.  Every Monday I boil six for the week.  I always eat at least one in the morning and I seem to always need an extra one.  Five always peel cleanly with no trouble yet there is always one that does not. It's a chewed up unappealing aggravated mess.  Why? WHY??

Try again, focus.

This is the trouble with cigarettes.  I thought about it a lot this week as I am trying to quit... again... (I don't know which number this try is)...  and I have realized the true reason I love them.

Huh, just thinking about a smoke I start to focus.   It's almost a sound in my head.  The reason I love to smoke is that I focus.  I center.  I can think of only three other things that do that to me.  Flying, skiing and painting.

Yes, in that order.  Thing about the first two is that not focusing can have lethal results.  Painting settles me.  It's why I ache for it when it's been too long.  Everything starts to feel frayed and thin.  It's that hole in your favorite pair of jeans, rubbed so bare you know the slightest gesture will render it torn.

Fiddling with my said favorite pair I wonder if I have any stop fray left at home? Hm.  Maybe should add it to list.

Come back M, come back.

Smoking brings the world in and pushes it out.  Everything is manageable.  I am clearer, calmer -focused.

Solutions?  Perhaps nicotine gum would help but I dislike chewing gum.  I feel like a cow. "Vaping" looks sketchy.  The time I tried it for a week I gave myself a wet cough.  I thought about the patch but I don't like things on me.

Really, I am particular about things on me.  I have a tendency to live in skirts and flip flops when able to.  I have designed many a tattoo for others.  I have designed two for myself but I don't actually have one.  Feels too permanent for my inclinations.

Focus.

I miss it.  I know smoking may kill me, limit me, maim me so I keep trying to quit.  I play head games with myself and use different angles.  I focus on Any shortness of breath when running (honing in on my mortality) and observe any unsuspecting oxygen tank using person I come across.  I am vain so I consider the toll it takes on my skin, hair, teeth.  I think about my sweetheart and the world he means to me and that by not smoking he either smokes less or not at all.  "Be a good influence!" I chant. Not even joking; I praise myself each morning I wake up with the happy words "You are smoke Free!" and use this to cheer lead myself through my commute.

But who am I kidding? I was not Ever a cheer leader. I was a tom-boy / borderline manic rebellious teenager.

Then some well intention-ed (I hope, I think?) friend will make a comment or send passive aggressive nosy text message (usually right in the middle of the latest and greatest quit week so I am easily provoked) reciting stats about early menopause, infertility, wrinkles and heart disease... Adult side is derailed and irritated as my inner sixteen year old whines to be allowed to tell them to F*!@ off.

I want to remind them that there are little labels on each pack and billboards roaring from the road and commercials blaring from both radio and TV - each screaming of dire consequences awaiting all that indulge... I eat my veggies, walk/ run every day, rarely drink soda, guzzle water and coffee so shove off!

Anyway.  This is my quandary.

Sigh.  I have ruined this egg.

Utah Summer (Original Work)

Utah Summer

16" X 24"

(Oil Pastels)

An Ode

My latest poem:

Women use restrooms as private phone booths.
Which is unfortunate
with only one per floor with three stalls and
500 billion women on said floor.

Last week,
As I hurried
(With a pot of coffee to relieve)
I finally snapped.
The three were all "full",
Two were beeping
One buzzing.

I had waited...
pointedly paced... reopened and closed the door
-but beeping and buzzing continued
At last I barked "Toilets are not texting stalls ladies!"
Insert a very Awkward pause...
while I try desperately to not laugh

And Then!
All three flushed
All three emerged flushed
Casting sideways glowering looks.
I smiled cheerfully at them all
and happily passed them on my way to the loo

Freaking Pee

Walking in from work I am ready to glory and wallow in the alone-time (husband has work things this week).  I have already drawn up a plan that includes a delicious pesto tilapia (thank you Costco) and a side of freshly sauteed spinach dinner for one. Then I will give myself a little facial (mask, etc.) while watching Mocking-jay Part One and working on sketches.

About this time it should be cool enough to take the dogs (presently have two, mine and my Mom's older canine, Milly) for a walk/run.  I will then come home, take a gloriously long hot shower, prepare for bed and sleep lots.

SIGH OF HAPPINESS!

Stupid plans.

I walk in from work; traffic was a little white knuckle but I am home and so who cares!  I smile at and hug little Luna and give Char a kiss hello before retrieving Milly from the upstairs landing.

Goodness the house stinks like pee a bit.  I investigate but find nothing so I let the dogs out and go to start dinner.  Unfortunately partner left dirty dishes in the sink from the dinner I made on Sunday and I need these dishes to make dinner.  Staring at them with outrage does not render them clean so I decide to change the order of my plan.  I start my mask and movie and let the dogs back inside to eat dinner.

As I start on dishes, I immediately have to stop and break apart an argument between Mom's dog and Charlie, the cat-dog.  I put Milly outside to eat her dinner and come back in as Charlie chucks on kitchen floor.

Take a deep breath

-UGH bad idea, house stinks!  Clean up up-chuck and re-check house for pee. Nothing.  Empty litter box, take out trash, wash hands and start on dishes again.  Movie is ten minutes in.  Pause movie. Remember still have mask on; wash now overly dried out face.

Trip on cat-dog while trying to finish dishes.  Finish dishes, start dinner, start movie, sit down. Goodness, why does house smell like pee?  ....what is that noise?

Hear dogs woofing loudly, excitedly - suspiciously check... THEY ARE DIGGING A CRATER under the stairs outside!  Forget to pause movie, dash into yard scolding; dusty dogs scatter and I get the smaller hand shovel and fill in the cavern.  Sprinkle generous amount of chili pepper on top to detour further efforts.

Vaguely hear timer in kitchen going off over the movie sounds emitting from the window.  CRAP! Hurry inside and rescue fish, start spinach, sit down and eat fish first as spinach is not done. Morosely chew and decide movie is going to have to keep going from where it is...

Get up to check/ stir spinach and in the TWO seconds that I have around to do so, Char hops onto the forbidden counter and chows down the last of my wonderful fish.  I feel certain my eyes will melt that cat but his defiant stare is equal and he torpedos to safety before I can swat at him.

Hear commotion outside,  turn to the door with feeling of doom and see two dusty happy dogs, tears streaming down their reddish noses from digging in chili laden mine.

Resigned, I turn back and save spinach, I do not go outside; instead I eat spinach directly from the pan (plate has cat hair on it), put dishes in sink and clean them.  I turn off movie, then go outside, re-fill the pit, wipe off dogs, let them in and go upstairs to get shoes for walk/run.

At last discover the source of the pee stink; an Awful big stain on carpet in second room... Searching through the house for several minutes I find the carpet shampooer, fill it with hot water and soap and bring it upstairs.  Hear cat howling and go back downstairs to break up argument between cat-dog and Mom's dog.

I stood there like an idiot for a minute holding Milly's collar, as she blithely wags her tail while Luna happily chews on her face.  If I put her back out, the crater will re-appear.  If I leave her downstairs, Char and her will be at it again. If I brought her upstairs the carpet cleaning machine will scare her.

You have a crate for Luna you block head.  Oh right, I put her in there.

Back upstairs, I use up all of the hot water trying to get it out.  It's pretty dry when I started so it had to have happened very early in the day. About twenty minutes later I call it good enough, mostly because it's getting dark and I can't see it.

Finally I put on my running shoes and get the two dogs in collars and on leashes, doggie bags, treats, chap stick and phone in my pocket and head to the park.

I am going to skip a description of the walk/run.  Suffice to say that both dogs were relatively very good and the sunset was very nice.  I also saw a couple of friends there but I was distracted by the two pulling me in different directions.

I go home and this is the only part that works out.  I take a really really long blistering hot soapy shower.  And it is lovely.  I decide, while turning into a pink prune, that this is the only part that really mattered.

I go to bed, I am tired and when sweet husband comes in, trying very hard to be quiet and unintentionally waking my badly desired doze off, I forgive him - the shower was amazing and I missed seeing his face today.

I tell him about the dishes and pee and he confesses "Oh, I forgot about the dishes.  And the sprinklers were on this morning so I hurried them back in so they would't get muddy."

Reader.... which stinks/ stains more?  Pee? or a bit of dirt?

I do not punch this person.  I choose to ignore this confession and go to sleep.  I will make another try for my plan tomorrow.

1:48am

Hear desperate quiet whining and I stagger up to let Luna go outside to pee...

Thing is she must have been begging for a potty for a while.  As I open the bedroom door she is already peeing herself.  It is everywhere, the baby gate that encloses Milly to the upstairs? Unexpected, it surprises her frantic dash and she is peeing now where Milly did the day before.

I am hissing at her to go downstairs, I am trying to get the baby gate open and let Luna and her peeing self down while in the meantime Milly is trying to make a break for it to get Charlie, (Char was apparently sleeping on the stairs -why? To torment Milly probably.  Who knows, He has a bed on the couch, on the chair, a blanket on the other chair -THE WORLD is Charlie's bed, why the friggn' stairs???).

I am blind as a bat without contacts in and running into all of them. Finally I get Luna outside and start to clean up the puddles, working backwards.  The giant one in the kitchen, the drops on the stairs, the puddle on top of Milly's prior puddle.

I do the best I can for not breaking out the carpet cleaner at this hour.  I will have to re-do it all tomorrow afternoon after work.  It will have to sit and stink until then.

I retrieve Luna, who is all apologies and hurries herself back to bed.  Char tries to also apologize by weaving between my legs so that I nearly fall and break my neck.  Milly offers her's with kisses on the back of my legs as I pat her good night in passing.

I check the time.

2:41am.

WHY DOES ANYONE HAVE PETS?????

And then I start to laugh.....I have to get up and hide in the bathroom snickering until I can calm down.

That person on the other side of the bed?  He never moves. I am pretty sure the male race can sleep through a global event.  They are impervious to nightly chaos. Although, in all fairness, this one just made it through another 15 hour work-related day.

I write to you with this declaration of war.

Tomorrow Reader.  Tomorrow I am going to execute my plan. If the weather is co-operative I will trade mask/ movie for flying.  The rest of the plan stays in effect.

...After I clean up the pee.  Again.

Greet the Dawn (Original Work)

    

     

36" X 12" X 1.5" 

Greet the Dawn

(Acrylic, Oil Pastels)

Shelf

I have a 'shelf'.

I put things on this 'shelf' whenever I am not sure
about what to do, say,
how to handle, process-
maybe 'it' is a wound, or a doubt or an event
....whatever.
I put it on the shelf.
until one day there is just too much on it and it all falls down in a mess.
Sometimes it is stuff I forgot was there,
covered in dust and old,
people around me (including me) are all
'Hey! Why are you mad/sad/ upset about abcd? That was 5 years ago"
But it was on the 'shelf' the whole time,
Just because I forgot about it but doesn't mean it stopped being on the 'shelf'

I think we all have a 'shelf'.

A couple of things fell off recently

and I looked at them

-how small they were!

and I wondered

Why did I put that on the 'shelf'?

so instead of putting them back up

I put them away,

smiled at my nearly empty 'shelf'

and went on with my day

Doodle Art

 

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The Thrill of Being Alive

Are you familiar with Dylan Thomas's, 'Do no go gentle into that good night'?  I read it years ago in high school and I am sure many of you know it too; his words resonate with just about all of us.

I tell stories with my work, with acrylic, oil pastels and chalks.  Gouche brings such a delicate feeling to a piece that I swear that my morning mountain renditions almost taste of the mist I was breathing in.  In another, flashy chaotic colors of the sea and building cumulonimbus broken with blinding sunlight show the world as it is felt by me.

I've had this recurrent dream and I didn't realize it's presence was persistent until a couple of nights ago.  It arrives when in the dream, I am a bird, wings beating against a glass ceiling; a fleck of dust spiraling in a ray of sunlight, a butterfly, caught in a net -Here is when the repeated dream arrives; when I am panicked; wedged and flight impossible.

At that pinnacle of raging abscond, something gathers me close, like I am a child again, whispering "shhhhhhh....shhhhh..." into my hair.  That something is usually an element, sometimes sunlight, other times the Wind Woman; once it was Dee.

I have fought with that something, struggled to get away, but the bind is too strong and I usually give into exhaustion and listen to the breath on my face "...shhhhh......".

My sweetheart asks why am I so much more restless these last few months. What has changed? I didn't know. To figure it out, I have spent erogenous amounts of time studying myself and the people around me, my life, their lives, my choices, their choices; weighing and considering. The thing is he is changed too and we are holding hands while the rest of us is changing. That's thing about individuals and relationships; the trick isn't to change and change to together, it is to change and stay together.

Yesterday, as I flipped through work from my early twenties and pre-internet days, I saw ideas that were more chaotic, more flashy -more wild, random and yet measured, then my work today.

I think I cannot help my restlessness because I don't want to help it.  Most of the time I am glorying in it.  I love the burn, the ache, the raw scorched heat on my palms.  When storms build, when hot summer days drag into the next, when the ice of winter fries my face - I cannot describe the thrill of being alive.

When I am royally wiping out on my skis, plunging down hill at reckless speeds; do you know what my one and only thought is as I inhale powdery snow and try to halt my flailing self?

It is, "ops, more edge" or "ops, less edge".  It's never ever, holy crap what am I doing?

Last night, I reached for the moon and she reached back and found me.  She cradled me close, smiled and whispered, "...shhhhh....".  Safe with her, I saw I have been trying to conform, to tone down, to blend.  I have been trying to change my work, change my posts; I have even begun to edit my journals.

And in reply, my inner six year old has awoken with the shout, "No no! I will not go gentle into the good night."

PS: Have a tolerant husband; although regularly exasperated with his dreamer/ artist/ semi-professional girl; he still coaxes, cajoles, argues, debates and encourages.

PSS: I have also decided all women, including self, are, at least mildly, unstable.  We can not help it. Our hearts are too big, our self image too bizarre and our perceptions are all thus eschewed. Men are toast.  Thanks for trying to put up with us.

"Do not go gentle into that good night"

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

An Elephant's Reach (Original Work in Progress)

    

   

70's Blondie (Doodle Art)

'70's Blondie'

9" X 12" 

Doodle Art

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