fragments of mid-September
The between-season. Summer days, autumn nights. The pumpkins orangeing on the vine.
Mercury Rx. All my old issues & patterns coming back again. Doing weekly tarot readings for myself; drawing my lifelong stalker card. Three of Swords. Heartbreak, sorrow, strife. Same as it ever was. I don’t think I’ve cried this much since 2016.
Last week I burned the inside of my wrist with a cigarette. Haven’t done anything like that in years. I felt stupid & weak. But it felt good. None of my healthy coping mechanisms are working.
(I’ve quit smoking but still had a few cigarettes in a pack. Lit one just to burn myself with it. It was a fucking clove cigarette. Christ.)
Once again mourning the friends I lost in the great Friend Exodus of 2014. Once again wondering why? I won’t ever really know, & at this point the why of it doesn’t matter. I’m just lonesome. I want someone to come over with a bottle of tequila and an acoustic guitar, & we could pass ‘em both back & forth, drink tequila & sing old folk songs. I want someone to have a Jim Jarmusch movie marathon with. I want to sit with someone all night in a diner, alternately talking art & philosophy & just sitting silently, writing or reading our own things. I want someone to go to a copy shop with me & make Xerox art.
I feel very old & very young.
I’ve cut back on alcohol & caffeine & other than my lapse into self-harm I’m trying not to be self-destructive but god.
I miss being able to justify putting whiskey in my coffee every morning.
I miss hopping trains.
I need to finish my goddamn zine & I’ve stalled out. I’ve stalled out on a lot of things.
I’m bored & restless & uninspired.
Scratch that last one. I have hundreds of ideas but when I sit down to work on any of them it’s a struggle to get anything out.
At least writing-wise. Visual art is coming easier these days.
The kids are bored & restless, too. That makes them cranky, & then they act up, & I snap at them, & then feel worse about myself.
& they are relentless, always interrupting me. So even when I do start writing, I can’t get into a good flow.
I feel like I’m failing them and myself.
Then there’s all the car trouble & financial worries & all the stress from that.
I’m tired all the time but can’t sleep. At least not without ASMR & antihistamines, or BDSM & bourbon.
When I do sleep, I have fucked up dreams.
P.’s familiar issues are popping up again, too. Namely how he reads things I’ve written & think he knows who they’re about & when they occurred. I’ve tried to explain that the ‘you’ in many of my love poems isn’t one specific person, it’s a hybrid of various people. That the stories in much of my prose are a combination of fact & fiction, or that I write about stuff that happened years ago as though it were recent.
We’re having a yard sale a couple weeks from now, so I’m going through my things to figure out what I can sell. It’s hard for me to get rid of stuff. After all those years of having stuff stolen by vindictive roommates, having to sell stuff to pay the bills, having stuff damaged in flooded basements... I don’t like to let go of anything.
I’m trying to find a way through all this.
Trying to be gentle with myself, but not too gentle.
Gentle like: not beating myself up (emotionally) for crying a lot, or for snapping at my kids sometimes, or for that clove-cigarette burn.
But also tough enough to say: stop moping. Get over yourself & do something rad, or I’ll kick your ass.
Trying to be gentle with the kids. Letting them know every day that I love them, even when I yell; letting them know that I don’t always love their behavior but I always love them.
People have been really generous since I posted about the car/money stuff on my main blog, & I am so so beyond grateful.
After I write this, I’ll be finishing up my triptych for the zodiac-themed art show and submitting it.
I will finish my zine before MWPZF. I work on it every day, even if only in brief snatches.
I’m mapping out other writing projects. I have copious poem-notes. An idea for a short film; another one for a short story. Last fall I got an idea for a horror novel and have made a lot of notes about it since; I’m going to work on that during NaNoWriMo this year.
A week from today, I’m taking a one-hour online divinatory poetics course, with special guest CAConrad.
I’m planning out what to play on my next podcast.
I got a stick & poke tattoo kit so I can level up my stick & poke tattoo game. So far I’m just sketching out ideas; next I’ll practice on the fake skin. My first one will be a ghost. Followed by an oak leaf & a chicory flower. Then I’m going to fix/finish that compass rose moon I started all those years ago.
I’m letting myself be the mystical lovesick romantic dork I really am; letting myself romanticize everything, again.
Like the beautiful women I saw downtown last week—the tattooed mom & the butch dyke in overalls.
Like Thursday, turning the walk to the park with the kiddos into an epic fantasy adventure. The park was a strange & distant land. We had to walk because ‘our chariot had broken down.’ The neighborhood crows were messengers; the things people had carved into or written on the park benches were markings in many languages, left by fellow travelers through this strange land. & of course those walking sticks/wizard staffs we found.
Like the fact that I have apparently decided to become an amateur woodworker, at least for this one wizard staff. I spent hours after we got home on Thursday afternoon removing bark (it was weirdly therapeutic), and I’m planning on removing the rest of the bark over the course of this week, then painting it & otherwise decorating it.
Like sitting out back with P. late Thursday night, & seeing a huge blue-green fireball arc itself through the sky & down somewhere northwest of here.
Like Friday night, how we couldn’t make it to the bonfire & night hike at the Eco-Justice Center, so we had a fire in our backyard fire pit, then took a night walk around our neighborhood. The streetlights through the trees made leaf shadows on the houses; the front yard lights made diamond shadows on the sidewalk.
Yes, I’ll make it through. Now I’m just waiting for October. Cross my fingers, cross my heart, & hope to die.
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