I wrote something and need it safe.

You are a God among men and I am your Queen of Hearts.

You and I. Me and you. We.  Lost and alone, we search for something we never knew we were meant to find. During many of our lifetimes, we have come close to finding each other however our paths never fully crossed.  We are one soul, ripped into two separate beings who are  destined to find each other and ascend towards our higher purpose. A purpose that the human conscious can neither understand nor realize the karmic implications. It is what it is and it must be done.

The last few centuries have been spent blissfully unaware of the true purpose of life. We lived. We experienced the human condition. We died. We lived for God. We lived for happiness. We lived for ourselves. Each subsequent existence is a new dimension of élan vital to experience. Nothing more, nothing less albeit moving towards our final destination. We weren’t always a “we”. Our burdensome titles of “you” and “I” have become a thing of our not so distant past.   We have become what we are intended to—- whole.

… and then He said “Let there be light.”

In the beginning, there was absolute darkness. There was no existence as we know it. There was no consciousness, no breath, no light, no love. And within a seemingly divine instant, all that we are simply exploded into being. The state of being aware became aware of being.  The process was hard and fast and it tore everything into two instituting “me” and “you”. Hurled across the expansive universe, nothing is known besides the emptiness. 

Dark.

Light.

EXPLOSION.

Everything.

Alone.

There is no escaping the ardent sensation of our new solitary existence. This is genesis. Our infantile beginnings only set the origins of our conception. We are us. With everything that I am, the most important thing I am is you. As the natural progression of consciousness began we started observing the effects we had on the natural world around us. The butterfly flew by without even a second thought to what it had just done. Without the other to guide us, we experience life as a stark contrast. One of us learns to nurture and love while the other learns to conquer and destroy.  Man is not, by nature, deserving of all that he wants. When we think that we are automatically entitled to something, that is when we start walking all over others to get it.

We manipulate the world around us to suit our best interests usually with little regard for the people around us.  This is our truth. This will always be our truth. We cannot cope with life so we mold it into what we need it to be.  It helps us to become skillful artisans in the act of exploiting people’s weaknesses- reading every inch of a person as if in a chess match. Yet, who is the master?

Our fragile physical bodies have been dealt so much damage that our spiritual bodies feel the pain. We’ve tried numbing our pain repeatedly through different methods. Drugs bring us closer to opening our minds and fully understanding. Alcohol numbs our brains to stop the never-ending emptiness and but none will ever be as effective as finding one another. 

I am she. I am the muliebrous energy. The feminine. The weak and timid. I do not belong anywhere yet I am a part of everywhere.  I am alone in all aspects of physical life. I walk alone. I breath alone. I stand alone. I die alone. I may be completely surrounded by people yet I am still searching for someone to stand by me. I have been abandoned by that which completes me. I have learned to nurture everyone around me and have forsaken my own needs. I am not needy nor selfish. I give until I have nothing left. 

I have been many things throughout my soul’s existence. I have been a mother, a daughter, a wife, and a pet. All noble things if you ask me. I suppose you didn’t but I would tell you anyways. The one thing I have always been since my soul’s conception is an artist.  Art is my place of peace. It is my sanctuary to escape the formalities and tragedies of life surrounding me. It provides shelter in even the darkest of storms. 

As a woman, I stand strong for my daughters but as a human, I cry out for the love and attention I so crave. No one is hearing me. No one is seeing me. I am nothing per the usual. Left alone, I wither away to a dark place where you cannot return from. I sit and write and sit and think and sit and listen. My life has become a whole lot of sitting and waiting around for someone, anyone to notice my needs. Waiting for someone to notice that I am dying for human touch both physically and emotionally, yet no one will come and I will fade away into deep nothingness. 

I am woman. Watch me cower meekly in the corner begging for you to love me.  My eyes becoming more sad and dead with each passing moment of aloneness. My art becoming more black with each tick of the clock. The one thing I need to reinvigorate me, never within my grasp. Never within my peripherals and I sink lower into the earth. My shallow grave already ready before I even was meant to live. A dirge in the background reminds me that it is time and I lower myself into the wooden box. Alone. Dark. Much like the beginning, the end is the same. Without anyone to stop me, I close the lid and wait for the endless sleep and peaceful slumber. “No one is coming. No one will ever come. You might as well just stop hoping now. Close your eyes and try to sleep,” I whisper to myself and slowly I comply. I’ll just sleep for now and wait until… nothing. I’ll wait for nothing. 

“One day he’ll come. One day he will show up and with true love’s kiss, he’ll awaken me from this eternal slumber. One day, I will have my happy ending. My fairytale will have its ending,” and within the same breath I remind myself to shut up and sleep. This was never how it was supposed to be. I am a woman. I am all things good. I have been nothing but good to everyone I’ve met and I find myself alone, grasping for breath and slowly fading away.  “But he promised.”

Shut up and go to sleep. There’s nothing left for you here. 

  

I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

I didn’t choose you. I didn’t ask for this. I would have chosen someone who will invest in building hearts, not walls. One who uses words to instill hope and faith around them and not as weapons. Morality, not corruption. Intellectualism and wisdom, not ignorance. Stability, not fear and terror. Peace, not chaos. Love, not hate. Convergence, not segregation. Tolerance, not discrimination. Fairness, not hypocrisy. Substance, not superficiality. Character, not immaturity. Transparency, not secrecy. Justice, not lawlessness. Spiritual improvement and preservation, not destruction. Truth, not lies. Unfortunately, there is no control over the soul cloth I was cut from.

The notes of my perpetual existence gracefully dance up and down throughout  the octaves. There are highs and lows. There are staccatos and stagnation.  The rhythm ever perpetuated by the “boom, boom” of his drum. Steady. Strong. Constant. Everlasting.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Never waning. 

Never slowing. 

Never lost. 

No matter the chaos surrounding me, the resonance is always there. Steadily in my mind, it sets my course. My path takes me where the beat is the loudest and strongest.  Through space and time, I find the beat—- the boom, boom, boom of the heart.  Throughout this existence, I have found that the only vivacity is from the thundering bellow of those low, persistent beats. One scientist believes the the heart is the center of our personality. It controls the brain and not vice versa. Feelings, fears, dreams and thoughts are all decoded in heart cells. This cell memory – a soul – is transferred to another person with a transplanted heart. So while the brain might pilot our body, it is not setting our trajectory. It is where we gain knowledge but it is not where we become human. 

Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.

Love is a fickle beast. It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorns.  Mercutio would say to be tough with love and to beat it down. Love should be celebrated. Even those who cannot feel it should rejoice in its pure intentions. There will be a time when your reality is better than your dreams. Its so perfect and every day is filled with joy and love and everything that poetry is about. We want so badly to believe in love. To feel it in its unadulterated state and to feel the eternal fire that everyone speaks about but that can’t happen until its meant to. We’re so impatient for it to happen that we force ourselves to feel things that aren’t there. We say, “This is good enough.” We deal with never feeling butterflies again. Everyone is so stuck on being in love that they don’t allow it to happen. They marry someone that they were never in love with. They make children that aren’t the products of true love. They suffer and feel pain and realize that the love they felt wasn’t love. It was the feeling of being in love with the idea of love. 

Romantic love isn’t the only love there is. My soul mate is a woman who is dead. My soul mate is dead. She will never know anything again. Her soul has moved on to its next plane of existence. She was a good friend while she was here and she will forever remain in my heart and soul. She made a very big impact on my life. Any relationship that I would have faced would have been one without a soul mate. It will be purely for physical and emotional need for love.

I believed we lived life right because it was the right thing to do. Life has changed that. I want to be absolved of all of my wrong doing. I want to apologize for every heart I’ve hurt. I want to move on with my life and begin my true purpose.  Love is an iceberg. It is beautiful, majestic, and yet completely dangerous. It could the sink the largest unsinkable ship and kill everyone on it. Everyone can fall in love and everyone will die alone—- sad, dismayed, lost, and alone.  It just stops. Love just stops.  Controlled with a kill switch; off. on. off. on.

You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.

Everything great in this universe is born from chaos.  There isn’t an absolute truth when its comes to equilibrium. There is no parity, no equipoise, no stability. There is only the illusion of any sort of security when the matters of the heart are involved.  The only non-variable in this human existence is that it will end. We will end. Our hearts will stop beating and our lungs will stop filling so eloquently with supple oxygen. Our human condition will cease to exist. Existence is defined as to have actual being or to be. So in reality, our existence never truly ends. Our carcass will waste away to nothingness. Our insight, our memories, our beauty will continue on whether through our soul or through our progeny. Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day. Death will absolutely have his day. 

Observations have lead me down a path to fully believe that there is no purpose in life except to live and to enhance human cognition as a whole and grow. We are to benefit the whole world. There is no place for material success beyond this life. We live to earn to die.  No one will speak of your soul’s prior success. No one will know of your conquests in the physical world. They will judge your soul on its accomplishments. Was it true, kind, loved, and did it learn all it could? There will be nothing after this life is done besides your soul’s next journey. 

There is a certain solidarity in the sounds around us. 

I can’t sleep. My mind wonders from this to that and back again. It goes up into the stars and for just a moment, I am glistening among them; amassed between the vast distances, lighting the way for galactic travelers. I am weightless, almost nonexistent but at the same time, I exist everywhere. I am everything and anything but still I am nothing.

The weight of the world bears down on my chest. Heavy and cumbersome as I struggle to breath. The movement in my chest reduced to minute pulses. The rise and fall ceases and I am dead, although I am still very much alive. I am aware of everything around me because I am everything.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Always in my head. Never gone for more than a moment. I weep at the constant sounds. The sounds of violence and mistrust. A seemingly invalid excuse for insomnia but a reckless reason to stay awake. Every fiber of me fights to ward off the sleeplessness. Oh, but I wish I could just drift into a peaceful sleep as if guided by a sweet lullaby.

This is the way the world ends.

Not with a bang but a whimper.

A whimper escapes from my mouth as I yearn for that which eludes me.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Even the constant rise and fall of my chest cannot lull me to sleep nor the rhythmic beat of that which sustains me. My mind wonders. It wonders to a place where everything is something. Nothing is everything and something is nothing. A place where I belong and always am but will never be.

I have become a silhouette of who I used to be. My eyes wet and flimsy. My hands shake from the rage. There is nothing left of what I once was.  I have no comprehension of time anymore. I must stay strong for her but no one else. The pen has become useless. I have lost who I am and any sense of when she will be returning. The color drains from my face as I write. The heart I once shared seems broken. I can’t change that. Life happens. People change. It is all irrelevant. I am afraid to be alone—- afraid no one will love me unless they need me. Some people will never be truly free. Their chains will remain in place forever. 

 

Digging deeper and deeper.

[without anywhere to go]

The part I hate the most is that no matter what, the shovel keeps going.

[it never stops no matter what]

I am sitting next to you yet I am oddly alone.

[it was never meant to happen this way]

Nothing happens the way it should because I am always wrong. I am flawed by imperfect human design. I am left to my own devices, which generally causes pain. A never ending downward spiral- always away from reality.  I am a weak river of emptiness and nothing is as it should be. Life is fragile and we’re always running out of time. There is no rewinding. I am a Hollow Man. Headpiece filled with straw. I am empty like the hollow men. Opposition to Kurtz—- I have lived too rashly, too rudely and brought exponential pain without any indefinite happiness. 

Eternal nothingness is fine if you happen to be dressed for it. So I dressed for it. I secretly became that what I was not and no one knew. They have known for a long time and yet they do not really know me. The me people know now is not the me that my parents raised. My parents raised me to be cautious, political, educated and I have taken all of that and bent it to my own devices. I have used to caution to become spontaneous, the political to become extreme, and the educated to become lazy. I have learned to mold myself into someone people will love. 

Desolation comes from being an infinite creature-meaning that with all that you are comes from the yearning from what you cannot have.  Sitting alone one must begin pondering on what is the meaning of your existence. We are stuck in a stagnant, foul relationship with ourselves. We never truly learn who we are until someone tells us that we are not ourselves, but we’re all lost. The core of humanity is one of facades. Who truly knows what they want or who they are? In the womb, you are alone yet comforted. You are warm and content.  Our resentment  grows as our awareness grows. People change. Hearts change. Lives are irretrievably changed by said changes. We were never made to hurt people, its just our nature. We are perfect by nature and corrupted by living.

I may not be as smart as I think I am but I know the sun will rise every morning, even though there is fog. I know the bluejay sings melodious songs because I have heard them from the enclosure of my room. I know the sky is blue looking through haze, that the grass is green even when I stand in a desert. I know that the branches of a tree dance to the movement of the wind even though it is still. I know flowers have beautiful smells, that the ocean never sleeps, and that snow falls upon high mountains. I know deeply that all humans are beautiful if they are born free to follow their hearts. It has been said long before these written words, that if you build an archway for your heart, with neither lock nor door, life will pass freely in harmony with your senses. It doesn’t take a genius to know that life will continue to move forward regardless of your intentions and needs. 

You’ve awaken every part of me including the part that realizes that that it doesn’t matter how funny you are, how clever, how kind, how passionate, how loyal, how determined or adventurous or vibrant – if you’re overweight or don’t fit into society’s perception of beautiful, no one will ever find you desirable.  More importantly, the one who you feel so enamored with will find someone prettier, skinnier, or weaker. The fears that have stayed dormant for years are resurfacing and nothing can change that. Nothing is good enough and nothing ever will because with our flawed logic, one of us always thinks there’s something better.  The grass is always greener especially if you’ve forgotten to water your own lawn. It’s not my responsibility to be beautiful. I’m not alive for that purpose. My existence is not about how desirable you find me.

Because a human being is endowed with empathy, he violates the natural order if he does not reach out to those who need care. Responding to this empathy, one is in harmony with the order of things, with dharma; otherwise, one is not. 

Empathy is one of the hardest things to experience but without it, we will never know what others are truly going through. A genius without empathy is just a brain without a heart and if you do not have a heart, you might as well not be alive.  To feel compassion for your fellow man is to truly comprehend humanity. It is as if the id has taken over human ideologies. It steers the boat and the primitive, innate behaviors and morals are not enough. The superego stage of controlling impulses has been left alone. Completely ignored, it fades into the pages of a psychology book. It is many things. It is the ability to sense other people’s emotions and to understand them. It is the ability to put yourself in another person’s shoes. 

True empathy is not something you use. Its something you can’t always control. You feel everything and everyone around you so deeply. People’s inner most feelings become your own. the overwhelming feelings often make one lose sight of their own feelings. People who feel are openly mocked for being too sensitive. I’m belittled and minimized into believing that feelings aren’t going to help in any situation. I’m supposed to use logic and intelligence when neither are  the answer. Both can help but they are not the only way to solve a problem.  I learned to be passive and undemanding and as selfless as I possibly could. I want to appear as strong, logical beings so I don’t run the risk of losing that which is so very dear and important to me. I don’t want to anger those around us. No one wants to be abandoned for feeling. I don’t want to be abandoned for having empathy.

No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.

The irony of life is that those who choose to hide behind wear masks speak more truth than those who don’t. They are hidden. They are protected. They are free from the restraints of human normalcy. They aren’t constrained by societal norms of what a person should or shouldn’t do. Masks can be used for deception or protection. Either way, they’ve become someone else entirely. They hide. They cower. They show nothing. Sometimes, people forget who they are identify with the masks they’ve created more. They essentially become what protects them. Everyone needs a mask sometimes. They need to protect their hearts but when that mask is removed and you show your true self, you have reached a new understanding and love for yourself. There is a certain joy that comes with no longer needing to hide who you are- a happiness that you will never know again. Once you have removed it, there is no returning it without shame. Hiding becomes shameful. 

Someday, you will know that our love transcends space and time. It is more than the past. It is more than the present and will set a precedent for the future. We are made from more than star dust. We are the creation of all we know. And with that , we have a great responsibility to ourselves and each other to love like there is no tomorrow. You give me a fire that will never burn out even in the windiest of storms. You are my eternity.  I seemed to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever. 

I will continue to wake up every day and live as if it were my last. Nothing will stop that. Not you. Not them. Not anyone. I don’t live for you. I live for me. There is a place where I will find my happiness. In fact, I’ve already found it and it sits in the room next to me and I will patiently wait for you even if it takes a thousand lifetimes and a billion ‘I love yous’ You are my happy ending. The feelings are so strong and unwavering that it cannot possibly be anything else. I have seen my future. It always includes you. No matter where this journey takes me, you are there in mind, body and spirit. Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not sappy and lame. I think its the most  noble and courageous thing two people can shoot for. 

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I am 1 in 4.

1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage.

1 in 4.

1 out of 4.

I never thought I would be the 1 in 4. I never thought I would go through the pain of losing a child albeit a very small one.

July 27, 2017- I had the positive test. My husband and I were pretty excited. We were looking to finish out our family. We had always wanted a larger family but not so large that it was unreasonable. We wanted to be able to give each child a special time and place and make sure they had enough love.

I hadn’t told anyone except for a small group of women whom I love dearly. They are my tribe. They complete me in every single way possible.

#scrunchiesforever

I didn’t have any morning sickness which is very weird for me but I took it as a sign that this would be the easiest pregnancy yet. My boobs hurt like a mother and I was super tired and hungry. We went through our day to day.  We talked about names and settled on Tyler for a girl and Jack for a boy. We had discussed how we were going to tell our other children. I panicked at the idea of telling my family because they don’t really like that I have so many kids already.

August 31, 2017- I went to the bathroom and there was some blood when I wiped. I started to get upset. My husband and children were all asleep. I decided to watch it and see what happened. There were no cramps so I didn’t see the need to rush to the ER at 10PM.  The next morning, I woke up and told my husband and he told me to go to the ER. I went to our local hospital. I tend to avoid this hospital because they are notoriously terrible. I got there at 8AM. The doctor ordered a urine test. I had to wait an hour to get the results. Then an hour later, they sent me for an ultrasound. The US tech was quiet and rude. She didn’t particularly seem the nicest. She wouldn’t let me see the screen and said nothing besides, “You can get dressed again and I’ll take you back to your room.” Okay.

Nearly two hours later, the doctor comes in and says, “5%. That’s the number of women who have healthy, full term babies. The US showed a fetus measuring 6 weeks and 1 day and no cardiac activity. I can’t say for sure that its a miscarriage but go home and we’ll test your HCG in a few days.”

I got home and told my husband. He doesn’t respond well to sad news. My birthday is just around the corner. I end up taking it easy for a few days and on my birthday, I start bleeding heavily. For the next four days, I bleed heavily and have the most painful cramps cascading while I pass clots over and over again. Some felt as large as softballs. It felt a lot like my post partum hemorrhage with Ollie— the sliding out of clots that you can’t control.

On the fourth day, I get on all fours in my shower because the pain is constant and I just let the waves take me over and then as quickly as they came, they stopped. I sobbed and sat in my own blood. I made a joke to myself that I felt like Madame Bathory.

The bleeding stayed pretty heavy for the next few weeks. I ended up needed to take iron. I made an appointment with my OB/GYN out in Cleveland and he did an US just to verify that everything had passed. I had done it all on my own.

Many people don’t know this but I have never felt so proud of my body and uterus. I have had four cesareans. One was a failed induction. One was a repeat. One was an emergency and the other was a failed VBA3C. Failure runs rampant in my reproductive systems. I thought for sure I was going to need a D&C to finish this out but I had done this all on my own. I couldn’t give birth naturally in the water but I could birth death naturally in the water.

Such a macabre thing to say but when you’ve lost a pregnancy that was so very wanted, you have to find the positivity.

We were given the go ahead from the OB/GYN to try again as soon as we feel ready. How do you decide when you’re ready? I guess we’ll find out.

To help myself heal, I decided to create digital art of how I felt. To check out my other works, visit my business page on Facebook.

I am WOMAN.

Women are strong, don’t you know?

We’re able to do a million things at once or nothing at all while maintaining our everlasting beauty and grace.

We are the nurturer, mending broken hearts and lacerations and words said unkind.

We give life.

We silently deal with death almost never admitting that our hearts and souls are beyond broken.

We weep for our children. We weep for our families.

The world around so unjust and demeaning that if you are not a white man, this world was not built for you to succeed.

You never know we’re sick. We cruise through our daily routine without so much as sniffle.

The undying support.

Happy Halloween.

Everyday has been Halloween in my house lately.

I wear a mask to hide the sadness. The complete and total desperation in my heart. Many don’t know what is going on because I am strong for everyone else.

I’ve been battered and beat down to the point where it doesn’t really hurt anymore so I am strong for those who can’t be strong for themselves.

I am torn in so many directions. I am told I am a terrible mother and that nothing I do is good enough and yet, I keep on doing what I have to do.

Things that make you go hmmm…

So if I, a custodial parent, were to to deny my child any of the necessary items, I would be an abusive and negligent parent. I would most likely lose the rights to my children.

However, a non custodial parent can got months, if not years without paying a single dime and he doesn’t lost anything. Maybe his license. Maybe even some jail time but he still has rights.

Hmmmm… Patriarchy much?

Homeschool?

What about friends?

What about social interactions?

Don’t you think the actual teachers are better to teach your child?

Homeschooled kids are weird.

You just don’t want to vaccinate, huh?

When people approach a family who has chosen to homeschool their children, they are so full of misconceptions and ignorance that they just usually spew it out like a Venetian fountain.

FRIENDS.

Who says that friends are only found in a public school classroom? I know that many of my BEST friends were found while I was out experience life. People with common interests. Not people I was forced to congregate with based purely on age and regional location. Forced interactions don’t friendships make.

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In the same breath, social interactions don’t only happen with peers. My child interact in stores, doctors’ offices, with their siblings and family. Nobody define social interactions as those only had within the walls of a government funded school.

Ahhh. Teachers. Teachers are great people. I’ve personally had some amazing teachers in my years. And I’ve had some who had checked out and didn’t care much. I actually had an Arts and Humanities class in 11th grade that was required for graduation. The teacher, who was a French teacher said that she didn’t like this class and she didn’t like teaching it. So why the hell should I like learning it? All of this is a moot point to the fact, I don’t have 25+ children running around that I have to attempt to teach. I have 3 that are being homeschooled. Each of them, my own. I carried them, birthed them, and subsequently taught them through their early development. I think I am perfectly capable and qualified to teach my own children.

Homeschooled kids ARE weird. If by weird you mean not pretentious jerks that are easily swayed by their peers and all follow Kanye on Twitter. (Not saying there’s anything wrong with Kanye but Yeezus, he’s not who I want my children aspiring to be.)  I’m going to make a massive generalization here, from my experience many kids in the public school system are ignorant, rude, sex driven little beasts with unrestricted access to the internet on their computers and iPhones. They’re self entitled titty babies who cry, “That’s not fair” when they don’t get to play first string.  Everyone gets a participation medal even if they suck.

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Children are never allowed to learn to cope with disappointment and failure. Failure is a part of life. It happens. Its how we learn to do better but now, they expect something for nothing just because they’re there.

Now as to my children’s vaccination status…

PUBLIC SCHOOL, PRIVATE SCHOOL, HOMESCHOOL, NO SCHOOL— my vaccination status and their medical records are nobodies business. Ohio currently allows children who are not vaccinated in the school as long as they have the proper exemptions filled out. This may change in the future but for now, it is what it is.

So the next time someone says, “Oh we’re homeschooling”. Don’t be that guy. Don’t be the person who tells them they’re making a bad choice. Just because it isn’t the choice for you doesn’t mean its a bad one. People have their reasoning.

It is 11:51 am and I’ve yelled 12 times.

For the last four years or so, I’ve been practicing gentle parenting. I don’t normally yell. I don’t spank. We use our words but the last few weeks have been hell.

My patience is wearing thin. My oldest is 9. She tests my patience to a point where I want to cry. I am so defeated that a 9 year old is getting the best of me. We start bed time routine at 8PM. They’re still fucking around at 9PM and 10Pm and occasionally even 11PM. They don’t even try. I’ve asked. I’ve pleaded. I’ve been nice about it and now the only thing left is being not nice about it.

My four year old laughs at me when I tell him to do something. He legitimately falls on the floor laughing at me. He cries and screams and tantrums to no end and then when its all over, he laughs.

My two year old doesn’t speak. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t care. You try to talk to her and she just pokes you in the eye and says “Mama Eyes” and proceeds to point out everyone’s eyes.

So I’ve yelled and yelled and yelled and threatened to take away all of their toys. I’ve tried scaring them into submission. I’ve tried saying, “I’m calling dad!” Nothing works. They’re still not listening.

I’ve come to a simple conclusion:

My children escaped from my womb to make me want to run away. They elicit this fight or flight response every time.

So if you need me, I’ll be binge watching ID while eating giant Reese’s because #adultingsucks.

An unending cycle of dependence

In February of 2016, my husband lost his job. He had a very good job. It paid well and we were able to pay for everything we needed and have extra left over for fun stuff. We were middle class and I was okay with that. We didn’t depend on any sort of welfare to get by.

As soon as he lost his job, I applied for assistance to make it less stressful. My husband applied for literally hundreds of jobs and I applied for some as well in addition to my design work and art. He went to a few interviews and never heard anything back. After 5 months, he found a job making half of what he had earlier but I told him, “We’ll make it work. We always make it work.” 

So he’s been working for over a month now and he’s make 1/4 of what he normally does so far. The money is gone before the weekend is over with paying bills.

A few days ago, I got a letter from the ODJFS that we needed to verify income. That’s fine. I’m not trying to scam anyone and we send it in. They’re cutting our benefits in half. So seeing our predicament, I started applying for more jobs. Seeing as I have a college degree, I figured I could make more than minimum wage but alas— there are no jobs where I live that aren’t minimum wage.

So I look into daycare.

$500 a week. So I look up child care assistance… by working, I make myself ineligible.

So then I think, “What if we work alternating shifts?”

All jobs in my town seem to require open availability and won’t let me just work one shift and my husband has been working different schedules because of training.

Its a never ending cycle.

Starving Artist PT 1

I always remember being a kid and my parents telling me that I had to pick a job where I’d make money.  Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t make myself love doing anything but creating beautiful things.

Every career seemed all about money and progress and promotions. I honestly, just hated the rat race. Every job was about who could do the most and best for the least amount of money so I said FUCK IT and started working for myself. I refined my abilities that I had long since forgotten. I relearned skills I hadn’t used in years and then I took the leap and started posting.

Part of me thinks that people just comment about how amazing something is because they’re too nice. You post it up and no one buys it. Is it because mechanical reproduction and Pinterest have cheapened what I do? Is it because people really are that poor right now that I’m not marketing to rich enough people to put a poster on their wall? I don’t get it.

I want everyone to be able to put a picture on their wall. I also want to at least break even. People don’t realize what goes into creating a work of art. In addition to supplies— some things take hours or days to create. Is my time not worth anything to these people? Do they not care that I spend $50 a month simply on ink cartridges? Or $6 shipping just to get their letters to me and then another $5 shipping it back?

Art is beautiful. I love making things but I would also like to make some money today.