Garbage In Garbage Out

I told my mother I didn’t want to be a poet because the life of a poet always ends in tragedy.

I didn’t make a weighted blanket because I didn’t want another project. I just went ahead and weighted a large teddy bear I have.  I opened the stitches on the side, removed the stuffing from the belly then added the appropriate amount of weight. I also removed some of the stuffing from the limbs. This particular bear has a small pocket where a little music box use to be. In place of the music box I put in a lavender pouch which can be removed to heat. The weighted bear with aromatherapy pouch works wonderfully.

At the store today a baby lay in his carrier screaming his head off. I wondered why his parents didn’t pick him up and hold him. The lady in front of me said the baby should be at home then she went on to talk about how she hates to see kids at the store, blah, blah, blah. I told her there could be a hundred reasons why the infant was crying and more than one reason why they couldn’t leave him at home while doing the shopping. Judgment on that family was cast so quickly it wasn’t even funny. It was an infant screaming his head off not a toddler throwing a fit. It was hard to hear but it didn’t require such insensitivity. In the parking lot the parents with the infant blared country music as they pulled from the parking lot. It made me wish I hadn’t stuck up for them.

Birdie said a child would have been reunited with her family had they not discovered she (a 2 year old) was “sexually active.” A two year old can’t be sexually active. Those words together imply willing consent. It’s stuff like that which makes me believe true healing from sexual assault must also come from our community. Once they understand who the victim is and don’t ever assign blame then perhaps we can stop writing books such as “I Can’t Get Over It.” That phrase “sexually active” went right through me like a knife. I was furious. She said she didn’t mean anything by it but still, it cut deeply. This conversation took place almost a year ago but we’ve had several others where she doubted the story of several survivors. It’s an on going battle to correct misconceptions for those fortunate enough to not fall in the category of survivor.

Today I heard that in an artists world the difference between genius and insanity is success. God I hope that’s not true. If it is then I’m destined for insanity.

March and September are hard months for me. I hope this month goes quickly.

I can’t for the life of me remember anything my sister accomplished as a child other than that she was an incredible seamstress. I can’t think of any talents she had or any of her favorite things. My grandmother and one of my aunts were awesome with a sewing machine as well.

The mother came home one day and told me she’d read an article on introverts. She said, “Now I understand you.” Despite the fact that a long time ago I told Blossom I understand “us” better I was rather offended (if not triggered) when she said the other day that after a year of therapy she understands “us” better. She understands nothing or she wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me.

You’re such a fat slob joke, get in here!

If a look of disappointment could kill she would have murdered me a thousand times over.

Black.

Please stop.

I want to go to sleep. I want my head to stop. Ear plugs don’t block out the mental bashing I get every single minute. Every day I’m reminded of just how disgusting I am. With every accomplishment there’s a mental bashing. It goes off like a bomb to destroy, demolish any belief that I’m worthy of breathing.  Maybe when the dust settles I’ll be able to draw again. At this point I don’t feel like I have a release or a way to recharge. I could do that when I painted or whatever but with this creative slump (the street bump that is me) I’m just not able to feel the same relief. I need relief. I need to draw.

I want to try air dry clay partly for art but also as physical therapy for my hands. I hear it’ll help with arthritis. I wonder if it’ll help with the numbness I still have?

I need to cry.

I think I’ll go light some candles and drink chamomile tea. I need a little one on one time with my best buddy Gus. He has super soft ears. He’s so pitiful. What a big, snoring, slobbering bubble headed ball of love. He can’t share my bear though. That’s mine all mine!