I was late to an appointment with someone. It’s my first time being late. I was to be ready at 1 pm but they showed up at 1:30 pm and I was still asleep. I got up in shock mode, put my clothes on and did what I needed to do.

Something interesting happened. While waiting they were looking at an art piece sitting on the table. A person commented that this is the first time they’ve seen art of mine that they don’t like. Wow! I just gave an unwarranted word slap to another artist so I totally deserved the sucker punch I got. It hurt. I like the piece. The photo of it is terrible, just terrible, but I like the work. It’s totally different than other work because it uses orange as a bottom color then splashes that orange up the side into turquoise and midnight blue. There are flicks of butter cream and tiny flicks of pink.

The reason I’m going to include the art this entry is to try and silence that voice of mine that keeps shaming me for not creating good art all the time. Part of me wants to hide this piece and rethink further exploring abstract art. It felt as if the words used weren’t about the art but about me as a person. I’m struggling right now with validating my existence so what was said hit pretty hard.

tile art
The word slap. I left a comment the other day fueled by nothing but emotion…and a bit of care because I like this person and wish so badly that they didn’t have to deal with all the crap thrown their way from the venue discussed. I wish this person didn’t feel the emotions expressed in many entries. It hurts to see other people hurt. Basically, I care but
then I leave these stinging comments sometimes and I think to myself, at some point they’re going to have to say ‘enough’, I’m not dealing with you, I don’t even know you and I’m not going to put up with it. I really, really hate when I respond with that kind of emotion and I don’t stop until the flame burns through everything.

It’s hard to reconcile the person that helps others through support with the person who at times shows little to no emotional restraint. It makes me wonder if I’m a phony.

I feel. Boy do I feel, deeply, to the point that even things that should be pleasurable end up being so intense that it hurts. The intensity of emotion at times makes me think my emotional gauge is broken. I can listen to people and talk to them in a supportive role but my private life, my online life doesn’t feel controlled. I just thought of something. I’m in survivor mode when I talk to people in a supportive role. I think on my feet and use skills I’ve learned from the past as well as now, but I’m in survivor mode while supporting.

turquoise wooden tileI’m sometimes shocked and have said things I wish I hadn’t said but usually it’s not a huge issue. One lady said something so … interesting that I blurted out, “Seriously? That’s where you’re taking this?”  Another time a different lady made a comment to which I responded, “You just ruined a perfectly good conversation.” ……Thank God I’m not a therapist because I’d be out here ruining people. I’m just the help, I’m just support. Despite these gaffes I’ve been told I do well.

ceramic tile artSo at 1:30 pm I opened the door in pajamas then threw myself together. I went down the mental list of things I needed and thought I was ready. As I walked toward the door I was reminded to take off the oven mitt that was still on after pulling something out of the microwave.  When I returned I could tell one of me had been awake before 1 pm because the cat had been fed, the lights to the plants and frogs were on, the cat box was clean…basically, all the morning routine was seen to, but I had no recollection of it.  There is no recollection of the number of trees drawn in my sketchbook or the face that has three people coming out of the head. There are dates on the back with just initials, no names like usual. The trees are bare, as usual, and they’re in black ink, as usual. I should be use to losing time after switching personalities but I’m not. I’m not as unnerved by it as before but I’m certainly not used to it.

When it comes to hearing positive feedback for my supportive role, I am happy to hear it. It’s a delicate role to be in so I want to do it well. I do need to hear feedback from the group I with. When it comes to art I can tell you this right now, not all my art is equal, but I’m good at what I do. I want to show humility in all things but humility doesn’t cast out confidence. It’s not an either or situation. I know I’m a good artist, and I know not all my art is equal. I also know people say things that come off harsh but at the same time there’s no malice behind it. It still hurts, even without malice. I’m guilty of this to varying degrees.

In this world with its … its ways, everyone is a little emotionally disabled. How is it possible to live as we do, see what we see and not go mad? Life is not normal. It’s become a struggle to respond normally to this abnormal, global situation.

Mary Jane has been wonderful these last few days. She’s stayed so close to me, boy do I need it.

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