That's What I'm Here For...Bitch!

Dear Hearts,

So I just read this question on Quora.com. It’s like a social media/tabloid, gossipy, self-righteous, learning-phile site for nerds…I dunno. This question (one of the thousands) is: How do I get out of my depression?

Just kill yourself. You won’t be depressed anymore.

No, I didn’t write that. So many people talk about depression though. Bipolar. Non-Bipolar. Has modern society created more of this disease or does modern society just recognize and talk about it more?

Hemingway didn’t get ECT and then shoot himself with a shotgun ‘cuz he didn’t have the latest iPhone.

The ghosts were quite active last night. Asshole. T. They were all there in the front row chit-chatting away. I decided to not give them quarter, however, and instead to draw. (Also after going with G-Pa for pizza and ANOTHER drive in the country…it was getting a bit late. I like to be done blogging by 8.30 at the latest).

Yesterday, I met Aunt Faerie at the Garden House and we had our regular: Black tea and a jalapeno/cheddar bagel with cream cheese for Aunt Faerie (EWW, I know!) and a latte and Amish pumpkin cinnamon roll for me to go. After Aunt Faerie finishes her treat we walk and then I can take the rest of my latte home and have my first cigarette of the day. I save my treat for tonight.

I digress. Before I met Aunt Faerie I had like an hour and a half. Could I have done responsible, practical things? Sure. But, I didn’t. Instead, I drew. I am working on a wolf face. I didn’t want to just follow the tutorial though. I wanted to make the wolf mine—give him a personality. That means modifying the tutorial. Throwing strict adherence to realistic rules out the window. Being free to make whatever kind of wolf I want!

I was…in…the…ZONE. I know the Zone from being a writer. It’s like when the universe converges into a pinprick and the only existing entities are you and what you creating. Until the minute I was out the door to meet Aunt Faerie, I was tweaking the wolf.

Michael. That’s the wolf’s name: Michael. He kicks motherfucking ass!

I was inspired by Brigid Ashwood’s “The Guardian”:

Mine looks different—I like more fur around the neck. But, the eyes and markings…I mad then my own. And then Michael, his eyes, steady, is bearing on side of his teeth. Like a Doc Holiday pushing his coat back to reveal his holstered gun.

Michael casts out the demons. Michael is also going to have a background with wings—big surprise there. If I can draw wings on something, I will.

I’d never before felt such a connection while drawing…I was in the moment, creating, changing, consumed…when I left I felt disconnected from reality. I’ve experienced that with writing, but not drawing.

The Zone happened when I stopped looking at the tutorial and let my “voice” come out. I don’t know what that’s called in “art.” Michael is not totally “realistic,”—just like the purple wolf, I colored last week. I am getting a voice in my drawing, I guess.

Another first, although of the much more mundane variety, I mowed my first lawn! I might have used Pop’s riding mower when I was a kid, but I never seriously cut grass. I was not gonna let G-Pa do it. So I got in my black and pink work out two-piece and made that mower my bitch on a late Sunday morning. That’s right! Before noon!

It is supposed to be button self-start or something, but the battery was dead, so I had to pull the starter. It took strength. I wasn’t gonna give up. It became personal. Although I was aware that yelling, “Fuck!”, “Motherfucker!”, and “Bitch” might not be totally appropriate on a Sunday morning. I even figured out how to lower the blades.

“All those years of education did pay off, bitch!”

The lawn is probably not cut right. But, it’s done. G-Pa came out and said he didn’t even know I was doing it.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

So, take that, Nosy Nancy from Burning Bed who is just burning (pun intended) to find out how I support myself, how much I have in my back account, why I never had kids, why I’m really in The Holy City, and if my parents are rich.

My family feeds and houses me because I am cray-cray!

I will tell you my bra size, but, NN, if you put your hands on me the way you did on me the way you did on Young Mommy-To-Be…you’ll get smacked. (PS: My boobs are bigger and firmer than yours!)

The phone just rang and this dear woman…um, Karen called. She was at the orphanage about 30 years after G-Pa and Gram, but they became very good life-long friends. There is just something special about Karen—I met her and a lot of other people at Gram’s funeral five years ago, but I have always remembered her. There is just something special about her. She really, sincerely cares. We chatted a bit. She just turned 75. I guess I shouldn’t be all bent about turning 40.

Yesterday, I had a sincerely nice, good afternoon day with Aunt Faerie. She lets me prattle on and on. But, I felt in the moment and afterward—connected, like I wasn’t faking it. It was a good afternoon.

That’s kinda fuckin’ huge for me. Big league!

The ghosts and demon a came a knockin’ later, of course, but I had a brief respite. That is something.

Every Easter I expect there to be big changes and transformations! Rebirth! I won’t put that kind of pressure on myself and God this year. It is miracle enough that I am still alive and here. I NEED to appreciate that.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Cocksucker Next Door: You can swear, curse, abuse, and berate all you want. I know you for what you are you cowardly motherfucker. The women you are damaging—you will be held to account someday.

PPS: Tomorrow I meet with the Father at St. Mary’s. I am gonna tell him about that joke and I hope he is a good man.

Grateful For:

Angel

Being Here

Warmer weather

Tank tops

Free Days
Health
Hope?