Monday, May 9, 2011
technically still morning ...
...or maybe it’s “technically still mourning,” but I digress. I made myself this promise to do the 30 days, 30 pieces of collage artwork and 30 pieces of writing prior to work each morning and so it goes.
I (and the sticky bun) didn’t make it very far, however. I feel like that scene in the movie, “Mommy Dearest” where Joan Crawford screams at Christina to eat a piece of steak or some other rot at dinner one night. Christina refuses the meal. So for several subsequent creepy days on end Joan forces the nanny to put the same plate of food before Christina until it rots.
I have trouble eating when I’m processing my emotions. I’m deathly afraid I’ll misinterpret hunger as something else when the tough really gets tough-ass tough and things are really riled up.
Grief and loss of any kind, when it’s eating away at me, carving away at my skeleton, I hate to miss that feast on my bones. I’d be very pissed off at myself if I mistook a gut-ripping, mournful pain of any sort, thought it a hunger pain and ate a Twinkie instead.
One must honor their gut-ripping raping losses if they're to move forward. (This counts too even if your moving forward, only to move back nine steps to the fridge, say, six weeks later to eat a tub of ice-cream when the feelings resurface as something even uglier ... no one ever said this was easy, hello?!?!?!?)
Losses are necessary. You have to honor them, that's still the given, it's ongoing, gut-fuckity-uppity, hard-ass work.
So I’m going to have to revisit the sticky bun, perhaps tomorrow. Today, I gazed upon it, had my coffee, and if I’m going to be honest I must confess I had said coffee pretty late this morning because I was hiding under the quilts until 10:30-ish after a not-so-restful night.
I did not launch out of bed this morning with a, “Woo-hoo! I can’t wait to get started on my master plan of bloggie attack, my 30 days of renewed passion for life and art and jump started-ness,” because, well, I just don’t feel all that passionate about the deal, which of course is why I had to set myself up for the double-dare in the first place!
That being said, in all brutal honesty, because that is also what this is all about, here’s another revisal of a portion of “the manuscript,” which is also in keeping with today’s theme somewhat when it comes to emotions, and appetites and such, and then I shall end this blog with my collage and get my sorry ass to work for the day.
OF NOTE: I'm not going to be including stuff from my manuscript everyday. I have only promised myself to write/art in the blog everyday so I'll either be revising or showcasing work, and/or using a prompt or?!?!?!? ... just so there's something, a mark, a drop of some kind of INKISH BLOOD:
(This is a charming little ditty about a little girl who had several Prince Charmings but they were all out in the yard one day and no one could save her.)
... The boys were back outside before I ever got my sandwich even halfway started, and then I was out of Kool-Aid. Mummy got mad.
She said, “No seconds!” and put the Kool-Aid back in the fridge. She said I could drink water if I was so smart, instead of trying to use all the Kool-Aid in the house to git rid of my sandwich.
I felt like telling her there wasn’t enough Kool-Aid in the whole house to ever finish that sandwich, but I kept my mouth shut between bites …
…The water made the liver sausage taste like metal, but I ate almost the whole sandwich. It would have been okay except I started to burp and it felt like puke and guts were going to come back up. It made me gag. My tongue tasted greasy and dirty.
Mummy said, “Goddammit …” and that’s how I ended up in my room, flat on my back with that stupid guts and pukey liver sausage floating around in my stomach.
I have to take a nap today. No one else does, but I’m the one in big trouble again. I’m not supposed to get off the bed. I can’t read quietly because my book is all the way over on the dresser. If I go get it, the floor will creak on the ceiling over the living room. Mummy will hear that instead of “As the World Turns” and then I’ll be dead.
I know this. I’m not stupid. If I were a little smarter, though, I would keep my Grimm’s Fairy Tales book under my pillow for the next time. “Goose Girl” always cheers me up, even when she is all miserable and rolling down a hill in a barrel with spikes jammed in it, hurting her on all sides …
A PIECE OF COLLAGE ART (1 OF 30):