Letters in Rememberance and Final Wishes

 

I'm overflowing with inspiration and not quite enough successful use of my time to get it out.  Palettes.  Color palettes.  More color palettes.  Let me bring my camera and take a picture of every beautiful palette I've ever seen.  Let me recreate art with THESE beautiful colors!  I've got to change some things in order to let these inspirations thrive.  Cell phones are for daytime.  Daughter time, painting, songwriting, and reading are for nighttime.  No more texting or checking my phone at night time--it doesn't produce anything creative really.  It just distracts from the now and the things I could be creating. 

I leave for Seattle in two days for a vacation.  Sometimes I wonder if I'll end up in Seattle or Portland indefinitely; but for now, I am in Shreveport.  And Shreveport is where I need to be happy and present for now.  I can't wait to see mountains and fresh, cool air.  I already feel like the air here smells different and feels cooler, just thinking about being elsewhere--being there.

I wrote a letter to my daughter, in case the plane were to crash.  (Melancholy--apologies.  Let me rephrase).  I wrote a letter to my daughter so that some day I can read the letter to her--thoughts from a past experience and a younger her and I.  I started crying while I wrote the letter, overcome with such love that I never knew was possible.  I think about her little face and precious little cheeks and chin, and I just want to hold her and love her while I have her so tiny and fully mine.  She will always be this special to me.  But there really is something about her full trust of me and getting to explain what the sky is or the moon is--this time with her really is magical.  I could spend every day with her for the rest of my life and be happy.  I hate that she has to grow up.  I hope that she never leaves me, but I know that is selfish to think.  I hope that she lets me come with her, really.  I hope she lets me come with her when she is a strong, powerful woman who knows what she wants.  I hope she still wants me.  I love you, honey.

Very difficult just thinking about not being with her for a few days. 

(Some day, I'd like to get this all printed in book format--pictures and all.  Even the silly posts or the difficult-to-read posts.  I'd like to get a copy printed for Evelyn.  I'd like her to know everything).

Happiness

I was raised with the viewpoint that no one "deserves to be happy."  That being happy is not the end goal.  That loving God and talking about Him is the only thing that matters at the end of the day; so don't chase happiness--it is a futile chase.

I am very happy, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Girl who Cannot Be Told What She Can and Cannot Have

I will be traveling next week to Seattle, Washington.  I will be staying with a dear friend, Kelsey McClure, with whom I spent many of my most pivotal years of adulthood with.  This is a friend with whom we shared our first house away from a parental unit.  This is a friend with whom I had to discuss how to mark my groceries, in order to be most clear to have marked my territory so as to not find my food raided on a day when I might need it most.  She hated that I marked my groceries, as she said that "she would not be told what she can and cannot eat."  I was confused by this, as I had very little money to buy groceries, and oftentimes would find my food missing.  Somehow, despite the turbulence in these conversations, we both made it through this time without either of us going hungry or without money.  As it turned out, marking one's groceries ended up being an unsuspectingly minute part of adulthood.

She moved to New Orleans, Louisiana in the wintertime.  By the time February had arrived, I needed a place to escape to-- I felt that I was in a manipulative relationship that allowed me no haven and no safe friends to discuss my troubles with.  Most of them knew that I was in a manipulative relationship and had no pity left for me as to why I could not pull myself out of it.  I didn't have the strength to say no.  So Kelsey and my friend JJ, both living in New Orleans, offered me a way to take the choice away from myself, to submerge myself into the unknown, and to gain some independence and respect for myself.  So I up and moved to New Orleans.  I don't know that it was following her, as much as it was seeing her bloom in a place that she did not feel tied down by.  The idea of an unshackled place to call home has always been appealing to me. 

Sometimes I wonder if I will follow her to the West, where she has found the love of her life and a place to be happy, to create, to fall in love, and to explore.  My heart flutters thinking of these things being possible for me.  For my life.  In a way, she has always lived the life I wanted.  And she has always been happy doing so, "not being told what she can and cannot have."  Maybe that's my problem-- maybe I need to view that mindset as an opportunity instead of something threatening my livelihood.  Maybe I just need to be set free.

I want to be free.

I will be getting a tattoo while I am in Seattle-- a slingshot shooting out flowers as a commemoration to the woman I have become-- a tomboy who is a bit guarded and keeps a means of protection close to her, but leaves a trail of flowers in her path.  A spray of positivity.  It is something that I have wanted tattooed on me for a while, but something to which I have been scared to commit.  Maybe it's cheesy.  Maybe I'll hate it next year.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe I just want to inspire myself to be the person I want to be, and that I know I can be.  Maybe being strong is not as scary as I think.

Also, I have read Just Kids, a book by Patti Smith, and have fallen in love with her and Robert Mapplethorpe's friendship and closeness, as well as Mapplethorpe's art and genuine nature and Patti Smith's writing.  In fact, I have found quite a bit of enjoyment out of reading her work.  Reading in general has become a great means of focus for me--of imagination and diving into someone else's world.  It has become less laborious to me than writing, but almost just as much of a release of stress and anxiety.  Almost.  I really love it and have just ordered four more books to read, and plan on reading more of Patti's work in M. Train and The Coral Sea.  I will also be seeing one of Mapplethorpe's portraits in a museum off of the beaten path in Seattle.  I will have to take an hour train to get there just to see one piece of his art and to feel a part of his world, and it will be absolutely worth it.  I am obsessed. 

I will be traveling alone, looking at museums, eating vegan food, and purchasing little trinkets of magic to bring back home--a little piece of my journey to keep (me) alive. I will bring my journal and sketchbook on this trip with me in order to allow my inspiration to have a means in which to unfold.

Counting down days.

Breathe ::: Parenting a Toddler

There is a lot going on in the world right now.  Believe it or not, the KKK and Neo-Nazi's have arisen from the ashes in order to fight for their "rights to free speech," etc., and I can't help but feel a panging ache in my chest about bringing my daughter up in the South in a time such as this.  I want her to be in a place away from this kind of pain and fear for your life if you stand with your brethren, standing up for what you believe to be right.  Sometimes I'd like to just go out in the woods of a different state and just not come back out.  Sometimes I'd like to just disappear.  And then I think about social strengths and weaknesses for her and how it is GOOD for her to interact and to feel strong feelings towards things and other people, even if that feeling is a feeling of "I do not understand you" and "I disagree with you."  I just dislike that there has to be so much unnecessary hate in this world; the fact that I have to explain that to her some day is heartbreaking.



On top of all of this, I am experiencing some real difficulty in raising a toddler.  It is very difficult for me to not lose my temper.  I feel like I need order in my house in order to keep my anxiety at bay.  I guess "anxiety" is what we're calling it--the need to have alone time, the need for peace and quiet, and the immediate sense of "fight or flight" when I feel that this is taken away. My daughter is in a part of her childhood where she needs to be with me a great deal; when she cannot have my full attention, she becomes very upset and hits or screams or throws things.  When she acts this way, I become frustrated.  I am frustrated because I feel like most parents would be able to have their partner help at this time, and I don't have that luxury.  I become frustrated because after a long day of work, the last thing I want to hear is a screaming child while I continue to work (or cook) in order to feed us.  I become frustrated because after a long day of dealing with people non-stop, I would just like to relax and cuddle instead of trying to talk more to a little person who doesn't understand me.  But the problem here is that all of these frustrations are about the way I feel.  She is frustrated because of how she feels, and I just keep the cycle going.  Wouldn't it be nice if I were able to recognize this moment as a time to teach and bond instead of power through an unpleasant situation, turning off my ears and my emotions to attempt to accomplish absolute zombie/autopilot state in order to retreat into the part of my mind that can shut off all outside forces. 

She just needs me to be present!  She's begging me to be present with her--she's had a long day too, and she just wants to feel understood and loved.

I can do better.  I've got to do better.

I love this little girl to death, and I want her to know that feelings are FINE to have!  It's the way we deal with them that makes the difference.