You know that moment as a kid when you are overly tired, grouchy, and nothing will satisfy you? Perhaps the overemotional scratchy beginnings of puberty when you cannot stand to be around another human being any more than they can stand to be around you? That feeling that floods you at a moment's notice that you need wide open space to run your legs off, someone to scream at for some real or imagined indignity, and possibly, just possibly something that feels hefty, blunt, and deliciously right in your hands to throw?
I have returned to my childhood, adolescence, pregnancy...pick a surge of hormones, and take me off the chain. It's not a pretty sight.
For starters, I could not sleep the last couple of nights if my life depended on it. Last night, I retired from my studio with a sore neck, sore back, and sore booty at six a.m, This was after my husband came home from work, ate a sandwich, and bid me good night and happy new year from across the room at a prudent eleven-thirty p.m.. Jacob was at a friend's; I had been alone all night. Tim came home, med-ed up, and headed to his twin sized bed. Sexy.
When I woke up this morning, I found Gizmo in a near comatose state at the foot of my bed, unresponsive, limbs curled in the fetal position. I ran to Tim's bedside, screaming him awake (always a gamble that he may or may not throw a phone at you), and ran back to Gizmo's side. After a couple of minutes of shaking him gently, my heart already going cold inside, Gizmo finally came to, blinking at us as if surprised he was still in the land of the living. I know we were.
I experienced a near heart attack on top of insomnia. Watch out world! I tried to spend the evening in my studio, but everything I touched today turned to crap. I just learned how to make acrylic gel skins with fabric paint and tar gel, and they are the coolest things ever. After they dry, you can cut them out and just slap them on a painting, a collage, or whatever you'd like. My favorite design is three bold, black, messy circles that interlock in a frenzied fashion, as if staying together is the only thing that matters in the world. They represent Cory, Jacob, and myself- the permanent foundation of my family. The men in my life have made guest appearances, some with longer air time than others, but they have never been part of the inner circle, and never will. Membership in that exclusive club costs one thing they haven't been able to give me or my children: their time- through the good and the bad.
Having made this little motif that I'd someday like to have made into a necklace, I decided to try my hand at some other designs. I drew the outline of a faceless nudie girl that turned out better than I had thought I could do. Again, the nudie girl represented the way grief strips away all your defenses. There you are, flaws and all...come as you are. I let it dry overnight, and spent two days trying to decide what sort of background to lay her over. About an hour ago, I peeled her off the page protector to place her on my painted background, and managed to ruin the entire thing. If the skin is too thin in any one spot, you run the risk of having parts of your design stick together, likely to never come apart again. This is exactly what happened to my girl. I made a noise in my throat that sounded like a bull, and just stormed out of the room. As I passed my mild-mannered son at his computer desk, he stared at me like he didn't even know who I was.
Here I lay, in my bed, ready to turn the lights out on this horrible, awful, no good (but no different than most) day. I am literally sick to my stomach with anger- at myself for my carelessness in the studio, at Tim for his lack of interest in our relationship, and at the entire world at large.
How dare my girl be taken from me? Think it's getting old to hear this complaint? Dude, you have no idea. I am literally running myself into the ground with my anger, but it seems to be bottomless. The only thing that drives me to do anything is pure, unadulterated fury.
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