Blessed Beltane Eve, y’all:)So I had a crappy morning and early afternoon (Sciatica is the Devil) but a muchly awesome evening, as evidenced by the following conversational snippet.
Bu: CA (brother-in-law) is coming over with a couple of friends and they were thinking of building a fire up on the hill.
H: Cool. Oh wait, very cool: it’s Beltane Eve! We must have fire!
Bu: It’s huh?
H: “Bell-Tane,” I mean “BALL-tin-uh.” May Day, eve of May Day. You cowan.
H: *Gasp* Don’t call me that!So, we made fire, and I burned an offering of dried roses from after the Birdie was born, and burned a prayer I wrote out, which I scanned for these little collages. Bu took the photos, because he rocks. I loved the shape of the flame in this one: yoni like.
And now, like any good pagan, I’m off to watch Buffy DVD’s.
*Edit: Post title references former blog Me, Molly, and the Moon.
K @ Diary of a Mad New Mother (of a freakin’ adoable boychild,) after reading my recent rants from crazyville, wondered if I might be pregnant again.
In fact, I got my period Monday evening. Thank you MOONY BLOODY EARTHY GODDESS for waiting until after the trip. I neglected to blog this fascinating gynecological development, but I think it might help explain why the whining got worse and will now (soon, we hope) get better.
For now, I’ve spent the first day in well over two years wondering if I need anxiety medication.
For now, the answer is probably no. I’ve done so well without, and I’m definitely not someone who needs medication to function. Ummm, anymore.
So, I’ll look for herbs that are nursey safe and possible try actual purposeful meditation? Seems there’s some obvious cure for stress I’m overlooking… something totally natural and healthy… Oh Yes! Exercise. Would have to sedate myself to be less active, so yeah.
Sometimes I think I’m too psychologicaly fragile or insecure or just too generally lacking the type of ego necessary to be happy and successful as an artist. Thinking here of years of weeping openly during critiques, sleepless nights second guessing my concepts, black depressions and self doubt where I’d hold a paintbrush loaded with thick beautiful oils and be physically unable to touch it to canvas. Tearing down half-finished sculptures in fits of self-loathing. The fact that I have maybe 8 or 10 pieces left from 11 years of school that weren’t destroyed and no slides of my decent work.
I thought graphic design would be a smaller emotional investment. Now I have one client whose project had me so blocked and stymied in the beginning I fell apart and now several rounds of proposals later, still can’t seem to please. I have another who is an artisan and is continually redesigning my stuff and I’m worried it’s going to look awful. I’m confused that she’s not pleased and I thought my ideas were so solid. What’s going on? Do I suck? Is it always like this in design and I’ve just been lucky the past couple of years with happy clients who didn’t notice that I suck?
Is this a symptom of my abusing and neglecting my real talents and I’m projecting it onto my graphic work? Am I just too overloaded to let my creativity flow?
At the risk of being an uber drama queen, let me tell you I’ve often wondered if having the talent to create without the discipline to hone it and sell it isn’t more curse than blessing. Not fulfilling my potential is the theme of my life. I am 31 years old. I think I’ve wasted 90% of those 31 years on slacking and not owning my true self-ness. Am I ever going to change? I keep thinking This is the Epiphany! I Have the Answer! and then, not so much.
At least in this round of moody creative doubt, I can say that I’m working my ass off and am a great mama if nothing else and find awesome comfort in that.
The best hot toddy I’ve made in a long time:
2 Tension Tamer tea bags
3/4 mug boiling water
1 shot of your favorite spiced rum- I used Captain Morgan’s Tattoo
roughly a liter of honey;)
We’re back. The trip was, as predicted, bliss. We had a perfect re-charge. If I weren’t having hormonal hell right now, I’d still be glowing. Instead I keep waiting to see if I’ll actually have a period or if I just get the bloating and moodswings and weirdness without any actual mess. It’s mindboggling that Molly still nurses enough to usually supress my periods. (I’m starting to worry about her food apathy. I don’t know… the webbie breastfeeding gurus say milk is all she needs for a year, that food is very much an experimental thing, and until 18 months-ish it’s appropriate to get most of the nutrition from nursing. In real life, though, no one I know has a baby who still eats so little solid food. I might see if our nurse can see us before her year check up just to ease my mind.)
I don’t have time to blog about the trip, but later on there will be a plethora of lovely photos by Bu, weird and slightly out-of-focus wannabe artsy photos by me, and exerpts from ye olde travelle journyl, the kind on paper- which I kept calling a blog:) Probably you’ll have to wait a day or two, as I have massive house recovery in store for me tonight. Bu’s cousin, who had such a lovely wedding, is coming to order prints and her album. She is exquistitely neat and tasteful and the thought of her seeing the scum in my bathroom or the laundry piles makes me feel almost as queasy as the endless serpentine roads we just travelled.
For now, as this is such a mundane post, I’ll present you with this: Have you heard Low? Omigoddess- I’m in love. Bu discovered them by clicking on an ad in Urge and I’m floored. So very much digging them.
Oh Hell Yes.
Headed to mountains for hiking, quiet, and whatever.
Back on Sunday. Enjoy your days; we shall be in bliss. Knock wood. (Molly’s first road trip.)
See this: Jamie Bishop. Great portfolio, including work in process which is amazing and brilliant to see evolve. I found him via Neil Gaiman. We lost Mr. Bishop at Virginia Tech. Neil had this to say, which is so … I’ve lost words, so here are his:
I don’t know why this is, but I don’t), still managing to think of this as something that happened, tragically, to Other People. And then I see this, and my heart sinks… and I get my nose rubbed hard and painfully in the fact that there are no Other People. It’s just us.
And now there is rain, and there is Thordora’s post, and I feel like a very small stupid creature clinging to a large senseless planet spinning for no real reason.