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it's pudding time
This has been a shit year. The shittiest year yet. Everything blew up like one of those homemade bombs they put in airports that throw shrapnel of bolts and nuts as far as it possibly can get so it does the most damage.
The best thing, and one of the only good things, is that I haven't had to go to shitjobland. I worked for about a week or two in January, between when my mom died and my dad died, but then I quit. And then I got inheritance I didn't know I'd be getting. And I've been living off that and my husband's thousand or so bucks a month in disability money.
And aside from this month, I haven't been very productive. I found out what color season I am (dark winter). I watched a ton of youtube videos and listened to more music than I had in years (but still not enough). I drank way too much booze. I ate bad food I normally wouldn't go near. I did one painting. I made some fabric arts. I cleaned out the basement, the garage. I wrote a good amount of poetry.
But, my mom died. My dad died. My oldest brother tried to kill himself. My middle brother went into rehab (again).
The neighbors made the summer even more hellish than ever, stepping up their game with shooting innocent animals and having toxic fires made from arsenic treated wood, old furniture, and gasoline. The city has cut down most of the trees in my neighborhood. The school across the street has all but killed my roses with the sprayover from their herbicide.
My husband's dad came down from Alaska and mentally abused my husband. He tried to pick a fight with me. He insulted both of us. He seriously pissed me off. He brought his sickness (sinus infection) and made us ill. He was banned from ever coming here or speaking to either of us ever again. My husband's aunt died, and he had to see his mom TWICE this year. She lives in Florida and he hasn't seen her for about 15 years. She also had a sinus infection. Their visits went OK each time, but still...stress.
I've been sick. Really sick. I haven't been this sick in twenty years. I was sick then, because I had been living in my van, traveling, eating bad food and drinking strange water and then when we settled, we were broke. I was lucky to eat once a day. And I changed up my birth control and that just made everything worse.
This time I'm sick because of stress. Because I switched up my birth control. Because the air, water, food supply is a toxic cesspool of bacteria and disease. Because I had to travel and eat weird food and drink unfamiliar water. I have had to take so many medications. Gone to the doctor so many times. UTIs, Sinus Infection. Things I've NEVER HAD before in my life. One illness after another. I broke my finger and had to be in a cast during the peak of the summer. Fun times.
My husband and I both have been totally fucking psychotic this year. One, then the other. Both at the same time. Living with someone for 23 years is getting really old. I only lived with my parents for 18 years, and they drove me nuts. I don't care how much you love someone. You need a fucking break now and then. I've tried to leave about a dozen times but I keep coming back because he always begs me to, and, I think, what if we get past this shit and then it's better than ever and I just wasn't strong enough to ride this out? That would haunt me. People give up so easily. To walk out on someone you care about, someone you love, just because of stress? Because of mental illness, physical illness.
I remember when my husband was first diagnosed with seizure disorder, my BFF told me I should leave him. I was too young to have to take care of someone like that. I was shocked. Shocked. It hadn't even crossed my mind. You don't abandon someone you love because of illness. But, I guess people abandon their loved ones for way less than that.
And now that BFF will barely speak to me, because she just realized that both me and my husband have mental illness. And it scares the shit out of her. I hate that. I've told her the standard DSM diagnoses before, but I guess when you see it in front of your face, it makes an impact. I can only have friends that are crazy. And that's fine. But, what I hate is people who are totally fucked in the head who act like they're not. Who act like the crazy people are going to hijack their way of life and need to be put “someplace”. Living as a typical American is NOT healthy. It's not. You may be considered well adjusted, but you are not NOT crazy. You're either part of the problem or part of the solution.
And...I keep my mouth shut even though she works for a really evil chemical company that is ruining the world just because I've known her since we were in 4th grade, but really, if I were to abandon any relationship, it would be with her. She just doesn't get me anymore.
I don't even know WTF this entry is. I have laundry to switch out.
I should do more work on my poetry book. I've got it down to 80 poems. It's less than half of what I have total, but I know that most of what I cut deserves to be cut. Like, poems I wrote when I was 16 may be nice to have for nostalgia, but as for other people enjoying them in modern life, probably not. Maybe I'm too hard on myself, but I am trying to be pretty impartial.
How do you put value on something that has no standard to measure value by? What makes a “good quality” poem? It's all subjective. It's an interesting process. I'm trying not to think too much. Just go with my intuition. Things usually turn out best that way.
Mostly I will be glad when it's done. This is something I've always wanted to do, and I will do it, and then I can move on to another project I am looking forward to. Honestly, I am a little fed up re-reading things I wrote 17, 15, 10, 5 years ago. The book kind of reads like a handbook for Major Depressive Disorder. It'll pretty much be a big downer, but I try to end with the few poems I have that have an optimistic ending.
80 poems is a lot for someone to go through. I thought maybe I should put out a few smaller books where the poems would have more of a cohesive quality. But, fuck it. I want this done. I want them out there. I'm not doing this for money. I will probably give most of them away, or have a digital download be as cheap as possible. It's going to be selected works from 1993-2018, so you should expect some chaos. That's a fairly long time period. A lot happened in that space of time.
Personally, when I read a poetry book, I usually like to read one or two, set it down, let those sink in. Repeat as needed. The only poetry books I've seen that are as large as the one I'm planning on putting out are those that are someone's life work.
Yeah well, I'm not dead yet motherfuckers.
2:02 PM - Monday, Nov. 26, 2018
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