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How I Lost All My F-cks

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I’ve wanted to start a painting series call Spiritual Heroes for some time, about 15 years. Yesterday I finally began this passion project, sketching the first piece in the series, “Wake the Fuck Up Already, Loves.” A bodhisattva is an enlightened being that delays enjoying nirvana herself until she’s ensured that all beings reach enlightenment. . It’s got to get tiring, right? She’s got a trail of glitter leading to the door of enlightenment, with a neon arrow sign thrown in for good measure. I’ll aim to capture an expression that says, “I love you guys, but enough dicking around.” I imagine it will take some time to complete, but Pan is up after her. What fun!

I had an awesome full moon-y day yesterday. I used to regularly be highly affected by astrological goings-on, feeling, well — kinda high all day during full moons and eclipses, but it had stopped when I lost my home in 2017. I think when I’m in bonkers-stress mode I’m less in tune with energy, less sensitive to it. . Either I’m finally feeling safe enough to open up, or that was one hell of a full moon! I’d bet on both. I haven’t felt like that in so long, naturally intoxicated in the best way — that moon juice man, it’s some sauce. I had no pressing deadlines and gifted myself the whole day to take advantage of the experience. . At first I tried to write, but nothing wanted to fall out. Then, quite randomly, I got up and grabbed a big cedar panel that’s been in my car for months and spent all day finally sketching a painting I’ve been working on in my head since college! It was nothing short of magical, such flow. Ahhh loooooove. Okay, gotta grounded now and get shiz done. Hope your Tuesday’s terrific 😘

Wow. That was clarifying. With some guidance, from an oracle reading yesterday, actually (@starchildtarot), though the card’s been a repeater — I identified that I’m using my past and the pain in it to validate living a life of silence, abstinence, and poverty. Like living that way will bring back how I felt before all the hurt; hurt that is apparently tied to self-expression, physical love (if only it were as simple as getting laid), and money. . I can clearly see my lack of romance and financial coziness, but it’s scary to acknowledge that I’m holding back expression-wise. But I do know it’s true. I got lotsa stuff to say that I’ve left unsaid. In relationships, in my writing, and definitely in my art — I’ve been using poverty as an excuse to only paint commissions for years and years. I wonder what a heart-led painting would even look like now. Should be an interesting year! Okay. Now I can do my day sans feels jumping all up in my face. Put ‘em all in my journal, tissues, and Insta. Thanks for listening 😘 . 📸: Another bad poem fell out the other day whilst listening to @atmosphere. (He gets women who struggle like Tom Robbins gets eccentric waitresses and Dean Koonz gets doggie sidekicks.) Learning to let my fire fuel 🔥

More dreams. Less eye rolls, more eye tears. I was on a boat, too sick to get up — I have fibromyalgia, it haunts most of my dreams — but the people around me kept changing. No simple relationships, of course. An early rejection that I never understood, I felt the pain and confusion just like I did then (and still, a tear just rolled). We still didn’t confront each other, even in the dream; just held onto one other a bit desperately until he tuned into a blanket. Someone who never fails to make me shrink appeared in the corner. I hid under the blanket, aptly, until I felt his presence leave too. . Then I became overwhelmed with emotion and sat up, my mother was sitting at a computer — just as luminous as she was 22 years ago — laughing and telling me everything was going to be okay. But I saw her bank balance of under $4 and I immediately knew what she was going to do. What she did. It’s funny how you can feel paralyzed to leave your bed yet never want to fall asleep again. Come quick, full moon. I can’t take this awful teasing. Guess I have more journaling to do before work today. Fucking feels man, fuck oooooooff.

Dreams can be so annoying. Awake I’m like: “I got this, no worries, things are happening for me!” And asleep’s often like: “Actually...I’m still way neurotic and care what all the silly bitches think who kicked me when I was down.” Obnoxious. I’ll be sure not to let anymore friendships die with a whimper or my extended ghosting. Because it seems if I don’t get my face up in their face with words of feels and my truths, then unsaid things just spin around in my brain when I’m not driving. . Mindfulness can make you think you have control, but the things/thoughts/feels that arise don’t go away just because we ignore them and push them aside. Unfortunately. They say “hey yo!” in our dreams until properly examined when awake. I guess I’ll have to journal about stupid mean girls just like when the same ones hurt my feelings in middle school. Didn’t tell them then either. . Old school peeps tend to bring up old school reactions with me, the show HIMYM referred to the phenomenon as “revertigo.” If I saw them in person I might nervously giggle then apologize for being myself, as I was want to do for some time. (Can’t imagine why they created distance. Ha.) Hmm. Actually feel better at that. Still better journal today. Get them sexy Grimm fellas back in my subconscious... . 📸: My favorite mural (so far) in Long Beach, taken whilst driving, obv. I love to see Hedy’s glamour celebrated while at the same time surrounding her in science-y goodness.

Oooofta. It’s weathering again (still?) and it feels like my bones are going to crumble into little bitty bits, causing me to drop another iPhone and get bone dust everywhere. Ugh, the worst. But I still wrote close to 1,000 words today, hooray! It’s copywriting for a cannabis-paraphernalia cleaning product — work that’s going to forever change how often and well I clean my pieces... 😳 . I’m really excited for the potentials in this field and niche (writing and cannabis), especially with my plan to squash this whole miserable winter flare thing (#fibromyalgia) by replacing next winter with Uruguay’s summer. I was getting way more productive/functional time with hot weather, and a longer day makes so much more possible. This time next year I’ll be tan and feeling great, hopefully speaking enough Spanish to explore the country and take advantage of said longer days. . Oh man, I’m so tired of everything hurting so bad. Summer will come, summer will come... (Right?) Rawr. I need a hug. Long distance hugs to you, especially my fellow spoonies 😘

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