Realization

A lot of females have difficulty with body image. Mine is atrocious. I just had an epiphany: I have not colored my hair in like six months, maybe more. I wanted to let it grow out, but the truth is, I am unlikely to like my self at all until I do my hair.

I feel younger; I like my clothes more. I take better care when my hair is a color I want. I colored my hair in elementary school. Lots of times, I will quit for years. This is not happy. I must have some joy to wage the fight against my poundage.

It is essential because I play like a seventeen-year-old at times. There is a reason for that, it was when I had my first psychotic break, and in-process nearly died and almost did not come back.

So there is your sign. I am hopeful the color is still usable, and I am going to bring me back. This happens to be the time fate has decreed that I learn to do this without drips, my smocks, I guess they went into another dimension.

The photo is unretouched.

As a prompt, if you know there is something you can do to elevate your mood and self-esteem, get about doing it. I know it takes courage. I believe in you.

Welcome February

This is Goobi, my grand kitty. She believes she owns me, and I am a semi-obedient cat servant now, so maybe she is right.

There is a lot of material in the following pages, so please humor me and read it all. It has been a while since I have written much by hand, so my script is iffy at times. It will improve as I do this again.

I have mentioned I work slow, I have done all these since about 1 or 2 am, until minutes ago. The scanning process was a nightmare with the Dell. Do not get a Dell.

That last haiku is a tribute to Freddie Mercury, and someone, but no one.

I hope you are having an outstanding day. I have stayed busy. I may be back, but it depends.

There is a lot swirling around inside me right now, the thing is finding the right piece to begin assembling the puzzle and the proper color to paint it with.

God bless you! Create. Write your name bold across the globe. You are a masterpiece.

As a prompt, if you are brave – post a handwritten page or more.

To Post Each Day: Lines

I have been using an unlined journal since late September. The hope was that I would “art journal.” It did not work to plan.

I had no idea I would start a 365 – 2020 Creativity Project. Now, I want to post handwritten pages like on my previous Creativity Project. I write better with lines, so I am beginning this journal. I like the cover very much.

Oh, but to write that first page, scary. The tone of the whole journal is set in those lines. What to say? This is, However, Whatever, Whenever, Wherever, Why? Volume Six.

Come around later and find out what will be.

Would you, could you, will you join me? I am sure there is room in the neighborhood.

I do not know if I will make 56 posts this month, but this is two, and I am committing to another today.

Oh Yes, Books

“…However formidable they are, books, my dear, are just sparks. The fire is only lit where there’s wood to kindle, so to speak.” – The Binder of Lost Stories by Cristina Caboni

These are a few books that travel to the common areas and back to the bedroom every day because I am sometimes reading them.

Against the Storm

They say I have too
Many books, I say there would
Be more, could I afford another.
They say give them away,
Would it not be pleasant for others
To get the benefit of reading?
I say, maybe had I read them all,
And were not most writing, art,
Creativity tomes that I always need.
They say you can get them on Kindle,
I say and pay again, oh, not these
First editions, they are priceless.
They say if you have not read them
By now you will not ever do it,
I say I am getting around to them
Over time and time again,
They say the floor is going
To collapse and you fall through,
I mean, it has not yet, and I doubt
Sincerely it ever will.
The argument goes on and on
And even the Supremes could not
Declare a winner, because part
Of what holds me together is reading
Books when my mind is stormy weather.

I figure if I leave off reading library books, I might read all of mine in a hundred years, maybe two hundred. I give some I finish away.

Pens, Tanka, Joined Tanka Poems; & More

Most people I know who are writers are pen aficionados, and I am guilty. I have been collecting pens for an age. I like to put them at the top of my website, but their provenance varies. The one up there now is one of a bunch I picked up during the time Target had exotic pens. I could afford to spend very little on them, and there they were. I do not think any of them were over $10.

The thing about those pens is that many of them are just as beautiful as costly ones today. I try to control my obsession.

Behave, stop looking,
Now, do not go there, be good,
Avoid, remain free,
Go look at the collection
No pen do you need, require.

I once thought if I had a Mont Blanc, I would have arrived as a writer. Sam’s Club used to sell them in the 2000s. I had worked for a while, then wound up hospitalized. While working, I got my pen. My thoughts on arrival were erroneous. I begin to doubt ever arriving. My investment in becoming a competent and self-educated writer, though, has been intense.

Alex is after me to get rid of books and clothes, and I am not reacting docilely to the suggestion. He has not gone after the pens, though. I can hope he has not noticed, but more likely, being trained in military tactics, he is biding his time and wishing to obtain those other objectives before attacking another front.

He told me today, for the first time in my life, I wish you were normal. I wish I were normal, it would be so much easier. I have never been normal. I do thank God I am at least partially functional.

Today, I got the call par excellence, Monday, is my trip to the psychiatrist. As usual, I would love to instead send someone else, attend by proxy. All-day, it takes all day.

Love Holds

I think of you, blue,
The sky, sea, the heart of me,
Without an answer,
I think my incompetence
Yet I dream you, many things.

Did I say too much
Or provide you too little,
I was way off stride,
So much depends on the words
Yet, sometimes language evades.

I fought crystal tears
Light icicles, waterfalls,
Wonder if I am
Anything, anyone, one
Better than imagining.

I step back into
Shadows, blue-black and opaque,
If it is, maybe,
Time freely given, settles,
Around these forsaken feet.

Time is a captor
Of hearts, loves all meant sublime
Whatever will be,
Will be, times without number
At my organ, I sang and played.

I thought to have left
Uncertainties behind, but
I find the circle
Wheels round, round, over again
But I scarce remember why.

As a prompt: Our hearts and minds often overwhelm us. If you feel your emotions, thoughts, adrift in a whirlpool, put a hook in, and pull out something. Then take it, elaborate, gnaw at it, and create a work in your chosen art. Let it be random. If that means a computerized randomizer or a jar with slips of paper, it might be just what you need.

I want you to know you are beautiful, worthy, talented, and you have a purpose. Do not give up. Many people believe you are precious, even if they do not express it. You, you be the one to express love and sow hope. I believe in you.

When we open our eyes to nature, even the weeds are beautiful. God creates paintings if we choose to see.