I keep telling myself that I'm doing it all for them. I have to keep telling myself. There is no other reason.
Four days of 13 hours. One day of 10 hours. By the time I get days off I'm so tired I collapse and spend much of my time off, asleep.
In the mornings I wake up a few minutes before Mr. Man goes to school. I take him. That's it. That's all I get to see the little guy today, or the next three days. I come home in time to hear,"Gotta go".
Sometimes I get a very quick, tight lipped peck. Passionless. Emotionless. Some day's all I hear is the "Gotta go" before I hear the door open and close as she leaves.
She talks about moving. Our future. Once in awhile She says things like, she loves me and that she cares. A few weeks ago she said I had a cute butt, as she grazed a cheek with the back of her hand.
That's as close as we get. A few minutes a day. As intimate as room mates.
That's it. Every day. Day after day. That's it. And it's killing me. Slowly killing me. Every day. Every time she says something even slightly caring. Every time she touches me then pulls away, it's killing me.
I don't know how to live a passionless life. I need to have a lover I can share with. I can hold and touch and kiss and know that it's "us" against the world trying to make a better life.
Instead I live alone with my child and his mom, and I'm working two jobs for 70 hours a week for practically nothing, and it's killing me.
Contradictions...
First, I should never write while I've been drinking. It always makes for awkward conversations later.
OK, even non drinking writing leads to awkward conversations but the former stands.
Second, I will never understand people as long as I live. Any of you. You are all a giant mystery to me. I used to think that I could read people pretty well. That was apparently a gift that can be lost when not used on a regular basis. Use it or loose it as they say.
Mainly I will never understand her. Her words and actions don't always mesh. I thought that I had been misunderstanding. OK, I'm very sure I have misunderstood much of what has happened but some if it has been in writing. I have it, ink on paper. I read things over and over and compare them to the things I hear. I compare them to the things I see. They don't go together.
Somewhere along the line, the rules have changed. The goals have changed. Everything seems to have changed. Except me. I don't feel like I've changed. Yet I realize that everything is speeding past me. Forever changing around me. It all seems to contradict itself. We want one thing but we ask for something else. Then seem confused when we get either.
I don't get it. Blissfully happy and unaware, then poof!
Sadly, love is not one of life's' constants. It does contradict itself as well as the people it devours.
There is no explaining love. It is what it is. It's fabulous and wonderful. Until it isn't.
OK, even non drinking writing leads to awkward conversations but the former stands.
Second, I will never understand people as long as I live. Any of you. You are all a giant mystery to me. I used to think that I could read people pretty well. That was apparently a gift that can be lost when not used on a regular basis. Use it or loose it as they say.
Mainly I will never understand her. Her words and actions don't always mesh. I thought that I had been misunderstanding. OK, I'm very sure I have misunderstood much of what has happened but some if it has been in writing. I have it, ink on paper. I read things over and over and compare them to the things I hear. I compare them to the things I see. They don't go together.
Somewhere along the line, the rules have changed. The goals have changed. Everything seems to have changed. Except me. I don't feel like I've changed. Yet I realize that everything is speeding past me. Forever changing around me. It all seems to contradict itself. We want one thing but we ask for something else. Then seem confused when we get either.
I don't get it. Blissfully happy and unaware, then poof!
Sadly, love is not one of life's' constants. It does contradict itself as well as the people it devours.
There is no explaining love. It is what it is. It's fabulous and wonderful. Until it isn't.
What's In A Name...
So I'm listening to a gallery manager and a gallery owner argue about names. Some of my paintings don't have names they have numbers. Like "Chadette no 38."
To me that is the name of the painting. Apparently, to some it's a sign unprofessionalism.
Besides all of that it made me wonder about the names I have used, and not used.
I have only used Theresa once. I have never used: Kim, Deloris, Trisha, Julie, Jeanie or Precious...
Kim was my first real love. She ended up breaking my heart. I dated several other Kim's. One owned a golf course. One had a mow hawk and was an awesome lover, although it was brief. One was a jockey.
Deloris was a teacher in high school, while I was a student.Although not my teacher. OK, technically I was out of high school at the time but she was awesome. She had a beautiful 65 Mustang Fast back. A wonderful metallic green. Her boy friend wrecked it. She taught me quite a bit.
I met Trisha Coffee at a party. We went to different high schools. She had just broken up with her high school stud. We talked, we made out. I saw her a few days later. I played the piano and made jokes and she laughed, we had fun. We went to the fair, where she ditched me when her stud showed up. She was only trying to make stud jealous. Which worked because they ended up back together. She was so hot.
Julie was a sports friend. She played softball while I played baseball. She was a tom-boy. She was cute and fun and she was killed in a car accident when she was 17. And I miss her.
And Jeanie...There has always been something about Jeanie. We have been off and on as long as we have know one another.
Precious asked me once if I thought Jeanie was "my one".
Honestly I have never really thought of myself as having a "One". I go where my heart takes me. I really figured that Precious was "my one". Until recently, if there was going to be only one. It should have been Precious. Maybe I don't have a one. Maybe I missed my one. Or screwed up my one.
I have never named one after Precious or any of her names.
It's funny that I have a hard time naming my paintings after the women that have meant the most to me.
To me that is the name of the painting. Apparently, to some it's a sign unprofessionalism.
Besides all of that it made me wonder about the names I have used, and not used.
I have only used Theresa once. I have never used: Kim, Deloris, Trisha, Julie, Jeanie or Precious...
Kim was my first real love. She ended up breaking my heart. I dated several other Kim's. One owned a golf course. One had a mow hawk and was an awesome lover, although it was brief. One was a jockey.
Deloris was a teacher in high school, while I was a student.Although not my teacher. OK, technically I was out of high school at the time but she was awesome. She had a beautiful 65 Mustang Fast back. A wonderful metallic green. Her boy friend wrecked it. She taught me quite a bit.
I met Trisha Coffee at a party. We went to different high schools. She had just broken up with her high school stud. We talked, we made out. I saw her a few days later. I played the piano and made jokes and she laughed, we had fun. We went to the fair, where she ditched me when her stud showed up. She was only trying to make stud jealous. Which worked because they ended up back together. She was so hot.
Julie was a sports friend. She played softball while I played baseball. She was a tom-boy. She was cute and fun and she was killed in a car accident when she was 17. And I miss her.
And Jeanie...There has always been something about Jeanie. We have been off and on as long as we have know one another.
Precious asked me once if I thought Jeanie was "my one".
Honestly I have never really thought of myself as having a "One". I go where my heart takes me. I really figured that Precious was "my one". Until recently, if there was going to be only one. It should have been Precious. Maybe I don't have a one. Maybe I missed my one. Or screwed up my one.
I have never named one after Precious or any of her names.
It's funny that I have a hard time naming my paintings after the women that have meant the most to me.
Crack Heads...
On the chopping block today, we have two offerings.
"Lost in Blues" 8x10 on canvas, from 2010. One of my favorites. I've been hanging on to her, but cracking must be done.
and...
"Chadette No. 38" 5x7 on board from 2006, with a repaint in 2008,
and another retouch in 2010...As always, if anyone has a name suggestion, I would love to hear it. Many of you have named my girls. You never know, if I like the name enough I just might give her to you. (If you want her)
This is the Cracking varnish. I was a little worried at this point. Then I realized the pattern was my shadow. (I really need to get more sleep)
After several hours I was not seeing anything happening. No cracking, very little drying. Not much of anything. I broke out the heat lamp and had just started to blast them and speed things up when I caught a glimpse of the Martini I ruined a few weeks ago. I promptly turned off the heat lamp and walked away. It was a break through moment for me. Not to mention incredibly difficult. I had the hardest time not futzing with them. Bit I didn't. I let them dry on there own over night. Yes, overnight!
I couldn't see much cracking on either of them which kind of bummed me out. The varnish had dried and there was nothing else to do but see how they came out. A little Lamp Black, Cobalt Violet, and Burnt Umber. This part is always tense for me.
Holy Crack Heads Batman! They could not have come out better. I am so pleased. Both of them had cracked, a lot. Fine, well patterned, good spacing and crack distribution... Awesome!
I love the way she came out. The cracks across her face and neck have made her so much more beautiful. I really like the vertical crack across her lips and eye.
Crack is good.
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