Self Portrait Challenge #2: An introduction
Posted on | May 23, 2006 |
The furrows between my brows have gotten deeper this month. No time to breathe, uncoil, rest. Everything is push-pull, pell mell, full throttle. More than can be done, must be. And every off color remark, every comment that could be recieved as criticism, IS.
In this picture, my eyelashes are wet from tears. Haphazard, overtired tears. Hormonal, exhausted tears. Tears because of nothing I can remember today.
We’re living off of large cups of gas station coffee, purchased on the way to the house, and determination. I dream of sleep, of a dry basement (many of my paintings were ruined), and SUN (it has now rained for a week and a half, non-stop.)
So this is a different introduction. Another side of me, careworn, frowning, furrowed, exhausted. One more week, and then we move–even though we won’t have a kitchen yet.
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23 Responses to “Self Portrait Challenge #2: An introduction”
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May 23rd, 2006 @ 10:44 am
The height of the slide is directly proportional to the thrill of descent. Don’t stop, but do try to stay sufficiently centered in the moment that you can always remember things with the clarity of red toenails.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 10:58 am
This post makes me, the hormonal and emotional self that I am, well up as I read. You both are so close to the end and you’ll get there, but as that end glimmers in the distance, the real-time is hard. Crying cleanses my soul, it clears the path and lets you refocus again.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 11:10 am
I just keep thinking about how amazing your house is going to be when it is done and how much of a home it is already.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 11:22 am
i wish i could send you
the things you need…
sun, dry air,
floors,
finished rooms…
but all i can send
is a listening, understanding ear…
hope it helps
May 23rd, 2006 @ 11:46 am
wish i could be there to help.
i am so sorry about your paintings and the other overwhelming things swimming around in your world right now.
you’re still beautiful with a furrowed brow. lots of warm, warm hugs your way.
xoxo,
boho
May 23rd, 2006 @ 11:57 am
Oh hon. This week will go by quickly and you’ll get so much more done than you ever thought you could. I’ll be thinking about you and hoping it all goes smoothly. No more surprises (like wet basements)!
Love!
May 23rd, 2006 @ 1:09 pm
- it will pass.
it will fade.
you will do it.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 2:34 pm
hugs and kisses to your my careworn and beautiful friend.
the news about your lovely paintings breaks my heart…
May 23rd, 2006 @ 2:39 pm
oh, your paintings.
I’m glad you have them in your head where they’ll live forever. You’ll paint more. I promise, this too, SHALL PASS. Hang in there.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 2:42 pm
Kitchen or no kitchen, the house is lovely and once you move in I am sure things will fall into place, I’m sending you all my best thoughts.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 3:48 pm
How our lives are running bizarre parallel courses right now. There is nothing as frenzied as packing and moving, establishing new patterns and a new routine. Add to that water damage to artwork and you have good reason for tears. Sending you good energy vibes and a tibit for the non-kitchen life: You can cook a ton of food with a little toaster oven! Hugs.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 5:00 pm
I’m so sorry about the basement and especially your paintings. I just HATE that for you and it’s the last thing you need right now. Just try to remember to breathe through all the madness and laugh through the rough spots. (And don’t be afraid to ask for help!) I’ll be sending up lots of prayers for safe travel as you buzz back and forth, and that all will be well.
May 23rd, 2006 @ 7:18 pm
I can’t wait until your week is over. Crunch time is so difficult with kids; I’m amazed you haven’t complained of feeling like a bad parent. When I’m under stress, I always wind up yelling at them.
The paintings? ((sigh)) I’m so sorry you lost your artwork, but as prolific as you are, it’s (no pun intended) a drop in the bucket, I’m sure.
Hang in there, Christina. Your home already looks amazing. Just whip out the camp stove and pick up some hot dogs until your kitchen falls into place. I remember doing this as a kid, when we were a family in the exact same situation. Dad built a brick oven outside, quickly. Mom made hot dogs and macaroni over the fire in the backyard. For breakfast we had a pot of tea and oatmeal. You make do. Aren’t you glad it isn’t midwinter? The rain HAS to stop….(((HUGS)))
May 23rd, 2006 @ 11:57 pm
sending lots of sun and love our way
May 24th, 2006 @ 10:19 am
Stay strong, Christina. You’ll get through it. Imagine yourself in your beautiful, finished house and know you’ll be at that point soon.
May 24th, 2006 @ 11:50 am
This is my first time here… beautiful photos and images throughout!
May 24th, 2006 @ 1:39 pm
this is my first visit to your site…beautiful as are you! I will be back to visit again
May 24th, 2006 @ 2:17 pm
Here in our new home we have disassembled the kitchen to paint the cupboards and remove some wallpaper. Such a small project compared to the one you are working on, but I think of you often, as I search for my coffee cup in a box, try to remember where I put the cat’s medicine, move aside a drop cloth to wash a dish. I’m inspired to do this small project because of watching your project grow through your photos. Thank you for that. The end will come soon, and it will be worth it.
May 24th, 2006 @ 3:52 pm
*hugs*
So sorry to hear about your paintings, and all the stress:(
May 24th, 2006 @ 4:59 pm
I whole heartedly agree with Paul! It will be worth it in the end, but in the mean time (and it is indeed MEAN) you do need to take a minute or ten for yourself.
Perhaps the credit card will allow one night in a hotel with a hot tub, a bottle of whatever, and the best relaxation (and good night sleep)you can do in one night. Go have a mini vacation from all the stress. It will work wonders.
Hugs and best-best good vibe type of thoughts headed your way.
May 25th, 2006 @ 8:18 am
My beautiful daughter who’s not much older than you, checks your website regularly. My beautiful daughter told me about you. She told me that she cannot resist reading about your life and I, too, although twice your age, checked your website and began to see what she saw. A creative being caught in life’s storm. More than this, I found your ideas slowed me in my creative own storm because I am intimidated. Not that you would want this.
Tonight I brawled with another beautiful daughter about her jealousy of her younger sister, not that she would call it jealousy. She can’t bear the idea that she might be jealous, but she is. As I am jealous of you, your beautiful work, your creative flow.
The only way for me to handle this is to acknowledge my admiration and to ask the question, where else do you take this in the outside world, the world outside the blog?
Ursula Le Guin has wriiten about mother tongue, father tongue and native tongue. She writes about father tongue as the language of the public discourse, the language of the acadamies, not the language of the blog. The language of the blog is more closely related to mother tongue, which according to Le Guin ‘flies from the mouth on the breath that is our life and is gone, like the outbreath, utterly gone and yet returning, repeated, the breath the same again always, everywhere, and we all know it by heart…It is a language always on the verge of silence and often on the verge of song. It is the language stories are told in.’ (Ursula Le Guin, Dancing on the Edge of the World: Thoughts on words, women and places, London, Paladin, 1992, p 150 )
Neither tongue should assume precedence over the other, both are necessary for all of us in the dvelopment of native tongue. your native tongue is well developed. I applaud you.
May 26th, 2006 @ 10:35 pm
so so sorry to see the pain in your eyes. you are a strong one, christina. you will get through this and you will be able to look back at this and say ‘phew…remember that?’ good wishes.
May 27th, 2006 @ 9:24 am
If I could stand before you today, I’d ‘clean’ your aura…and massage your sore shoulders and neck…and gently help you release that furrowed tension over your third eye. My suggestion? Walk over to DH right now and have him massage your scalp. Sometimes when I’m at my pissiest, as J passes by he’ll unexpectedly place his hand atop my head and massage it for a moment. It’s amazing how much tension we hold in our scalps…it’s sort of like a grown-up pacifier, having our heads massaged.
Consider yourself virtually hugged. You need it…and you deserve it.