Gifts from Myself (and maybe the Universe)

I think the universe is trying to cheer me up. During the three days I stayed in bed, sick and exhausted, dizzy and queasy, I received mail. Usually my mail is unwanted credit card offers and unnecessary papers from Covered California, but this this week I got not one, but TWO cool things. 

Naturally they were comic book related packages because comics are my life. Seriously, it's a problem. 

Luck Penny Kickstarter rewards!

And my pass to Emerald City Comic Con!

ft. the amazing art of Emi Lenox

I knew these were coming eventually since I ordered both, but I couldn't help feel like it was some sort of cosmic intervention to have them show up during one of my lowest weeks.  It was felt like a gentle nudge from the universe saying, "hey, it's not all terrible."

Then I got a text from my best friend, it was one of one of those silly inspirational quotes that I scroll past on Facebook. I don't remember the exact wording, but the gist was that I was her inspiration to keep going, because I was who she loved most (family and cat aside).

So, yeah.

I forget that it's not all terrible. I forget that people love me and that there are awesome things to look forward to. I forget to be present, to get out of my head and listen to something other than the thoughts of "not being good enough" that play constantly.

Sometimes good things pile up in the way that bad things tend to pile up. I am grateful for these little moments where I am reminded that I am alive and that there is good in the world. 

Moving Along

February was a month. I have never really been a fan (Valentine's Day included) maybe because it's a weird transition from winter to spring. Or maybe it's because I never really know what to expect from it.

The crazy thing is that nothing really happened. I went to school. I did homework. I went to work. I ran my monthly groups. But somehow my brain decided I needed to run the gamut of emotions, finally settling into apathy for a good chunk of the month. Good ole' apathy.

I guess it makes sense. It's easier to care about nothing than care about everything, which I do. I care too much about everything. It's exhausting.

But anyway, I promised myself and my writing group that I would make a conscious effort to write more.

I wrote this poem for my Writers on Writing class. I used words from Tongo Eisen-Martin as the skeleton (seen in italics) and sort built the poem around it. It's half found poem, half homage. It doesn't have a title.

Absentee funeral

all hollow bone and

dry heat, breathless

look behind you, witness these

holiday massacres, these

bloody spectacles

midnight

quick, runaway

past the (inter)section, into

quiet oblivion

why not lie, the whole truth

is

crumbling

urban myth

patrons saints of

groggy wine-stained,

masses, sifting through

fog soaked streets

sparkling pollution, diamonds

glittering between bricks

cracked open

we smile, empty

we agree

our convictions

groundless

-Inspired by "Someone's Already Dead" by Tongo Eisen-Martin

flower crowns make everything better

I wrote a whole blog post, but realized it was almost the same as the last two I posted. So I deleted it and thought about another way to look at things.

The only thing I kept was this:

We have to carve out a space for ourselves. Somewhere safe, somewhere we can thrive. I have to keep reminding myself that it is not my job to fix the world. I don't have to stand up for every injustice, but I do need to keep standing. I can't let the world swallow me up.

I can't let the world swallow me up. I can't let everything affect me so much. I need to focus on the things that keep me going.

The ladies comic book club I run had a flower crown night. Most of us had never made one. We sat for two hours, burning our fingers on hot glue, using each other as models so we could see what needed to be adjusted and complementing each others creations.

Every single one came out beautifully, each one completely different. It really was a reflection of the group. We are all so different, but each month we get closer and closer, bonding over our love for geeky things.

I know I tend to downplay my contributions to the world. Even when people insist that I am doing something great, I brush it off. Like the book club and the podcast. I just think people are being nice to me instead of believing their complements.

It's weird. I am the biggest cheerleader for my friends and family. It doesn't make sense that I can't see them doing the same for me. I guess I just don't feel like I'm doing anything worthy of praise.

(I know how ridiculous that is.)

Anyway, here is my flower crown:

 

And here is a link to the podcast that I participate in:

https://www.facebook.com/ComicsCastCast/

I hope everyone is enjoying this alarmingly warm weather in February. I'm going to work on writing more uplifting posts. Well, I'm at least going to work on writing more.

 

 

Reflection

October was a strange month. 

I fell into a slump, I couldn't find the words to communicate my feelings. I couldn't even write about it. I felt myself drifting farther from the people who love me. I could see it, but I couldn't stop it. 

My birthday weekend was filled with complicated emotions. I celebrated with a friend, wanting to keep it quiet. I saw the Icelandic band, Of Monsters and Men, who sang about nature and heartbreak. I ate pie at midnight. The next night I drank too much. 

I woke up in the morning to my beloved cat, Boogie, fighting death to spend his last breath with me. Still a little drunk, I cried and murmured "my sweet boy" until it felt like I got to say goodbye. It was a death I was not prepared for. 

After the family get together, I dug him a grave in the back yard, next to the chicken coop. The ground was hard from the drought, I had to use a post hole digger to loosen the dirt. I dug until my arms shook, until my shoulders burned. I dug through sobs and sore hands. Mom came out with a flashlight after the sun went down. We planted a butterfly bush on top of him. Somehow, losing him was more heartbreaking than the others. 

I was glad that I buried him on my own. The pain from digging felt good, felt right. I got to say goodbye properly. And somehow, his death brought me back. At least, it started to.

The next week I saw Florence and the Machine at the Greek Theater. I cried happy tears, overwhelmed by the positive force of her voice. It seems that music and death were the forces I needed to get back to myself. 

I still feel myself slipping sometimes. There are days when I feel like it's all meaningless. But I'm slowly becoming more human. I can see beauty in things, I can smile (most of the time), and I'm starting to love people again.  

So to everyone, thank you, for being patient with me if I've seemed distant or moody. I promise, I'm trying to turn things around. 

Sinking

I'm trying, Universe, I really am.

It's three weeks into the semester and I am slowly losing my grip. But don't worry, I won't fall apart in some flashy dramatic way. It'll be quiet, behind doors, listening to Of Monsters and Men on a loop.

I wrote my first poems for poetry class. We were given a line from one of John Wieners poems to start them. I don't know how I feel abut them yet, so I will just post them without judgement.

1)
Old farms await to take us in
fold us into them
down dirt roads and crumbling highways
we rattle like loose tires
metal on metal, rubber on asphalt
we can hear our old mothers calling
kneading bread in the early hours of morning
kneeling down at bedtime
crosses clasped in cracked hands
we can hear our old lives waning
as the tires roll over uneven pavement
your hand out the window
catching the wind

2)
Old farms await to take us in
ancient roots grow under our feet
sprouting from hidden lakes underground
I walk through the tall grass
watching the stooped farm houses shrink
the farther my feet take me into the green ocean
if you listen closely,
can you hear
the gentle waves
the cries of birds
sometimes, there is silence
a stillness, as if time has stopped
alone in a sea of grass, I imagine
brittle wood splintering
a real ocean, full of fury
crashing down
drowning us all

A song to go with my mood:

Bees

 

School started last week. 

This morning I saved a bee from drowning. They drink from the kiddie pool I fill for my ducks and often drown in the process. I made a little bee drinking container, but they are drawn to the larger body of water. I can't save them all.

Did you know my name means honey bee? It's Greek. I don't know if that has anything to do with being drawn to their safety or not. Maybe it is some sort of self-preservation. I used to think that my name didn't suit me, but I think I've grown into it. Honey bees are a collective, for the greater good, something that  I strive to embody.

Sometimes I feel like a speck in the world. Actually, many of my days are spent feeling like an empty space in the universe. I'm not sure if it is from feeling like I'm unheard, or because I am crushed by the weight of possibility. It could be anything in between. Either way, it's exhausting to be in a constant state of existential crisis.

But if you think about it, bees are just tiny specks in the world, yet without them, our existence would be much less beautiful. No flowers, less plants, no fruit. We would survive, but there would be a noticeable absence.

It's really easy to fall into the pitfalls of my anxiety when school starts. Suddenly my worth is quantified into grades. Suddenly, if I struggle with an assignment, it's because I'm not smart or creative enough. Or maybe I'm not trying hard enough. School makes all my flaws float to the surface and I have to deal with them head on. And more often than not, I feel as though I am insufficient.

I guess what I'm getting at is, I am a honey bee. I need to remember that even though I may be a speck, I exist for a reason. And my absence would be noticed.

Time

Time is a weird thing.

I can never really get the hang of it; always elusive and confusing. Days and weeks will pass in a spiral of slowing and speeding moments that I'm never fully aware of.

Summer is coming to an end soon and I have not completed any of the tasks I wanted to. I have not fixed up and learned how to drive the manual Acura Integra that has been sitting in my driveway. I have not completed any writing projects. I haven't even finished putting together the zine for the comic shop.

Needless to say, I am not great at completing things.

Time.

I mean, look at the babies in that photo (that's me in the middle). I am about the same age my niece is now, which places it about twenty five years ago. A whole quarter century, almost the entirety of my life; yet in the grand scheme of things, it is a blip on the cosmic timeline.

I guess what I am getting at is, we tend to worry too much about time, I worry too much about time. I make up these timelines and then sink farther and farther into a cycle of shame and defeat when it doesn't play out the way I think it will. In my quest to be kinder to myself (and live a less anxious existence) I need to let go of some of these expectations.

You'd think that after all these years I would realize that I complete things in my own time. I get this feeling that I am a failure because I don't do everything I want to and in turn, completely ignore the things that I am actually accomplishing.

This summer I started a writer's group and I'm putting together an all women creators zine. I've been keeping up on my blog. Though it wasn't much, I made some progress on my graphic novel Delirium. If we don't celebrate our accomplishments, it's easy to forget they are even happening.

I need to stop thinking about time in a sense that I am wasting it.