Wild Peony IV Sketch

Oh, now, I know you can’t be seein’ that, you’ve gotta be clickin’ on it to see it. Come on. Click it. You know you want to see the initial sketch, fer real. It’s worth it. ‘Cause I don’t think I have that much to say today. Well, maybe I do. Who really knows until I get started?

The holidays are like every day for me now. They have infused me. Holiday cards and trees and wreaths and what not. Not for Jason and others who have to work. Not for parts of me who have to do stuff, either. But for certain parts of me.

Because I had to go back on the muscle relaxants over the weekend had new memories. Bah. Good in a way for details but bad in a way because they maketh me maddd. ARgh. And I can’t even tell you. I can put things in the novel tho. Yay. I guess. ? No, that’s good that they can go somewhere besides me.

It’s kind of like Penn State tho where some folks knew stuff but they insisted that I be the one who told on my Namelesses and I was in INtrenched. They didn’t pass the information on to the right folkses. Ever. So, it went on. Ever after.

I survived.

Hey, it’s a good day today. That lil leaf outside, it’s still holding on. It’s turned red by now. U2 is on “you know I took the poison from the poison stream, then I floated on outta here …” kinda like, really …

Love me some U2 … so appropriate most of my life, most moments of my life. Like, always. Whenever I hear. It. Go U2. Go Irish people. Heh. Go all people.


Counseling today was good — talking about the cult and what a good metaphor it is like brainwashing — how those two words help me sort out my feelings so much better than all the words we’ve used before — when these memories come especially, how tough they are, how tender and how much more easily they are when the understanding that they were so wrong on the other side of reality —

It reminds me of when I had training in understanding of racism — how I had tried all those years to understand but how that weekend for real I understood — whoa — oh — now I get it — those two weekends really — separated by two decades — you don’t understand your culture, your identity, until you’re put outside it by someone, by people who lovingly, key, lovingly, honestly SEES you as you ARE and as you should BE. It’s taken lots of such weekends and lots of counselings to get me where I should be straighten me out of cult like thinkings. Got betta. Getting betta.

The UPS delivery man, nice enough man, just asked me what I was doing in here. Blogging I said. You’ve got a blog? he asked. What do you blog about? Art, my novel … eventually he said, You can’t write a novel about Paris if you’ve never been there. Watch me!

I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go! I said, using a steak knife to open the gifty and put it under the tree. Back to the Chardonnay, back to the blog.

Hmm. Well, you know.

About amyjacksoncc

I am a professional artist, writer and musician creating from my home studio. To view my artwork, visit http://www.amyjackson.cc
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