when words fail me, which is often, I paint. When words work for me and are available on time, I am surprised.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
"You know what? sometimes you can see both sides of a situation so far that all you do is spin in circles, and then you know what happens? You end up in a pile of mush."
This is the lecture I used to hear from my high school teacher. This was compounded by my father constantly comparing me to a chicken with it's head cut off, which I always thought was a funny image, and also led to my becoming a vegetarian at the age of twelve.
Born with the Sun in Cancer and the Moon in Leo.
Cancer is ruled by the Moon; Leo the Sun. This is a very two-headed situation which borders on schizophrenic, but I won't go there. Yeah you will. Aggghh!
Opposing forces; Day and night.
Day and night wed and gave birth to one being, one that is constantly torn in opposite directions all at once.
Embrace the monster or rip it's head off? This is the question.
I have a list of "The Symptoms of Inner Peace" hanging on my shop wall. I keep it there to remind me to remain free from engaging in negative drama. I deal with so many different personalities in a days time. Sometimes they clash, sometimes there is a history, sometimes there is a demon lurking and I must contain my monster.
I know I should, but it's difficult. I can disengage, I know how, it's just this teensy little problem. I want to stomp the demon into the ground first, and then disengage completely.
When my friend writes about some kid terrorizing her little girl on the playground, she shouts at the kid. I want to get on the swing and knock the kid to the ground, with all my monster force; and then just walk away.
When my son calls to tell me he has been swindled by an unscrupulous landlord; I want to grab the scumbag (the landlord of course)by his scrawny little neck and squeeze with my monster force until I sense he is about to take his last breath, and then I release him.
Then I wish him a life of peace and that he learns what he must in his own way on his own terms. I thank him for showing me how strong and vigilant I am as a mother. I thank my son for allowing me to protect him, and I am thankful I have the opportunity to protect the son from the demon.
When the newer,nicer, IRS audits me for the third year in a row - not a "how much money didn't you earn?"- type of audit but a -"Prove you don't live in your PO Box, AND Prove those two sons whom you have raised solo for 20 years, and are the only named parent on their birth certificates etc.,are yours" type of audit- I really want to disengage. I want to pretend they don't exist. But if I pretend that, I won't be able to receive the refund that will bring me up to the poverty level for the past year.
So instead, I send the IRS an anthrax bomb.An enormous bomb, one that would scare the hell out of #157697680, #3333333 and all the rest. (This post might alert the FBI to open a new folder on me,but hold off a second.)
but then the bomb would explode in bursts of lilies, roses and mums, that fill the cubicles with the scent of love and springtime. Because they are the newer, nicer, IRS. Because I am learning , to control my monster.