Being a kitchen creative has been a bit of a life saver for me. Sometimes it’s the only creativity I can justify because I have too many other things going on, but cooking something, ANYTHING, is a great way to exorcise the dark needies in a way that turns all that goes on in my head into something lovely and happy-making.
My kitchen, in all of its usual chaos, is a place I can go to and become inspired to create immediately. I can look around and find something ugly, like this bunch of apples that were about to go bad:
And from finding apples, or zucchini, or whatever else needs some TLC before it gets wasted, to end product I sprinkle some of this and process events and sprinkle some of that and relive a confusing or difficult conversation and then I add a little of something else and the cymbal-wielding monkey that is my psyche works away at figuring my shit out and the automatic parts of my brain kick-in and focus elsewhere on creating:
How cool is it that our brains get to work that way? That they can just separate their processes and make magic happen on so many different levels? That we can let that cymbal monkey do its thing and have something delicious be the product of dealing with all of those dark thoughts:
I relate to this little mullein plant that greets me every morning at work. I watched her bear being snow-covered all winter long, Staving off the cold with the protection of her little rock friend. Not that I was covered in snow all winter long, but winter 2011/2012 was not a pretty scene of comfort for me in the least. I survived it too.
I love that she’s growing out of a rock with not a lot to sustain, but still her leaves remained green and fluffly through the winter. I love that her growth habit is kinda ‘fuck you, other mulleins. I don’t need to grow the way you do! I’ve got my rock for support!’ I kinda feel that way too. I’ve flipped the bird to a bunch who don’t support me in the ways I need and deserve to be supported in recent months. Some support is just not support. Sometimes it’s just people thinking they’re doing what’s best for you instead of allowing you to do what’s best for you, not hearing you, not understanding what YOU DO and ARE ABOUT. So fuck you, non-supporters. I don’t need your kind of support. I’ve got my rock too.
‘This is NOT the support I need’ has become my new mantra.
I’m still on a purging roll at casa cushti. I took time last night to put MY shit in MY basement. Imagine that! Reclaiming my space feels so good, but I just want to be doing that always. It’s hard to focus at work, but at least it affords me the time to really think through next steps and make lists and get shit done without getting overwhelmed and thinking I need to do ALL THE THINGS.
Tonight will be:
- Cook a chicken
- Organize my desk
- Find a decent, shared-space home for the computer
- Cut my hair
- Work out a necklace idea (this will be my reward for getting *most* of the other things done – and I might not and that’s ok)
Please go read this post because Tracy is speaking for me today. Also download her Music To Not Slit Your Wrists To playlist. It might just make you not slit your wrists. So good.
This is also speaking for me today. Thanks, Good Men Project. I really needed that.
Happy afternoon, mes amis,
Today, on my way into work, I just wanted to take note of my surroundings.
It was a lovely walk in on this crisp, bright, spring morning.
No. We are not together. We are not together seperately let alone when we’re occupying each other’s spaces. We say one thing and mean another. We reject each other, but each touch lingers just long enough to know that we are not yet apart. Emotions are like rifling through grandma’s jewellery box; everything’s a tangled mess of delicate, shiny bits of necklace and odd earrings that have lost their matches and broken brooches with rhinestones and clasps missing. Each emotion is not fully whole, but part of the great big mess. We’re messy you and I. We’re messes on our own and messes when we’re together. I don’t even know if we’re trying to sort through it anymore. I look at the mess and am broken. All I see are a million tiny knots of chains that bind us and I’m scared. Scared to put what it takes into untangling it all and scared of all that entails. We are just untogether. Our untogetherness is our gravity, bearing down with the weight of history and secrets and bad things and good things that happened behind closed doors and on kitchen tables and in all of the vulnerability that we gave to each other when our banks were full and we could laugh it all away. Heartstrings so tangibly connected we could chew through them from a million miles away.
That tulip is one of a few flowering plants we have blooming at casa cushti right now. I love that it looks so alien.
I admit that I’m about 3 creative things behind in this endaevor, but I’m a HUGE amount ahead in terms of getting stuff together at casa cushti. This weekend I did ALL THE LAUNDRY and raked ALL THE LEAVES and pottered about in between social engagements.
The best part was that my ex FINALLY got the rest of his stuff out of my house.
No more randomly coming across stuff.
No more cringing at the thought of going to my basement.
No more ENDLESS conversations pleading with him to do it because having his stuff here after TWO YEARS wreaks a certain amount of havoc on my psyche.
Having his stuff here was a crazy cocktail of emotion for me, making me feel equal parts sad, angry, disrepected, hurt, resentful, nostalgic and mostly just stuck.
I deserve to be unstuck.
So does he.
But he did it. No excuses. Nothing came up. All of his stuff is gone.
While it still was a little sad, it’s a HUGE step in the right direction. One I hope I can ride out and face with optimism. I truly hope that with that one big bone of contention out of the way we can work toward being more than just civil to each other. There are other things that need to be worked on, but this one was symbolic in so many ways.
The resident gypsy and I made use of yesterday’s sunshine and warmth to rake all of the dead leaves off the lawn and to clean out the gardens and was delighted to find that oodles of new irises and lilies and other lovelies were creeping their way to the sunshine.
Pig-dog and shark-dog got to hang outside all day. They were very happy, but very sleepy puppies last night.
Then we cozied up and made pseudo philly cheesesteak sandwiches and watched the GCB, which I adore more and more with every new episode. There are so many good one-liners.
I hope you all had tremendous weekends and founds reasons and ways to breathe a little easier and welcome tomorrows too.
I didn’t do a lot by way of proper creativity yesterday as I felt the strong desire to RAGE CLEAN. I didn’t even cook dinner. Nope. No sirree. It was a beer and take-away pizza and RAGE CLEANING night with the RAGE compounded by being angry at myself for having lost my bank card (I found it again, but it kind of threw me off all day), angry at the state of non-focus I was in as the result of losing my bank card, then the unwanted presence of a neighbourhood creep who decided to invite himself onto my porch and tell us about how he hit his wife and she hit him back and how he ran into the ‘biatch’ who called the cops on him AND GET OFF MY LAWN, MOTHERFUCKER!
Rage cleaning was necessary.
It’s hard right now to get into a rage cleaning space as I feel that I’m turning my back on all of the beings in my home when I hole up in my bedroom (the room I wanted to rage clean). My problem. My ridiculously, irrational problem given they’re all pretty self-entertaining, self-sufficient beings.
So I eventually got to it and, as I was cleaning and raging, thought “this IS creative. This is my space and I need it clean and to feel good in it and it’ll always be chaotic, but I’m making it MY kind of chaotic. So there. Take that, little nay-sayers in my brain.”
And then I wrote a dark little haiku because, even though I felt better about having cleaned my room, I was still in a slightly dark little space as the result of non-rage cleaning stuff:
And yesterday was world poetry. So take that, little nay-sayers in my brain.
Today, this is speaking for me.
So is this.
Weird that two such poignantly relatable reads came to me today.
Hopefully more tonight, kittens. AFTER more room cleaning and AFTER producing something I’ve been thinking about for a while. And also possibly AFTER I attend a punk tribute to Leonard Cohen.
Starting on a wee bit of a new project in the name of claiming my time and space, and expanding my mind and creative capacity.
As tonight is the vernal equinox, I thought it appropriate to go back to my roots and begin this beginning with a wee ritual inspired by a favourite artist and magician, Austin Osman Spare (who I may very well have been in a past life…or something – similarities abound in unheimlich ways).
So I created my sigil:
And set it afire:
And hope this is the beginning of some very good things.
Happy Ostara, mes amis.