Hermit Bex

Ever have one of those days where you can't get off your ass and do something?  That's me.  Since moving I find myself further away from my old haunts, such as favorite stores, doctors's offices, restaurants, etc.  And when I really need to do something, like pick up a prescription that can't be called in, I find myself very pissy about having to leave the house.

Hermit Bex is back.



I also feel a bit closed off by my own emotions.  Sometimes things happen that we have a hard time getting passed and in an effort to spare others our whining and bitching, we just quit seeing people altogether.  Sometimes this applies to me.  This stupid pregnancy thing was really tough.  I thought I was past it, but my doctor's physician assistant called a couple weeks ago to check in on me since I never went back for more tests.  While talking to her, I completely lost my shit and that night had drinks with some girl friends.  I lost my shit there too over crappy white wine.  And today I just turned down a baby shower invitation.  I'm just not ready.

To confirm, I had some really fucked up baby dreams last night.  It was one of those dreams where you are fighting some weird, horrible monster.  I was trapped with other people in this house and we were getting ready for what I can only describe as the "boss battle."  (God I play too many video games.)  This girl, no more than twelve, was pregnant and of course gave birth right when the attack came.  I was screaming at Ron to get some rags or something to put underneath her because, of course, she was going to stain the carpet, dammit.  So he threw some puppy piddle pads at me and that's what I used.  (Wtf?)  And she gave birth to the most fucked up looking baby/placenta thing.  It was covered in goo and so small.  I thought it was dead, that she wasn't at term yet.  But after clearing some goop off of it it start to squawk.  Not cry, squawk.  It looked more like a baby bird.  Anyways, I remember feeling revulsion and then relief, because the stupid baby/bird thing was alive.  And at some point it morphed into a normal looking newborn baby.  Someone told me I should keep it because we wanted a child so much and this girl was too young to me a mother.  And I was sobbing in my dream because I knew she wanted to keep it.   I have no idea what the hell happened with the big boss battle because I woke up.  Geez I hope we kicked its ass.  I also had an adoption dream and while the scenery was very dark and disturbing, it wasn't nearly as interesting as the bird baby dream.

I really wish I could draw because this would make for an interesting project. Maybe I'll try to sketch out a fucked up baby bird thing one of these days.

My self-imposed hermit-y behavior will have to end shortly however as this weekend I have training for pet therapy teams at the local jail. I'm a bit nervous about it though. On the one hand, it's good to bring Patton to people who have no physical impairments, such as a wheelchair or horrible arthritis. He's not tall enough to be easily petted by people with physical disabilities. So he would be great for incarcerated people who are going through rehab but otherwise able to bend down and pet him. On the other hand, it's not good to be an attractive woman in this environment. I'm not fishing for compliments here, this is just the reality. Having worked in a prison, I know that incarcerated people are highly manipulative and they easily fixate on people. It's more of a personal safety issue. However I don't want paranoia to limit what could potentially be a very positive experience. Patton has suffered abuse. He has scars and he has that scared look on his face. His story and his very calm demeanor really affect people. I'll give it a shot and if my DANGER WILL ROBINSON alarm goes off, I can always stop going there.



Later on Saturday evening we are having drinks and finger food at the neighbors. My first impression of them is that they are typical suburban in looks and style. I'm guessing that they are from the area, if not somewhere Midwestern. They have a small child so that is why we are going over there. They don't exactly look like the sailor-swearing, tattooed, eccentric people I normally identify with. I'm not really sure they know what they are getting into with us. We enjoy zombie movies, sitting in our underwear all weekend, drinking shots and playing video games. Most Johnson County women aren't into stitching swear words and playing with pet rats. But we are good social chameleons and can blend in well enough for at least a couple of hours, if necessary.

Ok the shower beckons. I may be introverted but I'll be damned if I turn into a SMELLY hermit.

Tschus.

Art therapy

This post is about a piece of art I created to help me heal from a miscarriage. If this subject bothers you, please stop reading now.

I'm not sure how to start this post so I'll just go through technical details first and see what happens.

I started this from a photo that Ron took of me the night we got our first positive pregnancy test. Seeing the word "Pregnant" on the stick was amazing. I always wondered how I'd really feel about it and I felt a rush of happiness. I've never seen such a wide smile on Ron's face before! We laughed, I cried, and then we just settled into a state of nerves and giddiness. Vowing not to tell hardly a soul, we ended up spilling the beans to some friends, his mother and a few coworkers.

As many of you know, that is the kiss of death on an early pregnancy. Why this is, I'm not sure. The happier you are and the more people you tell right away, the greater your chances are of losing it.

Anyways, you can read the miscarriage story here if you don't know it already.

I printed off the never-before shared photo from that night on a piece of fabric designed for computer printers. Then I found an image from good 'ol Google of an outline of the female form. I traced it onto the photo fabric and free-formed a very crude uterus and blood puddle.

This piece is about irony and grief. It's a juxtaposition of the happy, obligatory smiling face next to a positive pee stick and the blank, mute form of a woman, bleeding onto the ground.







To be honest, just manipulating the original photo and then stitching this up made me a little sick to my stomach. There were tears. I had to pause a few times and just do something else for a bit. However, it is finished and now the preoccupation I've had for several weeks over this project is laid to rest. When I look at this, I see happiness, pain and some peace. It's almost as if during the process of creating something, you take all those emotions out of your head and put it into your piece. I can visit the piece and go through the emotions if I choose to, or I can just reflect on it.

There you have it. Art therapy. Eventually I'll get some mounting board and frame it so it can join other pieces on my art wall.

Thanks for reading and looking at it. I appreciate comments but don't feel obligated. Tschus. :)