Why We Can’t Leave.


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Travel changes a person. This is a fact.

While I was in Ireland last year I met a man staying at my hotel in Killarney, he was a shuttle driver for a group of famous-ish golfers doing some kind of tournament tour throughout the country. He dragged me to a pub across the way for a Guinness, I’d not had one yet on my trip.

We spoke about politics, health care, taxes, and why in the hell everyone seemed so happy, not just in Killarney, but in all the places I’d visited so far.

He told me how happy he was to pay extra taxes, which shocked me a tad, until he explained how much it meant to him to care for people who might need it and that someday when he needed it his taxes would care for him. He explained that his happiness stemmed from living in a community that cares for one another, and that it was important to live in a country that was healthy and educated.


Camera pans around to yesterday, picking up some vape juice( I know.. nasty, but it’s my jam). I love this little locally owned gas station/ vape shop down the road from my house. The woman who works there knows my name, we always take a moment to chat and laugh at life. Yesterday was different, she told me she’s moving soon, to Mexico to live with family. Dang it, I like her. She explained that most days she feels very unsafe, and for the first time in 10 years of becoming a United States citizen, she fears for her life daily. She is receiving death threats by phone at work with the sickening ” go back to Mexico” shtick. People are gross. She’s had a gun held to her head with the insistence that she reveal what nationality she is. She’s had things thrown at her, because of her accent. I am so hurt that this is happening. I am furious, but most of all I am so frustrated that I can’t get the hell out of here.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard ” If you don’t like it leave”, I could have left already, because that’s what it takes, money and resources that most Americans don’t have, not to mention that gaining citizenship elsewhere is a clusterfuck. Here’s a little tidbit I learned recently: when you move to a different country, you’re still obligated to pay U.S taxes. So let’s pretend I move to Ireland, I’m paying higher taxes there, and still paying taxes here, unless of course I renounce my citizenship alltogether, and then am restrictricted from re-entering to see my family. I am in a middle class income bracket, I own a home with a large chunk of equity, but would still find duel taxes restrictive. I would be worse off by leaving, even if I was able to jump through all the hoops, not to mention that my pets would literally be quarantined for up to two years. It’s not so easy to just leave.

I used to love my country, I believed in it, I thought it was the best in the world, but now understand that all of that patriotic propaganda is designed to silence and oppress people. God forbid you speak up for what is right without being deemed anti-american, god forbid you don’t step in line and simply accept the leadership corruption. It’s not new, it’s just undeniable now.

I’m sad about the blatent racism, I’m disgusted with our politicians, I’m furious over our policies, our educational system, our lack of care for nature and human beings, our treatment of native people, our inability to find common ground, I could go on and on..

So yes, Mr. Internet warrior. I do want to leave. I want to feel safe again, I want to sleep again, I want the boulder in my stomach to roll on off…

There’s gotta be a way to escape this shit show.


Nowhere Girl.


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I’ve been slacking so badly in my writing. It’s been a crazy little few months, my art has been accepted for a couple shows this year and I’m swamped.

I wanted to wait to write until I was in a positive mind frame, but it’s been few and far between of late.

I’m in a shitty space. Positive things are happening but I’m feeling a bit electric and raw over the state of my country, political bullshit is eating my lunch. I can’t recall a time that I felt so sad about people, about life, about humanity in general.

I’m living in a time where I am set to defend the fact that I’m sensitive, why do people think being liberal, open minded and compassionate warrant an apology. Why on Earth would I ever be cold, interested in controlling others, inserting my idea of morality onto others. Why are humans so egotistical?

I feel like we’re just doomed. Humans are so cruel to one another.

The fact that humans will do almost anything to feel superior to others is very discouraging. Religion and political leanings are great examples. The racism that I naively believed had made so much progress was a big fat lie I told myself, it’s worse than ever..I suppose it’s good in some respects that this has been revealed, it’s easy for a middle class white girl to wear blinders, I will do better. I will be a better person, I will not live in the dark any longer. Racism is ego taken to a sickening level. I don’t believe in God, but if I did I would never be able to try to spew out the two narratives I’ve been hearing.. “we are all God’s children, except I’m better than you..”. It’s gross. People are gross.

I am in a constant state of fight or flight. Where do I think I can go where people are kind, people are humble, religion, politics, and racism don’t exist? A cabin in the middle of nowhear Switzerland? Can I just shut it all off, toss my TV, my phone, never read a newspaper… I feel so helpless. I write and write to people who I think can make a difference, and it makes no difference.

Everything is man made bullshit to render control over others. Religion, politics, borders, morality, all made up to render oneself superior.

What a fucking circus. What a shit show.



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I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been living. I am lost. Sometimes that happens I hear. I am trying to figure out exactly what I want my life to look like.

On paper it all looks good, and I’m not stupid enough to be ungrateful, however, I am definitely not living according to what is valuable lately.

I am incapable or unwilling to motivate myself , I feel worn out, used up, I’m sure that menopause and the fact that I can’t leave my house lately isn’t helpful.

What is important to me?

Being a good friend. I haven’t been lately.

Eating healthy. Nope..not doing that either.

Being a participant in my children’s lives. I’m isolating instead.

Being active. Not even close.

I’m not sure how I’ve gotten here, it’s been a gradual slide. Am I depressed? Maybe.

I’ve been taking care of others so long that I feel little is left for myself. Add to the fact that this has been a particularly rough month health wise, the stores are depleted.

So how do I get back on track? 

I need to set more boundaries for people who feel that my kindness is worth taking advantage of.

I need to eat in the way my body deserves.

I need to apologise to friends for not being present, and work on nourishing those friendships.

I need to get my body moving again. Period.

I’m not completely inept, I know no one can change things but me…

The thought of how busy the holidays are just makes me want to crawl in a hole.

I am ok. I’m not suicidal or anything, just trying to figure it all out.

Writing feels good, maybe this is a good place to start.



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Have ya’all seen this hashtag #metoo? It was started to shed light on the widespread incidents of sexual abuse, and although I rarely repost on trending topics I feel this one is important for obvious and personal reasons. 

Sexual abuse and harassment is never ok, the fact that the majority of my friends, male and female alike have reposted these words is overwhelming.

Did I think I was the only one? No, of course not, did I still carry some shame and self blame for the things that happened to me? I think I did/do.

I have been, like most women, sexually harassed more times than I can count. Cat called, touched, propositioned, I have been the recipient of many over the line advancements and speech.

I think it’s important to share our stories, and although I’ve touched on this subject before, I’m sharing my story again now. I refuse to take blame any longer, and in being vocal I hope to help in some way with the stigma others and myself have carried.

Twice in my life I have been raped. Both happened in my teenage years, and I never told anyone. I never went to the hospital, I never spoke about it at all until last year, I am 48 years old, and have always somehow blamed myself. I was terrified of what my family would think as well.

At a party with a group of friends at the age of 15 I was raped by a friend. I had had too much to drink and decided to go to sleep on a couch in the basement of the house we were at. I passed out under some blankets, to sleep it off. I woke up with someone on top of me, he was shoving my pants down while holding one of his hands around my throat, someone else entered the basement looking for me, he had pulled the covers up over both of us and put his hand over my mouth, telling them he was the only one down there. I was told to shut my mouth and enjoy it. I was raped and strangled for nearly an hour, he was simply stronger  than me. I couldn’t win. Iwas crying and told it wasn’t that bad and that he’d always liked me. When he fell asleep on top of me I wiggled my way out and walked home, I showered and spent the next 30 years asking myself why I didn’t scream(fear) why I got so drunk, why was I alone in the basement, why I didn’t fight, why did I wear that outfit, and a thousand other questions that placed the blame squarely in my lap. 

When this person died I felt secretly happy, and then felt guilty for that. I’ve been telling myself for years what an awful person I am for not feeling sad. I have a lot of the same friends from that time and still can not bring myself to name him for fear of being called a liar, after all he’s not here to defend himself….

The second time I was raped I was slipped something in a drink. I remember nothing of the incident, except waking up naked in this person’s house and being completely disoriented. I asked for a ride home, and later got a call from him asking me out, and telling me what a good time he’d had the night before. I had bruising down the inside of both legs, and on one of my breasts. I again told no one. Why was I drinking? Did I consent while I was out of my mind? I don’t know. I had only had one beer..why can’t I remember anything..I later concluded that I had to have been drugged, it took me several days to even think straight. Being drugged is not consent. 

I regret a lot of things I did when young, I was a mess. I did drugs, I drank, I put myself in a lot of sketchy situations, however, none of that matters..there is no legitimate reason to sexually assault someone. No excuses that hold water.

I hope that in telling this I inspire others to tell their stories, to speak up, to quit any self blame you might carry, in turn I will do the same and continue healing.

How Art Saved My Soul.


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I am an artist. I don’t know why that is hard to say.  How long do you have to paint, or create art of any kind until you earn that label?

I am self taught. I have had zero art training, in fact the only education I have ended around tenth grade. 

A couple years ago I became despondent and depressed, it was around the time my kids all left, I didn’t know what to do with myself.  My husband in his infinite wisdom showed up one day with some paints and canvases: ” You’re a creative person, and you’re not being creative, maybe you could paint something….”. 

My first painting consisted in just spreading paint around and getting the feel of the brush, the canvas, and letting my mind go blank, it is the one at the top of this page.

I love art, I always have, but a lot of the time I always thought, especially with abstracts, hell, I could do that! 

When I started I kind of looked at it like a joke. All these famous artists and it just looked like they dumped a bunch of paint on, smeared it around, and called it a masterpiece. Also this “art” sold for a gazillion bucks. I kept experimenting and found a couple things out.

1. It’s harder than it looks.

2. It felt really good. I was empty, I was profoundly happier when Painting.

3. To my utter amazement, people started buying my stuff.

I spent six months just figuring out how the damn paint works, I was terrified to try to paint people or objects, but really didn’t want to be the girl who painted abstracts because I didn’t take the chance on anything else.

My first self portrait:

Art has saved me in so many ways, I am happier and more content than I’ve ever been in my life. I have created a job that I love. I highly suggest art as an alternative to depression.

A year after I started painting I happened to deliver flowers(my little part time gig for a small shop in town), as unprofessional as I thought it was I asked if the minded if I looked around. The owner asked me if I was an artist… “Uhhh kinda”. I pulled out my phone, pulled up my IG account and handed it to him. I was stunned when he said they were good and that he’d love to represent me. A week later my art was in a gallery. How amazing is that?

I sold my first large Painting exactly a year after I’d started painting, I couldn’t believe what the gallery asked for my art. 

My first sold Painting (the largest one):

I continue to learn, I have made a decent living, dog portraits have been pretty popular lately, I recently submitted several paintings to the gallery that I painted from my photos of Ireland, and will be the featured artist this month at gallery stroll. 

Life is full of unexpected blessings. Most of all I’m happy to not be in my pit of despair any longer. Art is the only therapy that has ever worked for me. I am whole by having this amazing creative outlet. 

Dog portrait:

My most recent works:

What the Frick.


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See this awesomeness? Who wouldn’t wanna hang out with this bastion of style, grace, and humor?

Making friends as an adult (pertaining to me, I use this word loosely) is hard ya’all.

I have a couple really good friends, but they actually have lives and are busy. Maybe I should leave my house more…so, what the frick?

I’ve committed myself to not working really hard to keep in touch with people who don’t make an effort to be in my life, the drawback in that is that they may be thinking the same thing.

I think I’m likable..I think I get along with most people..and I’m pretty sure there is no one out there who wishes me death, but I’m kind of a middle person.

A middle person is someone who is generally liked but not quite enough to miss or want to hang out with. There’s no one out there thinking: “ya know what this party needs? Irish! Let’s call her!”.

I’m not complaining, I have an amazing life, I’m busy, and it’s like my pops used to say ” when you like yourself, you’re always in good company”, but once in awhile I wonder if it’s unhealthy to be this isolated.

People need friends right? Or maybe a better question is, why do people need friends? I’m sure there’s some Harvard study telling everyone that people with a close knit group of friends live longer.

I have amazing people in my life who have supported my art, pitched in when things are hard, and tell me they love me, but we never really get to the doing activities together part.

Before you get all thinky and say “maybe you’re just an asshole!”. I already thought of that, and it’s true, I’m kind of a cynical asshole..but isn’t that part of my charm?

So I’m left asking myself periodically if I shouldn’t have more friends. I don’t know. I’m pretty happy, I’m pretty content. I just occasionally wonder if it’s emotionally healthy to be alone as much as I am. I don’t know. I’m not lonely. I care about a handful of people who make me a better person by knowing them, maybe introverts just attract introverts.

I had lunch with a friend I’m trying to make this week, so progress. 

Today I have the house to myself, so I’m painting, all this thought came from stupid Facebook..people out doing stuff..what a bunch of wierdos.

My Escape.


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 Do you remember that Sleepless in Seattle quote?

Sam Baldwin: Well, how long is your program? Well, it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together… and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home… only to no home I’d ever known… I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like… magic.

Music is like this for me. Music is always magic. The first time I hear a song, the moment a tune hits my eardrum, even the familiar is magic every time.

I feel this way about good stories as well, music, books, and art make me disappear, if there is a god, music more than anything brings me closer to the heavens.

I am whole because of music, I am built and broken down by music, and rebuilt again. Every note of music that I love vibrates and creates my blood cells. There is no finer thing. There is no purer thing.

I was beyond lucky to grow up with musicians as parents. My father was a genius guitar player, my mother could play, but her main instrument was her voice. Blues was my father’s genre, and I’ve grown to love those twangy raw lyrics, the guitar that just talks.

I love most all music, I’m not a big fan of rap, except maybe old school Run DMC, Sugar Hill, and few others. I like metal, I like old punk rock..the political messages, the bare bones angst, the happiness in screaming, the connection to my heart beat and the bass. I love rock and roll, 1970’s full on jam sessions, Dream Weaver, the dance I feel in my soul when Lynyrd Skynyrd pounds out their exaltation to Alabama. I like old timey banjo tunes, I connect with music from the hills, music from the mountains, but also find myself floating over the deep roots of New York punk, CBGB, the woman who stood her ground to rock with the boys, and showed them a thing or two. I love the stories in an Iron Maiden song, the heartbreak in a love song, the sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll in a Poison song.  

I cry when my hero’s die. I miss Bowie every day. Lemmy, Wendy O. WilliamsRandy Rhodes, Johnny Cash, Scott Weiland, Freddie Mercury, Cliff Burton. I know my world is less because I was born too late to see Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison. I can’t listen to a Prince song without curling into a phetal position. I could name hundreds that are gone that built who I am at my core. It’s inevitable, but goddamn it, you should be given some bonus years if you make music.

Music makes my life worth living, it is my escape, my lover, my affair, my best friend, my psychiatrist, my heart. 

Today I am grieving for Tom Petty who’s songs fit anything I was going through. He reminded me to fly, to not back down, that sometimes relationships end, to fall down but get up again, and to dance. He was humble and a genius lyricist. 

I thank the universe for the songs that fill my soul.

Broken Tear Ducts.


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I can’t cry anymore. I’m becoming colder and harder and numb. I am broken. I am am depressed. I am a statue. I can’t cry.

I don’t think that it is normalization. I will never get used to the violence, the hurt, the hatred that has been exposed more and more over the last several months. The fact that I ever thought it was any different now shames me.

I am ashamed of my clear cognitive dissonance of the past. Washing dishes, paying bills, tickle fights with my partner, walking through life as if my own persuit of happiness was moving along nicely, as the world crumbles, and people divide over invisible lines.

It is unbearable the lengths human beings will stoop to to simply feel superior to others. The rich feel superior because money, over paper, over an inanimate object. The most privileged, deny privilege, but trip themselves up with their own words. Human rights are trampled by people who don’t realize it’s effecting them as well. Wars against others for all eternity in a perpetual bigger dick contest are never ending. Its all so sickening and sad. 

I feel a sense of doom for the human race.

This morning I wake up to news that some terrorist in Las Vegas shot and killed a bunch of people attending a concert. What the fuck is the matter with humans. 

Every day it is a another disaster, hurricanes, earthquakes, shootings, war, pain, and a man at the top who’s cruelty knows no bounds.

It’s hard to not be depressed to the bone marrow. I want to escape. I want to find a small, kind, peaceful place on this planet where people are just people, where love and kindness is the rule, not the exception. I am sinking. I am heartbroken.

I can’t cry. Why can’t I cry? Is there a crescendo of pain and numbness when you simply short circuit and become a frozen nothing?

My eyes are like the backs of thumb tacks, my heart is in a dumpster. I feel helpless.

Prayers aren’t fixing anything. 

I’m making calls, I’m sending letters into the won’t make a difference void. My attitude stinks.

My ability to say “tomorrow will be a better day”, is wavering…every day is a fresh new hell right now.

Today I sleep. I knock myself down with over the counters, and yes, I realize how privileged that is. The ability to escape is always just that. 

Tomorrow I’ll throw my leg over a new horse and fight the good fight. Today…not so much.

The Silence That Isn’t Golden.


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I talk to my kids. I talk to them about everything. They had no fear in telling me they wanted birth control, all three of them came to me to discuss sex, relationships, drugs, politics, and even the most embarrassing body problems. An open dialogue has always been the rule in my home.

They still come to me to discuss problems, hurts I’ve caused them, life, struggles with adulthood, and sometimes I’m just a shoulder to cry on.

I am fully aware of my failings as a mother, there are things I probably will never forgive myself for. Doing drugs when they were little is at the top of that list, my only reprive is the knowledge that I got my shit together before they could recall the monster that was their mother.

I come from a family that doesn’t want to discuss root issues, I come from a family that always pretends everything is ok, personal hurts don’t matter, fixing problems doesn’t matter, the hard stuff is kept at a distance, and being emotional or broken is seen as weakness, if you’re blurting out truths, you’re avoided, and in that way no one can really know each other. People are complex, things aren’t always peachy.

No one says “we don’t want to talk about that”, it’s an unspoken rule, you suddenly find yourself alone in whatever turmoil is going on in your life. If things aren’t good, they simply aren’t there. No one listens. 

We talk about nothing things that mean nothing. Intimacy is extinct and buried. The weather, and good news is encouraged. When talking about anything hard it’s kept short and sweet, and has always been a time honored tradition to insert humor into every situation.

I know my family knows about my past struggles with addiction, but no one is interested in how I came out the other side, they know I was raped by one of my peers as teenager, I’ve never been asked about it, I’ve never had a soft place to fall, a shoulder to cry on. I suppose it’s made me strong in some ways, if I’m not kicking ass and taking names the shock is almost humorous.

I admire my mother so much. She is, was, and always has been a bundle of raw, bleeding emotion. She expresses it all, she tosses it into the world like an old french fry box, she is brave and unfiltered. I am in awe of her ability to be weak, to be vulnerable, to look fear of judgement in the eye and tell it to piss off. She is lonely though, she is to be avoided. I sometimes think it’s worth it, baring the times she is shattered in her isolation.

I am starting to think that vulnerability is a person’s greatest strength, it takes a lot of nerve to lay yourself bare in front of people who’s opinions you value. You do however risk, in my world anyway, becoming a pariah, and viewed as someone who’s just to much work to deal with.

News flash: relationships are always work, at least relationships worth their salt.

My goal is to be more open, to give my family a chance to really know who I am, good and bad. I will be judged. I may be shunned. But I’ll be goddamed if I’m going to leave this world without being me to the people whom I love the most. Let the chips fall as they may…..

How to Lose Followers in 3 Easy Steps.


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1. Stick by your convictions.

Start by believing in Equality, being liberal, believing that all people deserve equal rights, say so over their own bodies, and the freedom to protest, also make sure to express your certainty that racism is alive and well, don’t forget to defend your gay daughter.

If you really want to cull the herd come up with a witty hashtag that pisses everyone off..say.. something like #admityourprivelege

Self reflection will make people drop like flies. Admitting that you have white privilege is sure to start an argument!

Tell a story about how you’re a white woman who 20 years ago drove a stolen car with expired plates around at three in the morning with a trunk full of meth, passed 10 cops, while freebasing coke, at 82 lbs. Did a drug deal in front of the police station, but we’re somehow not deemed “suspicious” enough to get pulled over.

#2. Admit you’re a tad less privileged by being a female.

Pop off as often as possible about unequal pay, Viagra vs birth control, and the fear you feel on a daily basis.

Complain about rape culture, and how you’re sick of being told to smile.

Better yet tell a story about how sitting at the Trax stop with headphones on reading a book, was somehow an affront to the guy who touched your body without permission to ask what your reading, then called you a cunt because you didn’t want to go down on him before the train arrived.

#3. Call your president a piece of shit.

This is pretty self explanatory.  Show repeatedly how depressed and discouraged you are by the state of your country. People will flee! On the plus side you don’t have to hear their bullshit any more.

There are thousands of other ways to minimize a following on social media, these however I’ve found very effective.

Basically when you’re trying to be a decent person by believing all people genuinely are created equal, that others aren’t being treated as such, that politicians are scum, and voicing your frustrations and convictions, you’re sure to lose friends and alienate others.

This public service announcement brought to you by #admityourprivelege and #imsosickofthisshiticouldpuke