It came to her in the shower.

So a day after whining that I have no creativity left, I was inspired to write this short story. It may or may not be finished, who knows.

Here we go:

It came to her in the shower. A whoosh of air, like a door being opened. A subtle change in pressure that she felt in her ears. It interrupted her singing on a sharp note and she looked around, expectantly. But tonight was just her and the dogs. Who could it be? Or what?

But beyond the shower curtain, there was only her messy bathroom. So she tried to return to bathing. But she couldn’t quite pick up her tune again. Something had changed.

And then she got to thinking. Was this a sign? Did some other worldly being just stretch out its hand to her, offering divine wisdom for the moment?

“I’m listening,” she said, feeling something in between hope and fear. Anxiety, probably. She felt that often enough.

The lights blinked out. In a panic she threw open the shower curtain, but she could see nothing in the dark. She flailed her arms ahead of her, knowing that if someone was standing there by the light switch that she could reach them in her tiny bathroom.

Nothing there. Dropping her hands back to her sides, she began to laugh. Surely it was that last bulb giving out, that’s all. But she couldn’t ignore her initial instincts. She had thought that something was trying to communicate. And didn’t she just get a second sign?

She couldn’t stand being in the dark. So she stepped out of the tub carefully and fumbled at the window sill for the lighter she knew would be there. It was difficult with her trembling, wet hands, but she lit it.

At first, nothing seemed out of place, only dark. She navigated the flame to the counter where a candle sat, and that’s when she saw it. In the mirror.

Waiting.

She screamed.

it’s not working

I know I’m supposed to be writing. I promise, I think about it every day. But I kill the words before they even come out. I’m so critical of myself, and I don’t know how to turn it off. Even now I’m tempted to hit the delete key and give up. I’m just…scrambling my fucking brain, trying to come up with a story, a memoir, a poem, an anything. Just like my paintings haven’t been turning out, neither is this… I don’t know if it’s that all my energy and effort is at school, and there’s nothing left for creativity? Maybe? I just hope it comes back, in some fashion. I haven’t been in any shows either, so it’s really like I have no creative outlet right now and I’m going mad.

Alright, that’s enough from me.

if it wasn’t for bad luck…

I finally did it. I sold a painting. Two, actually. The first was an old, angsty piece from a long time ago:

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And the other was specifically commissioned for by the customer:

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I could hardly contain myself, I was so excited. Cloud nine. You’ll notice I say this in the past tense, as in, not anymore. Because I have the shittiest luck…

In a blur I went to the mail center to ship to my customer. I was so anxious, I had never shipped a painting before and it felt a little like I imagine parents feel when they take their kids to day care for the first time. I balked at the price — $50 to ship them to Illinois. But I didn’t ask questions, I just paid and said goodbye.

All week I thought about them. Would the package hold up? Would the customer like them as much in person?

Well, the paintings never showed up. Fedex says they were delivered but my customer does not have them. They have until Wednesday to recover them, and if they don’t I have to file a claim. I didn’t think to add signature service — they didn’t ask me and I’ve never done this before.

So two fragments of my heart are lost in the world…and I have to give the customer something. I am repainting them, which is a grueling process. It’s like trying to relive a moment in perfect clarity. I finished one:

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It doesn’t look as good as my original, but the concept is there. I don’t know if I’m just so disappointed that I can’t be happy about replicating it…

Has this happened to anyone before? It’s a first for me…I didn’t even consider it as a possibility.

 

Wednesday Blues

As a teenager I used to be obsessed with finding my purpose in life. Fulfilling some grand destiny. It brought me a lot of pain, but also gave me hope that there was more out there…a perfect design. It’s been years since I’ve thought about anything like that…and yet today I feel it. The ache of being incomplete.

For some reason these feelings manifest as a desire to write, and not just poetry. I feel like I should be creating my own worlds, my own characters…and yet I have no idea what that would look like, be like. I have oodles of inspiration but no clear vision, no plan. Sometimes I feel like my life is so small I wouldn’t be able to draw anything out of it, even with my big imagination.

Does anyone else feel like this? A writer without a story…but more than that. A woman without a crux…

Jealous

Is it something I lack? Something I want back? I’m rolling in poison, not feeling the joys in life. Only strife. Struggling to be a good wife, but it’s all gone south, twisted in my mouth, and aching! Ever aching. I’m always fucking shaking while they go on dancing, further enhancing this hate, this gash, the falling ash from a burning heart.

It’s time to start moving on, but ever strong is this jealous limb within my mind.

Morning thoughts

I wanted to free paint this morning, and I ended up with a weird piece of art. It wouldn’t be coleymojo without being weird, right? I still have this lingering feeling that I haven’t found my perfect medium and that acrylics aren’t really my thing…but who knows. Maybe I will try watercolors, because I used a lot of water in this piece and it was actually fun.

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The next piece came to me in a counseling session, talking about my bitter disappointment about (not getting) theater roles. I equated it to sand in my shoe, but that wasn’t quite right. It digs deeper than that, aches more and really kind of hurts. Like walking in high heels — that was a better analogy. Going on like nothing is wrong, and no one can see your pain…until you’re hobbling around like a wounded gazelle, that is. Anyway, that was my inspiration. I’m not really happy with the color scheme, but it is what it is.

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