(no subject)
Insomnia makes you do stupid things. I just sat here and re-read all of my journal posts. I don't know why this particular slice of my life is so fascinating to me right now, but it did help to pass the time for a while, at least until the sleeping pills hit me anyway.
So much has changed in my life this year. I have found love and then lost it again, thought I had a true, honest friend who would stick with me no matter what, lost her too. Found out that my job is the best in the world and that I have a real talent for inflicting pain on people and then taking their money. (Tattooing in case you didn't know!)
My son is still struggling with his life and trying to survive with his mental illness and drug habit. It breaks my heart every time I see him. I want to just wrap him in my arms and keep him safe from everything that could hurt him. He is 22 years old so that won't work. He has his own life and makes his own choices, but damn, it's hard to watch sometimes. I gave him some money today, as I usually do. He hates taking it. He earns money here there and everywhere. I have the "don't ask, don't tell" policy when it comes to his way of life. I think the less I know about his employment, or the lack thereof, the better I will feel.
He tells me little or nothing anyway. I wish I could get him on some medication. Schizophrenia is such an insidious illness. He won't take medication as it is giving up some sort of control of his life, so he says. Also, he does not trust the pills not to harm him. He has taken medication before and even though everyone around him told him how much better he was doing, he still does not believe it.
I wish, I wish that he would listen to me. I want him to be safe from harm and healthy and happy, pretty much the same things that every mother wishes for her child.
Anyway, he is coming for dinner on thanksgiving. I will get to feed him up that day at least.
The shop is doing well. I am tattooing every day, six days a week. I love doing this job. I have found my niche finally, and I can actually say that I now know what I want to do when I grow up. I am a tattoo artist. I never knew what to answer to that question when I was asked it as a child. I always said, "nurse", or "doctor" or some shit like that, even though I wanted to be an artist or a painter.
I used to have visions of myself living in Paris, wearing one of those huge paint splattery smocks and holding an easel, working on a masterpiece.
the reality of that little scenario was me living in Paris and nearly starving to death in a FREEZING cold attic waiting to be discovered. I used to make money by doing chalk drawings on the sidewalk of famous masterpieces. The Mona Lisa with a safety pin in her nose, stuff like that.
I also painted portraits of foul little French kids and their equally foul and ugly parents.
Ick..I hated it.
I truly was a starving artist, and my Parisian dream turned into a parisian nightmare right quick!
So, now I am in Colorado. I own a shop. I tattoo every day, and I feel more fulfilled than I ever have in my life.
I have started doing portraits now. I am GOOD at this! I am going to post some pictures of some of the stuff I have been doing lately. I did a Nosferatu portrait on the top of an arm the other day. I love this thing!.. Well...you will have to wait until put the picture up, but comments and critique would be most welcome.
Now I am doing quite a few kid portraits and people love them. that makes me feel good. I love sending my clients out of the door with a huge grin on their face. It makes me all fuzzy in the middle. heheh.
So, money is good, job fulfillment is REALLY good, and my son is O.K...or as O.K as he ever is. My life is not so terrible right now. It has been a lot worse than this believe me, but right now...things are tolerable.
I saw Topher tonight at the bar. I decided to eat there with Will, our piercer. We were hungry and we just went and hung out for a while.
It is still fucking painful to see him! He is on a diet and is losing weight, so now he looks good. Damn. He is cordial to me, but not warm. He is polite but not overly friendly, and I am coming to terms more and more with that.
I know that I am fine without him and that I will eventually not feel any pain when I see him at all. What I feel now is more a sense or relief than anything else. I still harbor thoughts of "what might have been", but less and less nowadays do I get that awful, crushing sense of loss that I had when I first broke up with him.
I guess I am a tough old bitch and I can weather any storm. Just as well, considering the shite thrown at me in my life so far.
Ha.
My journal entries are cathartic for me. They release whatever inner turmoil I have that I don't wish to put into actual words and discuss with someone. Writing is therapeutic, and I like doing it. I still worry about my friends, I worry about my mom and my son, but I worry less and less about myself. I always seem to survive whatever happens to me, so I guess I will always be fine. (So nice to be a superhero, even if it's only in my own mind.)
Well I can feel the lovely drowsiness of my sleeping pills taking effect, so I think my yattering needs to come to an end now. Sleeping on my keyboard makes me wake up with key square shapes indented into my face for the day. Not an attractive look.
So much has changed in my life this year. I have found love and then lost it again, thought I had a true, honest friend who would stick with me no matter what, lost her too. Found out that my job is the best in the world and that I have a real talent for inflicting pain on people and then taking their money. (Tattooing in case you didn't know!)
My son is still struggling with his life and trying to survive with his mental illness and drug habit. It breaks my heart every time I see him. I want to just wrap him in my arms and keep him safe from everything that could hurt him. He is 22 years old so that won't work. He has his own life and makes his own choices, but damn, it's hard to watch sometimes. I gave him some money today, as I usually do. He hates taking it. He earns money here there and everywhere. I have the "don't ask, don't tell" policy when it comes to his way of life. I think the less I know about his employment, or the lack thereof, the better I will feel.
He tells me little or nothing anyway. I wish I could get him on some medication. Schizophrenia is such an insidious illness. He won't take medication as it is giving up some sort of control of his life, so he says. Also, he does not trust the pills not to harm him. He has taken medication before and even though everyone around him told him how much better he was doing, he still does not believe it.
I wish, I wish that he would listen to me. I want him to be safe from harm and healthy and happy, pretty much the same things that every mother wishes for her child.
Anyway, he is coming for dinner on thanksgiving. I will get to feed him up that day at least.
The shop is doing well. I am tattooing every day, six days a week. I love doing this job. I have found my niche finally, and I can actually say that I now know what I want to do when I grow up. I am a tattoo artist. I never knew what to answer to that question when I was asked it as a child. I always said, "nurse", or "doctor" or some shit like that, even though I wanted to be an artist or a painter.
I used to have visions of myself living in Paris, wearing one of those huge paint splattery smocks and holding an easel, working on a masterpiece.
the reality of that little scenario was me living in Paris and nearly starving to death in a FREEZING cold attic waiting to be discovered. I used to make money by doing chalk drawings on the sidewalk of famous masterpieces. The Mona Lisa with a safety pin in her nose, stuff like that.
I also painted portraits of foul little French kids and their equally foul and ugly parents.
Ick..I hated it.
I truly was a starving artist, and my Parisian dream turned into a parisian nightmare right quick!
So, now I am in Colorado. I own a shop. I tattoo every day, and I feel more fulfilled than I ever have in my life.
I have started doing portraits now. I am GOOD at this! I am going to post some pictures of some of the stuff I have been doing lately. I did a Nosferatu portrait on the top of an arm the other day. I love this thing!.. Well...you will have to wait until put the picture up, but comments and critique would be most welcome.
Now I am doing quite a few kid portraits and people love them. that makes me feel good. I love sending my clients out of the door with a huge grin on their face. It makes me all fuzzy in the middle. heheh.
So, money is good, job fulfillment is REALLY good, and my son is O.K...or as O.K as he ever is. My life is not so terrible right now. It has been a lot worse than this believe me, but right now...things are tolerable.
I saw Topher tonight at the bar. I decided to eat there with Will, our piercer. We were hungry and we just went and hung out for a while.
It is still fucking painful to see him! He is on a diet and is losing weight, so now he looks good. Damn. He is cordial to me, but not warm. He is polite but not overly friendly, and I am coming to terms more and more with that.
I know that I am fine without him and that I will eventually not feel any pain when I see him at all. What I feel now is more a sense or relief than anything else. I still harbor thoughts of "what might have been", but less and less nowadays do I get that awful, crushing sense of loss that I had when I first broke up with him.
I guess I am a tough old bitch and I can weather any storm. Just as well, considering the shite thrown at me in my life so far.
Ha.
My journal entries are cathartic for me. They release whatever inner turmoil I have that I don't wish to put into actual words and discuss with someone. Writing is therapeutic, and I like doing it. I still worry about my friends, I worry about my mom and my son, but I worry less and less about myself. I always seem to survive whatever happens to me, so I guess I will always be fine. (So nice to be a superhero, even if it's only in my own mind.)
Well I can feel the lovely drowsiness of my sleeping pills taking effect, so I think my yattering needs to come to an end now. Sleeping on my keyboard makes me wake up with key square shapes indented into my face for the day. Not an attractive look.