12 December 2012

Breaking the Bottle

I'm delaying tomorrow's shop update until next week.
I'll try to tell you why.

I've had very little to say since summer began.
Already, writing these few sentences seems emotionally exhausting. I fluctuate with each breath between being
resigned, peaceful-
and fully cocked in the pissed-off position.

I'll not tap specifics.  It doesn't matter.

What does matter, is that I had two customers
reach out to me yesterday, wondering if I was avoiding them.
I've had friends call, wondering where I've been.
I get texts asking if I got texts
and emails asking if I got emails.
I raise eyebrows.  I garner concerns.
I hate it.

I've grown aloof.  I've gotten quiet-
a stranger to friends, a stranger to customers,
to myself in some aspects.
Instagram has become my vocabulary.
I try to capture my days in images
when words repeatedly forsake me.
Meanwhile, I've tried to focus on my son.
I've focused on the aftermath of the marriage,
having cleaned out and sorted through, thrown away,
divided up and organized all that's left in the physical
sense, though the emotional property remains in a 
chaotic state of fuckery. I've buried myself in my
studio work, and in other, far less productive, far more destructive methods of hurting.
I hate that too.

And so it's been since May.

An unexpected phone call last night,
coupled with some green relationships
that would do me good, have stirred a shift in focus.
My heart wasn't in the work today.
Instead, I thought a great deal about you.

Among other things,
I was urged to write again.
Something small.
Just talk in trickling words, I was told.
Small efforts.  Fragments.
Feeling the weight of all the unsaid building up
into greater discomfort, I agreed.

It begins here.
I'm committing to writing *something* on this blog
every day now through the end of the year.
It also goes for your letters,
which warrant overdue response.
I've received the kindest notes.
Your phone calls.
Texts and emails.  Convos. Messages.  Feedback.
I'm small these days, and as I've said before,
you do unfold me.

You're unfolding me now.

I cannot express the struggle in my brain and fingers
as I type this.
Bottlenecked, I am, and bent in feeling.
I hope I make some sense,
as I was never one to be easily understood.

The point, I suppose, is that
camaraderie can't be capped by construction forever.
Survival mode is a type of tunnel vision.
 It seems I may have temporarily forgotten the fact that,
although part of my world ceased to spin,
the rest went right along in perfect rhythm.
I think I owe you a dance, darling.
You've been so good to me.

In front of a dimly lit screen,
in the walls of this too-large-for-two, too empty,
still somewhat foreign house,
I'm finding my way back home.
Thank you for waiting on my arrival.

There is the crashing of glass
from somewhere deep in my soul.
Cheers, friends.
To the grieving.
To the growth.
To you, who have seen me through it all.



  1. i am, as many are, aware of your profound feelings. you owe no explanations; you want to think for a while...
    i am doubtful you are being totally self indulgent or destructive. i think of you as being more intelligent than many can hope to ever be. it is this that allows you to prioritize and work that mental hamster wheel that is your mind. it is needed to brush the stray bits out of your eyes and just plainly grow. within this context, i know i have been graced with a corner of your time, which could not be any more precious. thank you for that. it was a small window, but so very meaningful and incontrovertibly generous.
    i know you will make it all come together in a fresh way when it is time. i hope it gets less painful. growth can be just inconvenient often. so i send love to you and your monkeyshine. and perhaps a fresh ice cream cone opp. will come along soon.
    xoxo. w.

  2. Sometimes we need to draw into ourselves in order to understand the hurt for a while. You are grieving, and giving yourself time is one of the best things you could do for yourself and your son. It is refreshing to see you coming out of the shell...there are many roads ahead of you, and you will be amazed at the doors that open! So much love to you.

  3. the following was on a teabag tag, and i taped it to my file cabinet at work, because that's where i feel the most guarded, around people who think they know me, but really don't know the true me. the wee tag reminded me that sometimes it's OK to withdraw and take care of myself:
    "the best way of life is to be, simply be."

    take care of your heart, dear badass.


  4. I have been in that place where words do not come easily. When images and music have been the only voice I could find. Sometimes we have to sit in the silence to be able to hear...

    Sending you so much love, so many hopes for you to find your way through the maze and to come out all the stronger for it in both heart and soul. I know that will be true for you.

    Take care, love. Our arms are here supporting you.

  5. Sending love to a young woman I admire~~Praying for you to keep healing.

  6. Hugs to you and Mason...as Gloria Gaynor once said "I Will Survive"...and you will! xo Sandy

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  8. Hugs and much love and support being sent to you and Mason.

  9. I have never met a more generous person than you.
    For all that you have given me, time, energy, hugs, encouragement, and all that can't be said with words, it is time to be as generous with yourself. As we said the last time, when we talk or see each other again, we will pick right up. Do what must be done and no worries of apologies.....I am always here for you. No. Matter. What.

  10. Take care of you (and the Monkey). The rest will fall into place.

  11. Love you Jess! You are in my thoughts and prayers. Always here if you need an ear or hug!

  12. You can say everything even when you are not actually speaking.And I suppose it is what you have been doing all this time. It was what you needed, or what you could do, or what your soul "allowed" you to do. so, be generous to you, and do what you think will make you feel better. take care...

  13. You are strong, Jess, and you will be fine. Creative beings like you will not be shut "away in the hard ground." Give yourself time and space from the world. You will be fine.

  14. Shadows rule for now....not forever.

    Remember what I told you.....

    Walk through the shadows
    Embrace the grief
    It will become a part of you
    A not-worthy friend
    Yet, a friend in need and indeed

    Shadows become light
    Hues, textures, forms
    of shapes you will become

    Grief and loss mold our forms.

  15. I sense that you emerging from the fog and starting to find your way. You go girl!!!

  16. It's been two years since the "destruction of my marriage" and because I had lost myself within that broken structure, the destruction of myself. I could have hidden in my parents basement for another two years...I dont know what to say, its either kind or lethal, those words that tumble from my mouth.I couldnt tell you what I grieve-the love I felt, the partner I thought I had, the future I was supposed to have. New city, daily anxiety attacks,alone and lonely and healing still. At least you work, you exorcise in metal. Sometimes we who care just need a sign of life from you-selfishly because I miss you and you inspire me. I want to know you are there and for you to know that I am here...should you ever need a thing. I realize I shattered, into a million pieces and I'm just starting to pick them up and look at them, deciding what to save and what is so not needed. Keep your chin up, and know I'm here if you ever need a thing.

  17. JJ, I love you. That's all I got right now.

  18. Beautiful words... from I suspect a beautiful person.

    "It seems I may have temporarily forgotten the fact that,
    although part of my world ceased to spin,
    the rest went right along in perfect rhythm."

    It sucks and doesn't, right? How could the world go on when it seems nothing is the same? Now you've jumped back on and we are all happy about that.