Why do you think we lie on our back sometimes across the bed when for answers we search? Arms spread out, down in defeat, as if by doing so the world would change a thing. Is it because it feels like the most comforting thing ever, or is it because we think the ceiling can hear us, can talk? Maybe baring our souls to the unknown gives us some weird kind of hope?
I have more questions than answers. Thus, if you do know, say so.
Here’s a little story.
I remember the night of November eighth. I wanted to go to a bar, be in the middle of the action, get ready to celebrate Hillary Clinton’s victory–just as I had for Obama last two elections. But sh*t escalated quickly.
My friend wanted to go to her brother’s house instead, so I went with her. Now I was stuck at this house with nothing but one glass of wine and a baby sleeping upstairs. Add personal troubles to the mix and here was a worst-case scenario at its best. Meanwhile, as the results kept coming in, all I wanted to do was go outside and scream. At the moment, I could not believe this was the people of the United States of America digging their own grave. (Now we have a pretty good idea of all the shade behind this election.) Everyone around me started feeling sick. I wanted to puke. The last time I felt that sick to my stomach it was September 11, 2001. How did we get here?
This election has been particularly tough to assimilate for pretty much any person of reason and morals.
We ended up going back to my friend’s house that night–no longer needing to celebrate–and downed a couple of tequila shots as if it were water. I can never do straight non-chilled shots, mind you, but I had to calm my anxiety somehow. I tried drowning my repulsiveness in alcohol, but it didn’t work. It was a hell of a terrible, sleepless night. And, if the Electoral College doesn’t come through on December 19th, I’m hoping to be drunk for the next four years.
Inspired by the cover photo of Rihanna’s album, Unapologetic. I love her song “What Now” from that album, so I just sketched it one day while listening. Music is art; art is music.
We don’t have to wish it away for it often brings renewed thoughts and stems. Sure it’s already autumn and you’d rather see the leaves fall than rain drops cause frizz and chaos. The streets filled with fast-moving folks looking for shelter for their unadventurous souls.
Fire can burn, but rain; rain is my friend.
There’s no more comforting, inspiring sound or view to me than the rain on my window pane. It can be overwhelming — with homesickness, reminiscence, warmth, motivation, happiness and nostalgia all hitting at once. But, it is the best mood setter. (Just don’t ask me to drive places.) Remix it with the sound of an acoustic guitar and, I am going nowhere. Dear rain, you can stay.
When my mind is trying to tell me something, and I don’t know what, I just start sketching and stuff spills out. And it just comes out. And it’s therapy. And I love it. And I want to share it with the world, even if no one gets it. Can you relate?
“Don’t read the news,” I tell myself to avoid disappointment, disgust, rejection, repulsiveness, and sadness. That never works. I never listen to my own commands, my own advice. Mainly because I love being informed, even though the result is almost always the same: bad news.
And it’s even worse, ten times intensified, when you get your news from the internet because it comes with an incredible amount of unsolicited commentary from trolls who are very proud of their opinion no matter how utterly stupid they sound.
I’m starting to wonder if this is really how we’re supposed to live; making each other sick with misery. Humans can’t seem to reach an agreement on how to coexist. And, common sense now seems subjective. OK, maybe common sense is still common. There are quite a lot of us fighting for reason and truth.
Maybe the problem is not that all is bad, but that we think it is. It’s ultimately what they (the ones in control) choose to show us as “news.” I don’t blame them. They want views and leads. They know that, after all, a lot of people aren’t interested in happy news, so they feed us their worst. And I guess it works.
It drives me insane, but I can’t stop reading headlines.
A thought comes to mind.
One day (last night) I had cereal for dinner. The next day (today), I had a banana and a cup of tea for breakfast; a plain lactose-full cheese sandwich with a cup of milk for lunch; and then, for dinner, a few chicken finger strips. That’s not gourmet, but it’s all right. It’s just that it is the worst series of meals I’ve had in a long time.
I thought, what am I doing disrupting my diet like that? Back-to-back. Then reality hit me: some people follow no regimen because they have nothing to eat at all.
Those of us who have the luxury to be selective with what we eat sometimes forget how lucky we are. You can’t punish yourself for having access to all sorts of foods, nutritious food, while some people starve. It’s not your fault. But I think it helps you to stay grounded and in touch with reality when you consider where you stand.
Maybe it’s the hopeless compassionate being in me, but I’m always thinking of the less fortunate when someone complains about what they ate or when someone leaves a crazy amount of leftovers on their plate — I hate seeing it go to waste.
As for me, I like staying on top of my game health-wise. I’ve skipped a few good meals due to nothing but laziness (and then there’s also the fact that I can’t cook). I’m one of those “freaks” who must eat right to feel well, physically and emotionally. That’s my only concern. But it takes only a simple thought to bring me down to Earth because, when I think of the world’s disadvantaged and how I’ll have access to a hot plate the minute I decide to go grocery shopping, I know I’m going to survive.