So...

I haven't been blogging because I haven't wanted to talk about my feeeeelings and be all depressed/depressing. I've been letting the bad outweigh the good, i.e., focusing on what I don't have (a job) and what I do have (the freedom and time to do pretty much anything I want). I gave traveling a try and it didn't really work out and I've really been beating myself up for my relative failure at being a vagabond. I didn't realize quite how stressful it would be to be in a city even a mere four hours from home and be constantly worrying about money. How soon was it going to run out? Were we going to go out to eat and would it be expensive? Did I just bounce a check? Was I going to have enough money for the tolls to get home? And on and on ad nauseum until I just decided that staying at home for a while would be my best plan. So here I've been, except for a week at an artists' retreat, an adventure I'll get to in a minute.

In time since I last blogged "for real," I've been up and down emotionally. Grieving the job I had, even if I felt like a fraud at it, is important and I know I haven't let myself mourn its loss. At least not enough to be productive. I've let myself feel the loss just enough to cruise into self-pity territory instead of pushing through the sadness and into and-now-for-our-next-adventure land. My unemployment funds came in about six weeks to the day after my layoff, so I was finally able to let my butt unpucker and make some financial strides. I've been able to pay off a small-balance credit card and get some other finances close to being in order (balances go down, joy goes UP). I'm learning to go to the store instead of ordering takeout all the time. The only downside to grocery shopping is that eventually groceries run out and one (who isn't necessarily me but probably is me) is left with canned mushrooms, frozen fish, and light butter popcorn that kind of tastes like someone aimed a can of Pam towards cardboard.

Three weeks ago, I got a serendipitous email from an artist friend of mine who was headed to a free artists' retreat and wanted to know who else was available to go. Moments before her email came in, I'd been sitting around with Serena discussing a couple tarot readings she'd just done for me. All the messages pointed towards freedom and creativity and embracing the gift that was being given to me, so I jumped on the opportunity my friend emailed about. I sent in an "application" (wrote a few paragraphs about what I'd like to work on while I was there) and shortly thereafter was notified that I'd been accepted. Huzzah! I went to the store for bottled water and snacks containing animal protein (well water; vegetarian retreat) and met up with my friend a week later for the five-hour drive to the retreat center.

When we got to the center, I was awed by the beauty of the property. The main house was a dark brown Ranch-style surrounded by hostas and other greenery I couldn't identify. I am getting closer to attaining a green thumb. I figure it's genetic; both King V and Queen S dig (ha!) gardening/planting and I'm becoming interested in composting and buying some seeds so I can plant flowers. I'd like to buy a house so I could have space for a garden. Farm Town has had quite an influence on me.

Near the main house was a winding brick path, a pond, cabins where artists could stay, a straw bale house, and a picnic-type shelter. It was quiet and peaceful and I sat a few times on sturdy homemade benches next to the pond, listening to nature sounds that I normally hear on relaxation CDs while in the midst of city noise.

I elected to stay in the house after being shown a cabin that had a wood-burning stove and a chamber pot. I rough it once a year when I go camping at Michfest; the guest bedroom I was shown before I saw the cabin was next door to a fully functional bathroom. As a cabin dweller, I also had the option of using the composting toilet near the straw bale house. No, I assured them, indoors is good! I met one of the hosts for the week, who is a fellow writer, and the cook who hugged me hello and introduced me later in the week to barbecued tofu. *yark*

Bean curd aside, the week went well. The artists were given eight or more hours a day to work on their craft. I intended to do a lot of writing and did, in a way. I hadn't really been writing at all and I left the retreat with a completed sestina (including a title!) and the start of two other poems. Surprising were the 21 drawings I created during the week. I started with this one


which is called "And One on the Way," and then did a bunch of variations on the theme, including


and


I had a great time relaxing into my identity as an artist but I was aching to the leave the retreat after a week. I was exhausted and had met some, erm, interesting characters, including a former lesbian separatist and a raw foodist who only ate bananas at dinner one night. I came home and slept a lot and unfortunately got depressed again. I'd been surrounded for a solid week by people to talk to and enjoy meals with and had my self-esteem bolstered by working on my art for a week and getting some nice feedback. But then, just as quickly as the hosts' dog gulped down the barbecued tofu I left on my plate, that camaraderie was gone and I was faced with the reality of my loneliness and life at home of just waiting for things to make sense again.

I worked on a couple drawings when I got home but was still pretty tired from the flurry of creativity, so I set them aside. I know that adhering to a schedule really helped me on the retreat. Artists would work from early morning until mid-afternoon and then we'd head off on some kind of field trip for a couple hours. One day we went to an Amish hardware store where I bought a pound of fudge from a cute, sunkissed Amish woman in her 20s. I stood across from her while she measured out fudge with her spatula and tried not to giggle as I thought about asking for her phone number.

Now that I'm home, I need to establish a similar schedule but am not used to being a work-from-home type. Not getting sucked into 12+ hours of TV watching is sometimes difficult, unless, like last night, I theoretically hit some kind of wall, get disgusted with the omnipresent noise coming from the glowing box of avoidance, and toss a proverbial death shroud (read: pretty purple tapestry with people in various yoga positions on it) over the set to free myself from its grasp. I didn't watch ALL crap, though. I'm still geeked out on the plethora of information I retained after watching one of National Geographic's In the Womb documentaries that discussed the gestation of sharks, penguins, wasps, and kangaroos. Embryonic cannabalism! Crying for help within the egg! The assumption of a host body as incubator! Three vaginas! Seriously -- GEEKING. OUT.

Last night was a turning point, I believe. I finally shared some of what I was feeling in a safe space and slept better last night than I have for a while. I got up this morning and came outside to the porch to play on the computer. The great news is that I switched over to wireless Internet service so it's possible to do more than play Spider Solitaire and wistfully look at the Firefox icon on my desktop. The bad news is that I'm FREEZING (it's 57 degrees outside and I'm in the shade), but I'm outside, damn it. Birds are twittering (ha!), trees are bursting with broccoli-colored leaves, and the sky is as blue as it is in my pictures. I have my water bottle, about 30% power left on the laptop's battery, and I'm thinking about going to the grocery store soon. Unfortunately, I have to go inside for my wallet and closed-toe shoes and I know I'm stalling because I am fully aware that Will and Grace is on.