love/sick

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we lay silently under the string of lavender lights strung across the wall above the bed, pathetic and still.  we are both sick.  sick as dogs, angry and miserable inside out atoms.  we lay together and treat each others bodies with the gentleness we routinely refuse our own.  stroking hair and testing foreheads and cheeks for too much warmth.  i kiss his shoulder rather than his lips.  enough damage has already been done.  swaddled in deep grey blankets, we convalesce.  the timing is bad but not as bad as it might have been.  i should have known some wiley germ would eventually catch up to me.  i lucked out not getting sick while on my trip and i am thankful for that.  it would've been awful to spend time stuck in bed rather than drawing against the tall, white walls in my huge, beautiful studio or singing karaoke at the pizza parlor/bar.  still, this misery is miserable.  such a waste of life to be sick.  time slips and fails.  i guzzle more NyQuil and hope that tomorrow all will be well within my body again and that the impetuous rhythm of waiting tables and making art will resume with as much fury as (more fury than) it had before.

i roll over and his hand finds my back.  he rubs me gently as i lay with my eyes closed against the pressure in my sinuses despite his own discomfort.  i marvel at this.  his kindness.  a moment of total pleasure inside this stubborn illness.  i marvel at him.

his hand stops and i roll the other way.  i want to see his face. 



every night, his face is the last thing i see and i want it to go on being that way. 

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sick day

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sick

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2 days without a voice.  i can't speak, my throat feels like it is exploding.  buy the big bottle of NyQuil and guzzle.  the craziest of dreams.  my body feels tingly.  online shopping at midnight.  i almost bought a pink sweatshirt that says ON WEDNESDAYS WE WEAR PINK on the front of it from the movie Mean Girls.  that was a really good movie, actually.  my mind is all over the place.  i feel good right now because i feel as if my heart is absent, on vacation, lying in a hammock in the Bahamas, sipping a pina colada.  i want to be back in that tiny tiki lounge in new york with anne where we drank pina coladas and ate voodoo chips. i wore my white leather jacket.  i want to wake up tomorrow and feel better.  i want to wake up tomorrow and have my voice back. a rare day came when i had the entire house to myself - all 3 roommates gone -  and i could have lit up this place christmas day with my voice, singing to the rafters in hot, priviledged privacy, but instead i spent the day in bed undercover of all manner of drugs and with blazing red tonsils.  not even a squeek comes out. dreams crashing into dreams crashing into thoughts thoughts thoughts.  maybe i drank more NyQuil than i should have. in my delirium, it dawns on me:  i want to be someones favorite person.  maybe that's all anyone wants. 

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MORE MORE MORE

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a new day, a new notebook.  it's always a fantastic feeling.  but for the passed three days i've been locked inside a NyQuil stupor, stoned as hell on over-the-counter cold medicine, trying to shake whatever bad bug this is that bit me.  yesterday and the day before all i did was sleep.  today, i was at least able to sit and write for awhile before needing to head back to bed.  i won't be making in to class tonight.  

and so i lay down in my warm bed and medication and twist black yarn around my hook.  stitch by stitch, i go.  how soothing it is.  how familiar, how comforting.  it is a balm and a deep, good therapy.  maybe it is how i mother myself?  making all these blankets and sweaters?  i fashion sites of warmth and emblems of safety for myself. i wrap myself up in my tiny poems emblazoned in wool.  i leave them on street in the hope that those who need a bit of comfort may stumble across my little offerings.  i begin to dream of the future again...  a future self and who that might be.

it occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning that i have occupied my white room for almost a year.  may 1st is the anniversary.  look at all these important markers of time all lined up in a row!  it catches my attention in such a serious way.  it's been an entire year now that i have been completely on my own, no hand to hold, paying all my bills myself, buying plane tickets and red lipstick as often as i felt need to, and never for one second letting the reigns slip from my fist.  every time i've maintained control over my own life, day, and destiny the results have always been good.  i've been happier, not to mention more successful.  and likewise, every time i handed over control of my life to someone else the results have been atrocious.  unhappiness followed quickly on the heels of such a horrible decision.  i can't ever imagine making such a decision again.  i can't ever see a day when i will sacrifice my financial Independence.  being able to choose the terms and conditions of my own life is the greatest gift i've ever given myself and i will never give it up.  my daily existence is so free, so respectful of my being and loves.  now, more than anything, i simply want to be more and more my Self.

i've been crocheting a new round of yarn bombs the passed week.  they read "cry harder".  that's what i aspire to.  that's what i want for all of us.  to cry harder, cry louder.  to be ourselves without reservation or apology.  i hope to drop a few in san francisco and oakland in a few days once this sickness has passed through me and left me stronger as a result.  in so many ways, street art is the pinnacle of artistic production because it doesn't seek permission or reassurance.  it simply IS, and it is up to US to reckon with IT.  i love it.  i'm not very good at it yet but i'm thankful to take part to the small extent i do. it makes my life feel poetic.  it makes me feel alive inside my own body, inside my spirit, inside the night and this world and all my unnameable desires.

relocation is Prime.

and in the art realm of things, i've got some work online at Darger HQ and more coming soon.  i also updated my White Columns account.   take a peek!

sick girl

1. this is day 2 stuck at home. yesterday i was so exhausted i didn't do anything really but sleep and blow my nose. seriously. even walking down the hall to the bathroom exhausted me entirely. today, i have a bit more strength and am really hoping i'm over the worst of this, whatever this is. i have promised myself and others that i will show up for work tomorrow. my sinuses are so congested that i can't concentrate on reading or get any studying done. also, i am eating Popsicles like crazy. it is one of the few comforts i've found. that and looking at pictures of Katharina Fritsch's artwork. i want to runaway to germany and study under her. i'm serious. and maybe one day that could be a possibility. another year of german and i should be fluent enough to at least be able to find myself a meal and a roof. this grad school thing might need to happen sooner than later. i begin to feel the itch for serious critique and heavy theory and being immersed in art in a way that you just don't get many places outside of school. i want to hang out with other artists everyday and talk about art nerd stuff. i want to have all those conversations that other people roll their eyes over when eavesdropping. but before that, travel has become imperative. i've actually started putting money in my savings account.

2. repat says they all wanted to talk about death and i am no different. no different at all. last night i watched Little Women with winona ryder and susan sarandon and claire danes. and when the part came when beth (claire danes) was dying and she said "why does everyone always want to go away? i love being home. but i don't like being left behind... and now it is i who is going ahead", her eyes so full of tears in spite of her smile and she said "i can be brave too." i absolutely lost it. in my mind i saw my mom's face. the way she looked when i walked in to her room and the morphine was so heavy on her small frame. all i could she was her face and in my ear was this voice saying "now it is i who is going ahead".

i cried for a long time.

3. i found out my sweaters were accepted in to a show! yay!!! more about that in a few weeks when everything is official official but, for now, i'm happy to just ride high on this tide of support. that the sweaters are seen as ART by more people than just me and my friends is a wonderfully deep and meaningful encouragement. especially today as i feel so ill and defenseless, deflated, and weak. in so many ways it is an encouragement of who i am becoming... who i need to become and have been trying to become for awhile now. it is hard work following one's heart.

4.i read kate's blog and feel less alone.

snot nose

i am on the floor.

i have been floored by a very nasty bug.

a very nasty bug bit me and has not let me go.

ugg.

i guess all the excitement of late paired with winter rolling in gave me the ol' one two punch. i have been in bed for two days straight. i feel a lot better this morning than i did yesterday but even now, looking at the computer, my eyes and brain are wobbly. no good. i have a ton of work to do. sickness is never something that is ever timed very well. no one ever gets sick during the boring periods of life when nothing is scheduled and no one counting on them to be a magical (and responsible) person. so it goes. i will battle through. but today is a girl-on-the-couch day. i will not budge. i can at least get some crocheting done while i zone out in front of the TV. sick days are the only days when TV actually sounds rather nice to me. i will answer the call to be lazy and unaccountable to anything or anyone today, because tomorrow is an entirely different story. i took a job (part-time) in a clothing store and it begins tomorrow. hahaha! look at THAT luck! getting sick right in time to gain an actual Boss in my life. geez. wish me well and a speedy recovery, friends! in addition to joining the ranks of retail employees this holiday season, there is the december show at Slingshot i am working on and a new commission i just accepted. i am a busy girl. these sniffles must cease so i can get back to my fast, fearless, no nonsense pace.

dark outside

it is raining. cold and heavy. and the sirens have started. someone has slid off the road. someone has run off the cliff. and it feels like someone walked back and forth across my face all night long. it feels like someone made me breathe a tin of pepper as i slept. this little virus will not be moved. and she is a ruthless tease.

sicken

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thick orange juice mucus in me in my throat in every opening that speaks or begs or cries a little to get its way. the skin around these openings is hot and tense. a rope. a promise. an omen. sheets of disdain and waste curling down. a wall paper. rotten. past its' prime. out of date. like childhood. like the monsters under the bed. but they don't care either way. they keep coming back in spite of how unfashionable they've become. they tickle the skin around these openings. they pull the delicate hairs in fistfuls. they make sure the skin is taut and that every pore is shut tight. there is nothing to believe or disbelieve when it comes to pain. here it is. it will be back. cross your heart and fingers and legs. cross every T and hope to die.






angela simione, 2010

today...

i am following all the rules. i ate chicken noodle soup. i drank 4 very tall glasses of orange juice. i am wandering around the house, back and forth, back and forth, between rooms, out of sorts, distracted. and i keep fiddling with that short story thing of mine. someone stop me if i'm messing it up. but i guess that means it isn't finished... or maybe sick-days aren't the right days to do editing and re-working. my sweetie is giggling and shaking his head at me because i stop what i'm doing and move on to something else every 15 minutes. i'm on a circuit of unfinished projects and, at 15 minute intervals each, i'm not really getting much done. it's just the strange sweep of boredom that comes from being under the weather, from wanting to be healthy and trying to fake my way to it. i am fog-filled. my guts are grumbling and i wish the sun was still up. night comes much too quickly in winter. i'm happy that we are post-solstice and the days will be lengthening soon. long days of light and drawing on the living room floor and cutting out cloud shapes and tying them up in front of the windows. i am already dreaming of spring. dresses and wild hair and maybe even painted toenails.

ugg...

christmas day my sweetie and i both woke up sick. the kind of sick that gets worse as you go forward through the day. and it's pretty much the same way today. we got out and did the grocery shopping. we needed orange juice and NyQuil. and i don't know where the last two days went... somewhere lost in the fog of mental congestion that seems to come along for the ride when one gets the flu... i suppose there was a holiday somewhere in there. ha! all this to say, i am currently shirking all responsibilities to lay around in footie pajamas and whine and eat carrot cake instead of fruit and i really want to watch Donnie Darko tonight and be lazy in front of the television and not do a damn thing at all other than that. maybe i'll make popcorn. greasy butter-loaded heart-clogging popcorn.

counting today, there are only 6 days left in the year. geez. too fast, kids. way too fast.

big kid

i woke feeling raw eyed and out of sorts. a cold sweat. a headache. no no no. i am hoping that The Almighty Jog has toughened me up enough to keep the worst at bay. far at sea, actually. i hate being sick. but my sweetie is back at work today so maybe it's just one of those 24 hour things. fingers crossed, scratching itchy, dry eyes, and trying to wake up to my normal, excited and happy self. looks like another crochet day has presented itself. the jog is on hold. it's not a good idea to exercise when you're sick. or paint outside in the deathly winter cold either. i'll keep huddled up to myself and my quieter projects today. i started reading the big Hans Christian Andersen book yesterday and i fell instantly in love. his work is so sad! geez! children are supposed to listen to these stories? my my! i'd only read this stuff to a child if i wanted to make them cry! they are that sad. but beautiful and thoughtful and soft too. if you've got a collection of his work, go read "The Red Shoes" and "The Little Match-Seller". both are very short and just so wonderfully tragic.

sick room

an hour after he walked out the door, he walked right back in. my sweetie is home sick from work today. painful puking and all. i'm trying hard to keep my distance. in spite of the icy cold, i'll do my best to stay out in the fresh air. last night i got so many ideas for new paintings. a flood of images shaken loose by all these fairy tales and i'm excited and happy and feeling playful and i have a big ol' stack of virgin canvas just waiting for a little love.

blah...

well, i got a couple good hours of painting in today and some crochet work too... but at this point in the day, the sickness and resulting depression are definitely winning. time to wrap it up and try again for greatness tomorrow. my head hurts and my brain is foggy and i feel sad... inevitable after being sick for this many days in a row. :( hopefully, the sun will be out tomorrow. for now, i'll curl up in my big, white quilt and day-dream of sunshine and my dream house... escape my dire thoughts and get some reprieve. soon, i should be back to my normal, silly self and full of weird obsessions to talk your ears off about.

survey says...

bronchitis. yick. i suffered from chronic bronchitis as a child and all the way through my teenage years. once a year, i'd be laid up for a minimum of a week due to this damn thing but i haven't had this bad a battle with it in at least 5 years. i'm at war right now guys and am only resurfacing from my self-induced NyQuil coma long enough to write this blog, take a shower, and snuggle with inga for a bit. for the past two days i've only managed to stay awake for about three hours at a stretch, sleep for four, wake up and drink more medicine and crash back out once the delirium takes hold. bear with me if i'm not making much sense right or if my grammar takes a trip to bizarro land.

in spite of this health horror, i have managed to get a bit of drawing done while i wait for enough sanity to work on the big painting:


missing (1)
7 1/2" x 5 1/2"
water-soluble graphite and gesso on paper
2009


missing (2)
water-soluble graphite, gouache, and gesso on paper
2009


together on my paint covered desk...


...they fill me with a strange happiness whenever i look at them. i stand at stare at them while i drink my morning coffee... a brew i should be avoiding right now but hey, i rarely make decisions based on shoulds. quite a few of my influences are evident in these two little darlings - Ellen Gallagher and the photographer Laurent Askienazy are probably the two most obvious. i'm always happy to see a touch of those whom i admire cropping up in my work. it makes me feel like i finally have a lineage to cling to, to call upon, to learn.

ugg...

i feel poopy. like a big pile of poop. sickness is no fun at all and i am definitely not good for much. not good for doing the dishes or the pile of impatient laundry. not good for painting either. i tend to make silly decisions when i'm sick so i'm only permitting myself to look at the canvas and that's it. if i touch it, i'll mess it up. i know from past experience. but at least i got out of my pajamas today and put on a dress. i was hoping that taking some time to put myself together would result in feeling better but no; i'm just a sad, runny-nosed, mouth-breathing girl in a dress. blah.

what 'work' looks like on a sick-day...

sniffling my way through two volumes of kiki smith's work, vitamin D, and (of course), my girlicous collection of poetry.
eating oranges.
too much coffee.
sitting against the wall, looking at the painting... really looking, and making a list of all the shit that just ain't working.
tons of mental notes which my snot-clogged brain definitely won't hold on to. crocheting, off and on, all day and all evening and most likely all night.
re-reading old diaries and pulling out golden little lines of disturbed, enjambed, romantic fascinations.
checking and re-checking the contents of the refrigerator, hoping something wonderful has appeared.