And So It Begins...

I sit here, for the first time in years, at my drafting table.

It has been a moving day for me. Passions evoked. Creativity awakened. Sleep rubbed from my third eye and a huge astral stretch.

As I type this, I listen to a CD that Alpha gave me. A plain mirrored shiny disc that simply says "D & B".

I have never heard this kind of music at length. He gave it to me in the parking lot last night, sliding it from the warmth of his own car CD player and placing it in my hands. We had sat in the conference room sharing samples of our music collections and discussing the various kinds of genres. Once upon a time in college (and maybe high school, I never really asked for a time frame) he was a DJ. He still has an ear for music. Again, this is not the kind of music I have ever listened to but I like it. Do I like it because he does? Because he gave it to me so it has his essence? His presence? Perhaps. Do I like it because douche bag would HATE it with a passion I am sure would evoke at least one piece of broken furniture or hole in the wall? Maybe. **insert shy little smile here**  Do I like it because there is this odd hypnotic quality to it that is sort of zen soothing? Yes. Yes...that was my first thought when it started:

I could draw to this.

That brings me to the jist of today's blog.

I took today off and took P to the Artomatic Art show in Crystal City. I have been contemplating getting space next year and showing some work but wasn't quite sure if I was good enough or could hold my own in a show like that. For those not familiar with my art background, I have actually been drawing since the age of about five. I still remember the day my mom gave me one of those old ledger coloured pencils... red on one end, blue on the other, and a little memo book. We were taking a long car drive and back when I was a kid there were no hand held electronic devices, walkmans, DvD players in cars etc. Your only options were to incessantly annoy your brother with the "I'm not touching you!!!!" game, "Stop looking out MY window" game, or a REAL poke war (y'all kids on Facebook don't know a real poke war unless you were stuck in a car with a sibling for more than three hours bored out of your skull).

I settled down bored (my little brother was too young to antagonize at that point) and started to "doodle". I filled up pages and pages with my abstract line maze complicated drawings and when we got to our destination and my mother looked at my cute little doodles, she flipped out. Literally. She showed them to me dad and he sort of freaked out too. That was the first day I ever heard the word "artist". And they were both convinced I was the next Picasso.

Thus began an endless round of art classes and private instruction. I have learned under some amazing people. I took a year of private Chinese brush painting lessons where I learned to grind my own ink and paint traditional Chinese landscapes, flowers, etc. I even have a first place winner from the Miami Dade County Fair for one of those pieces I did in high school. I studied at the Biltmore Hotel in Miami with the local artists there. I attended the school of the performing arts for art and dance. I have won several contests growing up, had my picture in the paper, etc etc etc. I was on my way to becoming a "real artist".

It's a long story to go into why I did not make it a formal career. Mostly because I like money and the stuff I can do with it and I am not that good an artist to make that kind of money. I am average. There are people way better than me and people who suck way more ass than I do. So....average.

When I got married, I got a drafting table and tried to set up my own little studio. Mostly just for fun because I find art soothing and relaxing and sort of like a zen time with myself. It's sort of a mental yoga to me. And, on the plus side, I come up with some neat pieces every so often.

But...I tried to create and draw and paint while married to the douche bag and it fizzled. I just couldn't. Years later, I have learned from my shrink that being in an abusive relationship can stiffle or even KILL creativity outright. And that's what happened. I dried up and slowly suffocated. Mentally and emotionally. It turned to dust. I learned all this when once I was free, one of the first things I felt moved to do was DRAW again. Since then I have felt it returning. Slowly, tentatively. I started designing my own tattoo ink work. Drawing on my experience and my wisdom. Slowly it started to blossom. Today it all broke loose.

I walked through the exhibit and with each artist I felt the last of the broken shards of my toxic marriage fall away. My brain was swirling with ideas and thoughts and pieces and it was like suddenly flipping a flood light on and illuminating a stage. I have so many ideas and it just felt like...time. Time to pick up where I was abducted. Time to pick back up and allow all this amazing passionate art inside me to flow.  Time to finish being me. Not the Stepford Wife I was...and almost died as. But this quirky erotic intelligent kinky brilliant sexy cute sweet fun creative dynamo that I am...and always have been...

I am so glad I saved her.

Tonight I came down and dusted off my drafting table. Yes. There was dust on it. I arranged my pencils and pens and markers. I pulled out my portfolio of recent work and started to go through it and everything feels so good and right. With the hypnotic heartbeat of D&B pulsing through the early summer evening I uncap my pen....place it's plump wet dark nib to the fresh white cold pressed virgin paper and begin...

** Side Note: The D&B refers to "Drum and Bass". For those not familiar with this genre, Wikipedia defines it as "Drum and bass (/ˈdrʌm ənd ˈbeɪs/) (also written as drum 'n' bass and commonly abbreviated to D&B, D+B or DnB) is a type of electronic music which emerged in the mid 1990s. The genre is characterized by fast breakbeats (typically between 160–180 bpm,^[1] occasional variation is noted in older compositions), with heavy bass and sub-bass lines. Drum and bass began as an offshoot of the United Kingdom rave scene of the very early 1990s. Over the first decade of its existence, the incorporation of elements from various musical genres led to many permutations in its overall style."

 

Dinner At The Iron Diner

Today was not such a good day.

Nothing in particular was wrong. Nothing went wrong. To be honest, things have been wonderful. Life is good. Training has been going better. Even my nutrition has improved and I lost a pound this last week. I am even having  fun planning a surprise party for NM with Alpha. We have been exchanging late night emails planning food and decorations and he even came up with the idea to have a movie together after dinner and suggested Sixteen Candles or Breakfast Club. So...what happened?

Just one of those days. Driving to the gym, I suddenly got so sad and depressed and overwhelmed. I cried so much I had to reach into my gym bag and pull out a t-shirt to wipe the tears away as I drove. I tried to get them all out so I wouldn't let them interfere with the workout I had been looking forward to and I thought I had. Until Awesome came up and asked me how I was. He knows by now when I don't say anything and just quickly look away that means something is wrong.  But, as is our way, we proceeded. He knows me well enough now to know I needed to throw some weight around and not just sit and chat.

We started the first set of complexes and I managed not to cry until we hit the push ups at the end. The push ups didn't make me cry but my mind just sort of barfed all over and I couldn't hold back the tears. No sobs or girly weeping. Just big round tears rolling down my face. He looked concerned but I kept staring at the floor. A sip of water and we started round two. The concentration involved with the lifts was enough to distract me but, once again, when I went down for push ups.... it was all I could do to maintain control. I did six nice pushups and then sat back on my heels with my head on my hands on the floor and just lost it. I cried. Not huge loud obnoxious cries but he could tell I was shaking and I was not laughing. He gently suggested we stop for the night and take a walk. I ignored him. He kept talking low and gentle and said it was okay if I just wanted to end it early tonight but it was up to me. He suggested we go for a walk again and all I could think was if we did he would want me to tell him everything and then I would and I didn't want to sound like a whiny little bitch as it wasn't anything new, just old crap dredged up again. I stood there sweating buckets, tears rolling down my red face, arms shaking, hands on my hips....wanting SO bad to stop. Take a nice walk with a sweet handsome guy who actually gave a crap I was not having a good day and wanted to hear about it. I wanted to say, "Fuck it". I quit. I give up. Uncle. And I stood there. He was patient with me and said gently again, "What do you want?"

Oh the things that ran through my head to say but I knew he meant did I want to do another round or go for a walk. I wanted so badly to just lift so I could shut it off again. So, I sighed, bent over and picked up the weights. I almost smiled when he said, "Good girl."

I did another round and tried to make it perfect and when I knocked out the pushups at the end I would have sworn they were the best I had ever done in my life. Even he said that they were a good set. And, suddenly, I felt a little better. Those six pretty gosh darn good push ups did it. Those six pretty gosh darn good pushups AFTER fours sets of complexes where my arms felt weak and I was meh from tears and sadness and blah and suddenly.... suddenly the tide shifted and it got better. He asked me again if I wanted to quit and take a walk. We had time. I really wanted to but....I wanted to lift more. So I did one more round. And he was pleased. And I was pleased.  And we wrapped it up with a little walk anyway. He has also been a little down (work) and we had a nice chat where I just let him talk. Some hugs and holding and then we were done.

There are days I have absolutely no clue WHY in the world I do what I do. Why do I push so hard? Why do I make myself ache and hurt? Why do I pick up heavy things and put them back down, over and over. What is the point? IS there a point?

The point is this: when I work out there comes a point where I have to focus. With the weight lifting, there is more focus sometimes than with the running, swimming, or biking where your mind can wander a little. With lifting, once you get deeper into the sets, there is a concentration that comes about. A sort of zen like focus just to make your muscle do something it feels too weak to. If you think too much or about other things, you loose it. Awesome tells me again and again, "DON'T THINK! JUST POWER THROUGH!" and sure enough, when I don't think I can push out another rep if I just drop it all and go blank and DO...almost always I get one more. Sometimes two.... Sometimes more.

And I always feel good when I am done because I can feel my muscles burn and I know that two years ago there is no way I ever could have done this. I've come a long way, baby.

Today was a good day :)