More Than Courage

for about 90 days I took on the gumption of letting my facial hair grow.  at the end of that time period, i was clearly a very bearded and mustached lady. the beard reached an inch in length. mostly white. some threads of black and brown. it was pretty damn impressive.

i was on that courageous journey on my own. i say that because there is really noone in my life that has my back. not 100%. sure i have friends, patient, kind and loyal near me, and here virtually and I love all of you so much, but i don’t have someone full out in the trenches. when a person strikes an admirable and brave stance all sorts of things happen. i wrote about this earlier – if i said hey i am taking on this experiment, folks had immediate opinions. most not supportive. if i said nothing, and appeared as i was – people were polite, they said nothing. interesting don’t you think?

no matter where I was the feeling of people really really looking at me intensified.  it may surprise you, but i am fairly introverted. there are times when i prefer to blend in with a crowd. as a woman with defined facial hair – that was impossible. I found after awhile I felt beaten with the stares of others. and in times of stress – especially as they occurred this recent month of march …I wanted to go fetal. that last sentence says it all – that is what it felt like.  it’s a shame that a person of any difference – super tall, short, fat, of color, or not of…has to feel an attention upon themselves that questions their confidence.  or mortifies them, but this is a truth not only for me – but for so many in our society. I tackled this before when I let the hair on my legs, and armpits grow.  i was at a very different place in my life.  stronger emotionally perhaps? i felt triumphant about it, I have never felt the compulsion to shave it.

i liked the hair on my face. i liked the way it felt. a lot. i loved loved loved not shaving. i loved how it looked – sortof, that being different look, in reality i am prettier without it and thats just my take on it. i don’t think i would feel the need for pretty if someone was in my day to day adoring me accordingly. and i feel bad that i had not a single opportunity to have the feeling of being kissed with hair on my face. no one approached my publicaly and said – i love what you are doing. if that had happened – what a difference it would have made.

when i had to ask for help and call the sheriff. i felt the hair on my face would be judged, considering the entirety of the circumstance,  I decided that being without it was in my best interest.  it was a really good call on my part.  since.  I have not felt the desire to grow it again. partly because the stress in my life hasn’t lightened up.

my alone in it all feels less alone shaved. i don’t know how else to explain it.

i do want to thank the emphatic encouragement and affection from the few of you here. you know who you are.  if you were championing me in person, in my day to day life my world would be a different one.  it isn’t.

the other detail that struck me along this experiment was how identifying my facial hair was. in the spirit of my anonymousness ( ha – love that word! )  I am not ready to be that defined virtually.  Perhaps I am fooling myself that I am here incognito at all. bearded ladies are rather famous. this one takes way more than just courage


A How To

i was trying to explain to someone how i take a self capture of myself.

i mean the images are seriously random happy accidents.

over and over.

i am never looking through the lens

so, it’s what ever is found

thanks to where i place my camera

the light.

the sequence of what i might be doing.

and the timer.

3 pics taken each set.

sometimes it’s nice if there is someone who is interested in me

to share them with.

i mean i can always share them here

but the person to person


makes it.


doesn’t happen very often.

i have yet to really find someone

in my day to day life

or love life


quite gets

this layer of

self expression.

in this particular set there was a piece of wood over a bucket because i had just washed the floor.

the camera was sitting on that piece of wood.

sun was coming through that wonderful window

the broom is leaning there against the door

i was wearing this indispensable fluffy robe.

i say indispensable

because it’s the perfect crawl out of bed something to wrap myself cozy in until i get to the task of getting dressed.

here, it’s cold in the morning in my apt.

A Thousand Words

i so remember this day.

  1. the light shifted, there were subtle shadows ( see the shadow of the lamp?) vs no shadows at all, and the potential of morning merry in bed love making. at least in my mind. had potential. that poor bed has yet to be christened. poor me too. sex is like riding a bicycle – yes? I’ll remember what to do if i ever get to be sexual again?? there are my middle aged deflated breasts, and my most favorite very worn and old pottery barn linen, now shredded to nothing. gone. i need a new spare set actually. sigh.
  2. they say images tell stories – this one shares a version of the same story, making sense of or making fun of a bathroom that is rather impossible. sure it has a toilet, a sink, and a shower, but there are so some many things about that space that are not. i like this image because it shows how i stumble upon things – my serendipity. like …look me, if i hang over my bed upside down i can see myself in that mirror over there!! i mean it’s really just me, myself and I. and a mirror. right? my need for a sense of order shown by the towels all in a row. i do that. order. safety. with the scare this last month. even the order that i had here didn’t feel safe. what an alarming period of time that all was.
  3. i had sold a pair of panties this day.  for those not part of the panty thing.  some ladies will sell worn panties – like panties they wear over and over.  i really don’t wear panties in my day to day. so, i instead play with myself wearing a panty that has been earmarked for someone. i play multiple times wearing them. i am told that they are worth what someone pays me for them. musky, crunchy, done in. in current times panty sales help my gasoline fund, living in the country has my commute be a challenge. i manage on a budget of a tank a month – doing so does not offer many opportunities to be social or to expand my artist work. panty sales are not a regular thing, so my adventures out and about are not that grand – but when someone does buy a pair it’s fun for me and for those who have bought them.  i have rules about purchasing. they are not negotiable. some folks have spammed me. stupid people.

Lately, i was in a panic and searching for a new apt. panic. not an easy task here. scared.  that threat of having to leave for now has subsided. trusting that – a different story, but some generous monies found me and offered me the practical funds to search. VERY VERY helpful, kind and wonderful. Thank you.

At My Table

when i moved here i purchased this remarkable large round solid oak pedestal table – the base of it is unusual, and someone painted it – so instead of it being a wood piece it is more folk-ey. i like not having to worry about damaging it’s finish. it’s a real workhorse of a table. the fact that it is round really pleases me. It was also priced right!

1/2 the table is covered with things I collage with.

the spare space i use for food photography and for enjoying my meals.

it’s starting to brighten

spring is eeking itself

but i recall a year ago that it

felt rather delicious

to be nude and draped in light at my table


The Promise Of Spring

last year i did not suffer or experience the desperate, bleak and depressive winters that are akin to living in the PNW.

at least according to the weather.

this year, a different story.

that said, there is this remarkable moment when you open the door, and the air is no longer brisk, the brightness has a different feel and the clothing you wear is a tad more transparent.


i am not quite at this moment today.

these are a year ago.

but we all know when it arrives. it does offer a promise of sorts.

sometimes someone stumbles upon my alter ego self here

and they stay.

they read.

they look.

they are taken in.

and it moves them.

or excites them.

for me,

the act of a person

who compliments


and encourages me

is what keeps me


The Other Side Of

There is a method that helps those with PTSD. It conversationally gets them to the other side of their real moments of anxiousness. It asks, what’s the very worst thing that can happen?  The example shared with me was a little girl ( age 6 ) who had been beaten by her father.  Her triggers were noise. ANY noise. Her fears were real for her. Her fears were a handful for anyone around her.  If a storm was coming, she would go fetal and rock back and forth.  What’s the worst that can happen? It will be loud.  Here is a head set to protect your ears. Anything else? The lights will go out.  Here is special flashlight just in case. The streets will flood.  We can get through any flooding streets with our car. The roof will leak.  I have a bucket, and I will be sure to get that fixed.  and so on.  It made me think about the circumstances I have found myself in.  Not only now, but also in my past.  I just don’t seem to get a break.  I have had a year at my country studio. Yes, the year had some issues, but mostly it was a year in one place.  Vs the 4 months in one place or another. My please don’t make me move voice is screaming.  My can’t I just be left alone to my home and my creating space place wants to curl in a little tighter. I don’t think I have PTSD, but a circumstance this last month did push my holy shit this is intense buttons. the brief version is that a new neighbor ( what separates us is a wall) went manic and took an emotional chunk out of me. malicious pointed at me behavior. i took 13 pages of notes, what occurred is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, at one point i called for help, and because of all of this. I have been given notice to vacate my studio. for those of you new to my life adventures, this will be my 5th move since 2015. you can imagine my angst around it. I am good at moving. Meaning I know how to do it ( I better after all this moving ) and better yet, I can make a home out of a shoe box.  I can make it cozy.  The trick, is finding a place that I can manage with my low income. none of this would be an issue if I was more financially fluid. However I am not fluid. I am rebuilding. I am rebuilding, and the small strides I made this past year are admirable. this is what i’ve got.  Whats the worst that can happen here?? I could be homeless.

with this set of images I was celebrating the other side of my move here to the country studio.  when i arrived here there was a bucket to flush the toilet, there was no kitchen sink or stove set up, there was fixtures not connected, there was crude finishings, and there were 8 long ridiculous days with the landlord and his handyman scrambling to finish the tasks needed to make this place viable. the place still really isn’t viable, it’s very drafty, it’s got mice, the yard is a regular dump. but, it’s doable, and it was mine. and i could afford it. it is deeply quiet, private and bright.

the green chair no longer sits in this corner, it originally was placed there for the daylight. the longest space of light through out the day. it turned out that it was a drafty space. but in this moment it was what I had, i was exhaling – i was getting anonymously nude again. I was mounting that infamous green chair and revealing my – i got to the other side of this.

i recently attended a conference. the funds i used were a gift from a patron here. i call them patrons because they are people who see something in my work and they gift me their support and encouragement with funds.  a friend asked me how I do that. have patrons.  I was trying to explain that my work speaks to people.  and for some, it speaks to their wanting to help. sortof cool when you think about it.

my mojo/vibe in recent weeks has had the life sucked out of it.  just barely feeling like a person. funny because in march of last year….i felt that way, as I did the year before.

I hate march.


The Electricity Is Only Down The Middle

oh my gosh, i was so so very tired here.

the place when i arrived was unfinished. seriously unfinished. and in order to complete it. the landlord was IN my studio space for 8 days straight. i had no privacy. barely a set up to bathe or use the bathroom, or a place to cook or eat. a lot of sandwiches and beer. those 8 days. ha!!  the overwhelm i was feeling during that time, rendered me completely stopped. that spent thing we do when we can’t decide another thing. ever been there?

i reread a post the other day of how my first shower took 90 minutes.  the entire area was covered in construction debris.  plus,  i decided to do my dishes in there. i mean why not get multiple things done at once eh??

am i weird??

imagine a rectangle of a space. draw a line down the middle. that is where all the electricity is. none of the peripheral walls have working outlets. wall space is tricky because each end has doors and windows. one place really to put the bed.  and so on. each time i play i have to run an extension cord.  ugh.

this was the first and last time i sat on this floor. fake wood overlay on cement. cold. and hard. very hard. and uneven. i was gifted a few rugs that have helped.


i am making do.

at this time last year spring had popped up everywhere

oh the fruit trees!!!

not so much this year.

i still feel winters bleakness.

isn’t march like that?? tense. tension. mother earth is in between two seasons

how are you?

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