Bonding

I think this journal thing may be very good for me. I have seriously needed an outlet for all the crap in my head for a long time. So I'm going to use it. I went to the Mary Kay party. I always feel 13 at those things. Do you, my bosom friends, remember when I had one for my 13th birthday? Well, they have not changed a bit. Though I didn't spend much time at the table putting on makeup. I was chasing Luci out of the pantry and trying to convince Mari that I, Dama, am her mommy, not every woman in the room. We walked in the door and she immediately lifted her arms to this woman I have never seen before and said"hold you" (English pronouns are lost on her) That kid has lived with us for six months now and I still don't think I mean any more to her than any other woman in the world. Daddy is special...he is a man...she didn't know any men before. But she knew a lot of woman. Some stayed. Some didn't. So they mean very little to her other than someone to feed, clothe and hold her. I feel such a surge of anger at her when she does that...goes to perfect strangers and asks to be held. I want her to love me, cling to me, think I am irreplacable. How awful I am to think this way!! She is just a baby who doesn't understand this confusing world she has been thrust into. In the six months she has lived with us we have moved twice, lived in a hotel room for two weeks, daddy disappeared for over half of that time. No wonder she is so confused. I'm confused too! I don't know where home is...or if the one I love is going to stick around... and I am an adult with a healthy family background. Why can't I be patient with this?

(no subject)

I’m writing a lot today, mostly to avoid household chores. I do not really have this much time on my hands. In fact I should be playing with the two children who are awake, but I just can’t bring myself to engage today. I think Brad is a little worried about me. He came home from work yesterday to find me crying at the computer. Poor guy. He is so…good. He tries so hard. His sweetness burns me sometimes. The fact that I can be impatient and cruel to this man amazes me.

I have discovered Gustav Klimt. I'm not really "into" art, never have been, and had never heard of the guy until a few years ago when I saw a friend mention his art in an e-mail. I was surprised to discover that a print I had often admired in cheap decorating stores was by Klimt. "The Kiss". So today I looked him up online and I couldn't stop looking. I was mesmerized. This is the first time art of any kind has done this to me. No, that is not really true. Byzantine icons effected me...can still effect me...but I never thought of them as art I guess. They were like prayer...like music...they were what the Fathers of the Church called "windows to heaven". Gustav Klimt's work doesn't have the same effect, it is a sensual, but childlike feeling. I don't know how to describe it..I don't have an art vocabulary. But the realness of the hair and eyes and skin against those rich, vivid, fairytail settings fed something in my imagination. I was writing stories about those paintings instantly. I think I may have to acquire some prints. Where on earth will I put them in this Thomas Kincaidish house? Hmmm, time to redecorate?