waiting for my car to be fixed–or to not be fixed as it turned out–i did this doodle. no. i don’t do drugs. my head is just a weird place to live. sometimes too weird. sometimes too dark. but there it is. being weird & dark helps in the art department.
i was getting my car fixed because i’m trying to sell it. all day long, i stress about money. i have none, and i don’t know how to get any. ever since i was 17 i was financially independent. all my life. then i became a stay-at-home mom, and my worth plummeted in the eyes of society, at least (not to my kids.) i have no idea how to make money. becoming financially dependent on someone else, especially someone who loved pointing that out to me, really fucked up my sense of independence & self. for awhile there i was able to do some freelance writing while raising kids, but i couldn’t keep it up. writing “how-to” articles was just sucking the soul right out of me. so i switched to being a student–figuring i would get my degree & then i would be worth something. but now i feel like that is just my swimming in circles. so now what do i do?
sell my car?
sell my art?
turns out–i’m a terrible salesperson. i can’t sell my car. i can’t sell myself. i don’t know the value of anything. i suspect that every potential customer is just rejection waiting to happen. i see rejection everywhere i look. low self-esteem? that’s probably an understatement. weird thing is–i love my car & i love my art & i would totally buy either one of them (in fact, i did buy my car)…but when i look at myself, my art, even my car, through other people’s eyes–i just feel like a joke.
so here i am. weird. dark. & broke.
moses jones: apocalyptic mama 
love you. hate money. let’s all run away to a place where money doesn’t matter.