Flying Girl and the Break of Dawn, or I Hold The Night Within (and wreckage)

Flying Girl and the Break of Dawn, or I Hold The Night Within
25/100 in 100 creative project, 6/26/09
Golden Fluid Acrylic, white ink pen on paper, 5x8"

This is what the dawn looked like from my window as I lay in my bed with a child who had been woken by lightning in the middle of the night and refused to go back to sleep. More or less, my eyes were bleary.

But also, here is the internal landscape. In the dawn, we carry the night inside of us.... and in the night, we carry the dawn. The bird? Well... I guess there's something inside of her that keeps her flying, no matter the night, no matter the dawn.

For this week's book club entry, I took my Wreck This Journal for a walk with the family. We fixed the double stroller, now they only want to ride.

But the journal went on it's own two feet... er... multiple pages. The edges wore off a bit and the cover got smudged, but I was not as wreckeriffic as some of the hikers WTJ hikers I've seen. I'm okay with that. The leash is a nifty woven leather belt I found at a thrift store for a buck.
This is actually the second time I decorated my cover. The first time, which looked much like this but with a purple milk pen, got completely smudged and wiped out when I took the book for a walk. So I redid it in white. I like white on black. It probably reminds me of chalk boards, and all those years of being either a teacher or a student. Sometimes both at the same time.
Here is some more purple milk pen... covered by blue milk pen when the purple alone wasn't opaque enough to cover the letters. I like the way this looks. It took forever and my hand cramped up, but I still like it. This might be my favorite page. It makes me smile. Why? I don't know. I'm weird. I also like that I didn't follow the directions to the letter. Notice there is not one jot in the margins. I like the written page too much. Perhaps this is an ode to books. You can't read it anymore, although it didn't matter to begin with, but it still looks like language. It's still familiar and comforting. And the only word left un covered is "yes."
Here's my ugly page. It started when I realized how much I was yelling at the poor kids. Yes, they were ignoring me and making messes and fighting and all that, but still. Ugly mommy. G said it didn't look like me, but oh well. There's also scared/overwhelmed me... which is perhaps where the yelling me came from. On the same page is G's prompt of ugly things having a hundred legs. Then he said it looked like a centipede. And then there are the cockroaches... palmetto bugs, that are huge and fly... both dead and alive. The dead ones don't fly, but they lay on their back and occasionally kick their legs and grab onto the broom when you try to sweep them out the door. *shudder* Also the little poop in the potty. Yuck. The ripped screen window, which lets in evil mosquitos. The dirty foot prints from walking around barefoot on top of scattered cheerios and bananas and whatever else my children shed every minute of their beings. The cheerios and dust underneath the sofa. Oh yes, and little kids waking in the dark of night and not going back to sleep. Ugh. This is all in shades of black, dark gray, dark brown, with a smidgeon of stale pee yellow and oh yeah... a touch of red for the burn of a mosquito bite that has been scratched too much.