Who I Am (now)…

Now, I’m almost 53 years old.  I just graduated from college with an Associate degree in Fine Art. I have a boyfriend, Frankie, of 5, almost 6 years. My son, Brandon is 27. I live with 2 dogs, My Dog Jack, a Carolina Brown Dog mix (maybe?)and Booelzabub, (Boo) a 1/2 Chihuahua, 1/2 Demon rescue from the pound. There’s an outside cat, Alice, who resides between here and the apartments up the road, where she claims the name of “Parking Lot Kitty” and there are 11 fish (7 Bettas, 1 small Catfish, 2 Guppies and 1 Glo Fish named Donald Trump because he’s orange and he’s a bully).

I am a rubber trimmer at work. No shit, that is my title…rubber trimmer.  Or as Frankie says, “She trims rubbers.”  No, not of the prophylactic variety.  I work for a Ford restoration company and I trim the rubber extrusion that comes off the line. Alllll day…one piece after another for 10 hours a day. It may sound like I don’t like it, but I actually do. It’s the job that I wanted mainly because I only work 3.5 days a week, but also because it keeps my hands busy which is essential to my mental well being. Am I smart enough to do something besides the monotonous trimming of rubber all day – well, yeah. Am I brave enough – well, no. Damn PTSD. But that’s another topic for another day.

When I was at work, rubber trimming away, I was thinking (I have a lot of time to think) that I wanted to start a blog and had a at least a million thoughts to write about. Now, I’m home, about to fall asleep where I sit and can’t think of a single one of them. I know, you’re going to say, jot things down as they come to your mind. That won’t exactly work being the dependable rubber trimming employee that I am. They say it’s not production, BUT they do expect you to keep the pace up, so no time for jotting…only trimming. So much for an exciting first post, huh!?

Looks like this will be the end of my debut blog. I don’t know if anyone will read it and at the risk of sounding bitchy…don’t really care. Not trying to be the professional blogger, just the rubber trimming artist. Oh, forgot to mention that whole artist thing. I’m getting a lot better and perhaps I’ll share one day. Right now, this rubber trimming, blogging artist must go to sleep. Rubber trimming starts bright and squirrely at 5:45 in the a.m.

Love, Susan. Amen.



I haven’t had anything to say this week. That is all.

Love, Susan. Amen.

My Artist Statement

My artist statement would read like this: “I like to paint pretty things.” That’s it. Whether it’s an abstract, a landscape, a cow…I paint because I enjoy it, it calms my soul. That’s it, that is all. I paint because I can. No deep hidden statements in my work. I like to paint pretty things. That’s it. That is all.

Love, Susan. Amen.


Basically, I suck at it. I think I have a brain disconnect when it comes to cleaning.

When I married my first husband (aka Satan or Dickhead) I cleaned as much as possible. But, just like everything else, it was never good enough. I would get the counter cleaned off, he would come in and set something on it. I would get the dishes washed, he would cook something and not clean up. One time I got so mad because he cooked mac and cheese after I had washed dishes and I asked that he please clean up after himself. He didn’t. So it sat for a day, for a week, for 2 weeks…it turned green, it turned fuzzy, but I was NOT going to wash that damn pot. I think I finally did take it out to the pasture and squirted it out with the hose pipe. Every weekend, I would clean (I worked a full time job and we had a son to look after too)he would go hang out with friends, go to the lake, take day trips, go ride the motorcyle while I stayed home and cleaned. I think the straw that broke the housekeeping camel’s back was on a Saturday, I spent all day cleaning, even moved the couches to sweep behind them. He had been on a skiing trip with a friend. I was sitting on the couch reading when they got home. He asked what I had done that day and I explained that I had spent most of the day cleaning. His response, in front of our friend, was, “Well, why the fuck didn’t you finish?” The house was spotless.

I think that’s when it happened. I think that’s when I got the first inkling of realization that no matter how clean the house was it would never be good enough. So, I quit trying and over 10 years, a 2nd marriage down the drain later, I still have trouble making myself clean the house. I get so overwhelmed, I just can’t start. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not talking hoarder level messy, (nothing against those blessed souls with that particular mental illness). It’s just the clutter. On the kitchen table, the coffee table, I have issues with putting up laundry, I’ll live out of the clean clothes basket for as long as possible. I’ve been sleeping without sheets for almost a week. They’re clean, just haven’t felt like putting them on the bed. I know, I KNOW, I would feel so much better if I could keep it clean, I would so love to not have to worry about anyone coming into my house and judging me because it’s not spotless.

Luckily, Frankie, my boyfriend, does not judge me on this and he would never ask me, especially if they house was clean, why the fuck. didn’t I finish. He would say, “the house looks great, I’m proud of you” but still, I can’t bring myself to even get started. Heavy sigh. (Literally, I just heavy sighed) Maybe one day. In the meantime, I’m going to blame my messy disorganization on my artist brain. Sounds legit, right!?

Love, Susan. Amen.

PS I knew I forgot something. One of his biggest complaints (excuses for his behavior?) was the house being messy. If the house was clean, for some reason, he would be meaner though. It made me feel crazy. It’s been over 10 years, lots of therapy and I’m in a great relationship now, but when I think of this, I still feel the same way…It still makes me feel crazy.