Category Archives: Journal

Happy People

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12-21-11     10pm

Seeing happy people makes me really sad.

I sang at Sea World today. Major stress getting everything organized but the singing part was fun. Now I’m crashing – exhausted and sad.

There is a person who works the event that I really like. He is gay and taken, but I like him anyway. He has such a warm energy. I just watch him and I dream. Lately I feel very homely. I’m not sure if that’s the right word. I’m getting old. My life time is kicking in. I want to settle down. I want a partner. I want a family. I want to feel warm and safe, not as a child but a me. And when I see people like this guy, I wish I had one just like him in my life.

(Breathing…) But, I am me.
For some reason that cannot be. I don’t understand and I feel angry. And I eat more Chinese food. Then I just feel sad… So sad. That sad where everything is quiet and the tears don’t roll down my face. Even bad people have families. Why not me?

Happy people make me sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Christmas & Shopkick

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12-17-11     8:07pm

I hate Christmas.

I went to a Christmas variety show today at a church and God spoke to me. He told me to buy a Panda Express and gave me a great idea for churches. A section for those of us who can’t sit still called Fit Church where we can walk on a treadmill or ride a stationary bike during the service. I would totally sign up for that.

I have a love-hate relationship with my new fake tree. I had finally decided to keep it and that it was perfect when my mom decided to flip some sections around. Um, HELLO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Now the tree is dead to me. It feels sad, I feel sad and Mom is angry. I hate Christmas.

I’ve been Shopkicking a lot. It’s an app where you earn points (kicks) for going in certain stores and scanning specific items. Then you can get free gift cards with your points.

It’s really helping me, in more ways than you’d think. It gives me a trackable goal and incentives, gets me out of the house and gets me walking. SO much walking involved, which is good because my doc wants me walking and it feels good. Also, I get to go shopping and feel the rush without spending any money. Great catalyst for change. I recommend trying it for anyone who’s bored, wants to get more active and earn free stuff (and has a smart phone).

Oh, I wanted to tell you I tried the Honey Walnut Shrimp at Panda Express the other day, which you know is big if you know my food rules. I resisted the urge to cough, choke or puke. I’m proud of myself.

I’m so tired. I feel myself drifting. My face is tingling. I hear a song I can’t identify and cars on a wet road. I gotta go.

Love, Michelle

12:19am

PS – I made peace with the tree and put some bows on it. We’ll see how long it lasts.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Space Camp

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12-6-11     4:35pm

Hi Mom,

Guess what! Outer space is COOL! I’m weightless up here so no worries about wrinkles. Poor earthly folk and their wrinkles. I want to stay here forEVER. For just $49.95 per week I can! They take Visa, Mastercard, American Express and Discover AND I can earn Diner’s Club rewards on food!! Of course this doesn’t include the cost of oxygen, food, supervision, medical expenses, waste management or transportation. Just the glorious right to occupy space for a time.

Oh Mom, I just know you’d love it. They have a parents package too. I’ll send you that too. I wonder if space has a postal system yet…

Anyway, my new friend Max and I found a field of lilies FULL of tiny blue martians. Awww, they’re SO CUTE!!! Can I keep him PLEEEAAASE??!!!

I named mine Max, just like my new friend. He’s blue and fuzzy and mostly toilet trained. Of course his ACTUAL name is Maxemillion Cornelius Barnaby the 3rd of the Order of Planets, 3rd Division Purple Line. But we just call him Max. Oh, Mom. You’ll love him. Just make sure to wear your industrial grade orange goggles when you look at him or his glow will melt your eyes.

Have you ever tried salmon fried by the death rays of a monster alien? I’m not sure how the fish got up here but it’s SOOO good. Mmmmm. :) You can even eat purple glitter here and the snowflakes taste like roses.

We have a complicated waste management system here. We learned all about it yesterday. You’d be amazed what they can do with shit. You know that phrase “Eat shit and die?” Well not anymore. Meet the ShiTron 5000. Turns any size, shape or consistency shit into good-for-you rainbow jellybeans. Magic! Eat some for a snack or sprinkle them on your garden. 100% environment friendly with 0% toxicity. We could get our own ShiTron 5000 for only $800, per month, for the duration of the existence of space. Definitely on MY Christmas list. What’s on YOUR Christmas list?

Oh Mom, I have to go. Max and Max and I send our love and a package of jellybeans. I want to stay here forEVER.

Love, Michelle

PS – I’m not coming home until I at LEAST see a butterfly in space.

Love, Mom

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Bring back the mail

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12/8/11     2:40am

I like regular mail way more than email these days.

It only comes once a day six days a week; doesn’t beep, flash, or otherwise fight for my attention; and for as long as I leave it in my garage it doesn’t exist. I feel accomplished when I throw a whole pile of it away. There is no possible way for someone to expect an immediate response. I get to buy stamps – beautiful, wonderful, colorful, sticky stamps. I can decorate envelopes. I get to walk to the mailbox or visit the post office and talk to actual people. Have you ever noticed how post offices always smell like Play-Doh? I can never figure out why. I’ve asked. They don’t know either. Or at least they’re not telling.

There’s something magical about mail. Anticipation, opportunity, time. The Pony Express. It may be a thing of the past but so am I. Mail is exciting.

I miss getting exciting things in the mail. They come every once in awhile but it’s mostly bills and ads. I specifically opt NOT to get my statements electronically. I want to FEEL the paper, to know I can find it just where I left it and look at it with a flashlight in the dark. Not everything can exist on computers, you know. I do love them but I miss life offline, unplugged. I love mail.

I passed the test to work for the post office but never did work there. I’m guessing that’s a good thing.

Nobody even sends me anything interesting through email. I am a woman of greeting cards and stationary, stickers and stamps. The kind of stamps you ink or color before their wonder appears. Of fancy pens and markers and glitter glue. Lost wonders. Lost art.

I miss the mail. Bring back the mail.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Side Effects of Christmas

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Written on Black Friday at the mall on a bench outside Cinnabon.

11/25/11     4:25pm

Side Effects of Christmas:

  • Fits of joy
  • Random singing & laughter
  • Urges to bake or give things to strangers
  • Uncontrollable shopping sprees
  • Flashbacks
  • Guilt
  • Shame
  • Urges to die
  • Intense anger
  • Spontaneous death of self or others
  • Temporary loss of judgement
  • Poor clothing choices
  • Weight gain or loss
  • Spike in your need to watch Lifetime or The Family Channel
  • Excessive picture-taking
  • Loss of time
  • Sitting for long periods of time alone on a mall bench wondering why it is we do this again… followed by a Cinnabon.

Red flag shopping warning signs:

  • Uttering to yourself more than 3 times in a day, “Man, I must be old.”
  • Sympathizing with the forlorn kiosk people
  • Falling for their “Can I ask you a question?” cuz you just can’t walk any further
  • Wishing you were the kid asleep in the stroller.

Please feel free to add your own.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Can’t get the energy out

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11/16/11     11:30pm

I need to take more seroquel. I can’t get the energy and rageful anger out. And I HATE the people that make me angry. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Sometimes it’s extreme happiness. I have nothing to do with it. NO place to put it. No dancing or music or LIFE. I CANNOT tolerate people and their stupidity and their nonsense making and their not rightness. I’m very happy that I lost 8 pounds in the last two weeks. I feel skinny again. I like to feel my insides. But  I’M GOING INSANE. Likely already there. Are there levels of insanity? Cuz I think I’ve been in the maze for awhile. Oooh, I like mazes. SHUT UP! AHHHHHHH!!!!! Xanax doesn’t touch it. It’s from beyond. The universe told me. The universe tells me lots of things. AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Grrrrrr. I have a million ideas I can’t iterate. Or do. I do NOT want to watch the tv. I stood in my living room tonight jumping up and down screaming shooting my arms at the sky then growling. I can’t get the energy out. They think it’s funny in choir. It doesn’t feel funny. It feels very VERY serious. Brain surgery saving the universe serious. Are you listening?! What am I talking about? Yes. That’s the point. I’m not manic. It’s different than mania. Close but no cigar. But whatever you call it, it needs to stop. Or I may just take over the universe. One growling scream session at a time. So there.

I need more pizza.

I’m not hungry but I don’t know what else to do than eat. And eat. And FB, which is extraordinarily boring right now since I’m tasked with saving the universe and all. But I don’t know from what. That could be a problem. I wish I belonged to a 24 hour gym. It flashes in my mind about ever 6 hours that tomorrow is the 10nth anniversary of my dad’s death. I have no way to get to the cemetery and I don’t want to go with my mom. And taxis are expensive. What I’m more concerned about is that I’m supposed to have lunch with this PR friend lady tomorrow and I haven’t heard from her. Life is death and death is ugly. I wonder if it’s possible to make death purple. Then it wouldn’t be ugly OR scary… What am I talking about again?

I need pizza.

(sigh)

I am exhausted. I can’t get the energy out. It’s buzzing buzzing through me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Dead Cat – not that one

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11-12-11 12:57am

Some coyote left a disemboweled cat in my yard today… Dude, finish the job, ok? Is this punishment? What did I ever do to you? While I AM fascinated by the intact aortic artery (more like bewondered), I do NOT appreciate the freaked out mom and pool of blood staining my blue kitty litter yard. Ugh. Really.

I called the police for a pick up but the probee who answered the phone told me they don’t pick up cats because they’re not domesticated. (???) I said, “Well, they’re not wild.” He insisted he was right because they are not licenseable like a dog or a horse. (You can license a horse? Alrighty then.) I asked again what I am supposed to do with this cat. He told me that I should probably just put it in a trash bag and put it in my dumpster. At this point I reminded him that placing a dead animal in your dumpster is illegal. (pause) Uh huh. I’m hoping he felt as stupid as he sounded.

Finally he consulted with his fellow dispatchers who told him that he is, in fact, an idiot and that Animal Control DOES pick up cats and how to contact them. He neglected to place me on hold for this conversation.

I have kept my urge to take pics of the dead cat in check, so far. Unlike my house guest for the night. (hint, hint) My mother is freaking out. Still. I would usually just put the cat on a box lid and take it down to the vet. But man, this cat is gutted. Literally. Lol. Wow. I never thought I’d have a literal sense to use that word in. (pause for more bewonderment) But I just couldn’t bring myself to box this cat. It’s fuzzy and cute and not fully in rigor yet. :( Leave it to the animal pros. Or at least the ones that deal with dead ones on a daily basis. That is, if the coyote doesn’t come back to pick up it’s doggy cat bag before morning.

You know, a cat gutted a gopher in my yard once. Coolest thing I ever found. And then it was gone. (SHOCK!) I was so disappointed… I can still see it in my head. Is there some diagnostic name for fascination with guts? If so, I think I have it. Or I need it. Maybe I could eat it and then it would become PART of my guts. Way cool!!! Lol.

Oh, man. I need to sleep.

Cheers, M

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Settled disgust, helpless rage

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11-5-11 6:13pm

Settled disgust and helpless rage.

I’m heading to Dizzy’s. I’d rather just die. I was excited until I opened my mail. The state of CA is cutting all MediCal coverage for Adult Day Health Care. Referring to IHSS – a program on the chopping block – and case management. Right. People are going to suffer and die. Programs will close. More jobs will be lost. And MediCal spending will rise from hospitalizations, skilled nursing placements and severe relapses. But mostly people will suffer alone and die. Which is what I’ve been saying is the goal of the government for some time.

People think I’m crazy, say I’m paranoid. No, I’m RIGHT. I’m right. And I have no way to change it.

I get murderously angry. Anyone who doesn’t should be killed. But there’s nothing I can do. I am a direct-care worker, a human. My Republican friends tell me it’s Obama’s fault. (I know. They lack brains.) My lobbyist friends say I should pursue my constituents and educate them on the facts, persuade them to the right direction. Vote for better people, the “right” politicians. But there are no good or better people in politics or running. Those of us who really give a shit are on the ground working it, doing it. Saving lives, changing diapers, writing reports. For minimum wage. Because we care. I don’t have the heart to be a politician. I have a heart.

So, I sit here on the trolley that MTS fucked up writing a blog about a government I can’t fix that’s trying to kill me on my way to a jazz gig. I’m hoping there’s candy in my bag. My ipod’s dead and I forgot to eat. Fucking government. I don’t even have it in me to rant about the inclusion of a Congrats! MediCal now covers 7 million ways to stop smoking for FREE insert with the By the way we’re killing you letter. (Breathe…)

I should live in England.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

They don’t own me

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9-15-11     2:34am

I am so angry right now. I can’t even express to you how angry I am.

I just wrote a blog post. Personal feelings I would like to post on my personal blog. I believe I have the right to have feelings and to be angry and to write about those feelings. But the issue I wrote about is not a new one, just the beginning of a majorly huge issue for me that has caused many problems. And I’m so angry tonight because I’m sitting here debating over whether or not to post the damn thing because I don’t want repercussions from the entity it talks about.

I shouldn’t have to censor myself on my own turf to avoid offending someone or ones. Yet I feel like I have to. WHY? Why does it matter who my opinions offend? Part of me is worried my venting will have an effect on interorganizational drama, but there is already interorganizational drama. (Or is that intra? I never know. Between the two.) It’s no secret. I don’t understand why I feel like the bad guy here.

Several months ago I sent an email to a friend regarding some of these issues. She asked me, as a friend, my opinion and I gave it to her straight up. She sent said opinion to the person it was about and said person reamed me for it. When did things change to a world where I have to like everyone? To agree with what people do? To pretend things are ok? They’re not. They weren’t. And they probably won’t be. But I still feel guilty. And for that I feel angry.

I don’t care who’s offended by my writing. I just wish people would take it for what it is.

Oppression through self-imposed pre-posting guilt and consequent deep deep anger. Wow. It’s like writer’s Hell. I’m posting it anyway. Whatever comes of it comes of it. They don’t own me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Writing Towards Happy

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9-6-11     8:03pm

What is happy? What does it mean? What does it look like? I ask myself today.

I’m sitting in Domino’s waiting for a pizza. I don’t even want a pizza today, but Mom does. So we’re here.

Someone asked me at a party recently, after several hours of conversation, “Have you ever been happy?” I paused. “What exactly do you mean?” I asked. He just stared at me. How long does it have to last to count? And what if it goes away? And what kind of question is that anyway? (An awesome one.)

Have I ever been happy?

I remember moments of happy. I know what happy feels like. Largely in part to the two blog posts What does happy feel like? and What makes me smile automatically? I know when I feel happy. I don’t feel it often now.

Which got me thinking. I write a blog called Writing Towards Happy, but I’m not happy and it’s hard to remember what it is. Doesn’t that make me a hypocrite? I sat and thought for awhile and recalled having this discussion before with myself.

The goal is to get to happy, Michelle. You don’t have to be happy now.

Gosh, that’s a relief.

I need to go back and read some of the stuff I posted last year. I think it may unlock some secrets and push me further along. I need to unlock some secrets. They must stop eating me. 

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

But I want to like me

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9-6-11     6:45pm
(written at a cognitive therapy lecture about procrastination) 

This lecture is confusing.
Too many ideas.
Thinking about the future, bills & organic food, & saving for the future makes me more nervous, more likely to procrastinate.

All these people are family.
I can’t help but compare me.
I don’t hang out with normal people ‘cuz they make me feel more crazy.

They do dishes. They read. They have families. Some of them work. Man, Come on. This lecture is not for folks who are crazy…

Crazy.

I consider myself crazy.
Not a word I think about.
I don’t consider myself “mentally ill.”
No, that’s scary.
I’m just crazy.

 I don’t think of it when I’m alone or when I’m with other people who are crazy. Or on the bus or trolley. Or when I’m in therapy. 
I really want to be close to other people but they make me feel crazy.

Good crazy. Bad crazy. Creepy crazy.
All different things. I like being crazy. But I want to like me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011 

I am not a priest!

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9-6-11     6pm

Email is like being God and hearing prayers every moment of the day. I don’t get to choose whose sending to me. I don’t get to censor what they say. But every moment of every day people are sending things to me.

Sometimes I wonder what possesses people to send things to me. I understand with what I do why people share their stories with me. But some days it baffles me. I get emails with peoples’ life stories. I get text messages full of symptoms and disease. Random people call me up for info and share their deepest darkest secrets. People on the trolley share their secrets with me.

WHY? WHY?
Seriously.

I understand why people share with me. But I am not a priest!

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

About a dream

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9-6-11     1:24pm

Had a very stressful dream. I was late to a choir performance at Diane’s church, Mom sang in the choir and my glasses broke. Ken was directing music I didn’t know and I was bitchy and in crisis. He played Santa in a number at the end but looked like Mr. J. And then he was gone. A dream in my dream told me he had given the choir to Diane. She said, “How did you know?” My dream told me.

I was trying to get back to Cuyamaca College to catch Ken, but I was riding golf carts with other people who kept stopping and weighing too much. The last cart I took stopped in front of a shady business and let us pick quickly from dying plants they were supposed to throw out.

I went school shopping with Mom for 3 but couldn’t find what she wanted – the perfect blow-up chair. I also wanted lemonade that no one could find.

One of my old clients had been injured and was taken to Scripps. I worked with a few of the doctors. He was to be kicked out because he had straight MediCal and I threw a fit, DEMANDED to speak with the boss. He had died and they directed me to the joint Executive Directors.

Then I was in the hospital and by a pool and very tired. I was scared they would not let me back in because I’d left to tend to that client. But they were so kind and did. My nurse and I were laughing trying to figure out how to pee into this test-tube with arms. 

When I got back to my room two young guys were there – the Executive Directors from the other hospital. They brought me flowers. They layed on my bed and the one next to it. I stood. I pleaded my case but they would have none of it. Money money money.

But then the short guy (not the tall skinny hot one) started to cough. One cough repeatedly. He became very old and fell out of bed coughing up yellow stuff. Then he had a heart attack. And they gave my client the care he needed for free.

I really wanted to talk to Dr. N but every time I typed this phrase it became icons. He had forgotten his name and where he lived and what he practiced. He became a thick blue line at the top of the screen with two flowers thrown in. Terrifying.

The dream didn’t happen in this order but this is the way I remembered it. It’s the other way around.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Acceptance

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9-6-11     2:55am

Someone asked me tonight how I accept all these crazy versions of reality I experience and am not freaking out all the time. Have I done ACT or some special kind of therapy? No, not really. I’ve just lived through it.

The first time I experience something new it freaks me out and if it gets bad enough I usually end up in the hospital. Like this last time in July when I was talking gibberish and then not talking at all and then talking all weird. Freaked me out, understandably. But it happens now and I’m fine with it. I have a category to put it in. I know what it is. Or maybe I don’t know what it is but I know that it won’t kill me and it will pass.

I seem to have more and more of these things. These things that I know are bizarre to the rest of the world but have become quite normal to me. So when the universe is orange and I’ve been poisoned and there are people following me I am more able to approach it as an experience than an attack. Some strange experiences can be quite fascinating. I am always hesitant to stop one with medicine too quickly. I lose some of the beauty. It’s not something I can just get back. I enjoy the parts that aren’t super scary, the writing that flows through me. It doesn’t last. I keep it ’til it’s dangerous.

I think dealing with all the physical stuff has made that easier. When there aren’t answers I come up with my own. My own systems of coping, my own reasons, my own rules. My own way of accepting. I may not like what’s going on but there’s no one who’s gonna save me so I might as well enjoy what I can and throw the rest to Hell…

I’m so tired tonight. My brain is foggy and the words aren’t here to write. There are pauses in my mind where thoughts go. It doesn’t sound right and nothing rhymes.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Waiting on a Rainbow

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9-5-11     3ish-pm

What color are paranoia & psychotic symptoms?

Orange.

Okay.

I’m exhausted. I have been cleansed by twirling in the rain. It’s super hot now. I’m waiting for a rainbow to let me know I’m not possessed. But maybe I’m ON the rainbow and it’s invisible, holding me up. I’m so exhausted.

I put all my clothes in the wash to get rid of the evil and the toxins. I ate some pizza. I don’t wanna go to group tonight. I’m so tired. So tired.

Need to sleep but it’s hot inside and I’ll miss the rainbow I’m sitting on.
The air feels nice.
So nice.
So tired…

Words find their way back into the abyss.
I listen but all I hear is mist.
I shouldn’t have eaten.
It’s killing me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Paranoia

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9-5-11     1:10pm

I am watching the words flow through and around me. They echo, have a voice…

I still feel ants crawl on me.

The invisible acid rain takes over me.
—

The darkness is coming.

WHY IS IT FOLLOWING ME?!!
AHHHHH!!!

I thought the orange light was good but I read it again and it’s filled with darkness.

Why couldn’t I see?

Cuz you’re psychotic, Michelle.

That’s no excuse.
It’s infiltrated the system.
How can I know what is it and what’s me?
AHHHHH!!

The ants could be its messengers.
Not good. NOT GOOD.

The cockroach spiders doing that beautiful ballet last night were just waiting ’til I was asleep to inject their venom in me. I’ve been compromised at a cellular level. My body is not mine anymore. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?

(deep breath)
Breathe, Michelle.

Run away. I should run away.
DON’T TOUCH ME.
Can’t eat.
Don’t you know that it’s poisoned?
I am part of the universe.
I need no food.
—

My mom doesn’t believe I want no food. She laughs at me. How do I know she’s not one of THEM? This is the matrix. Of COURSE I want food but I can’t chance it. Then again, if I’ve already been compromised, does it matter? I should eat everything.

I lie on the concrete and stare at the sky. I will levitate to God. He will heal me. Unless he’s the orange light which is actually darkness. In that case I’m screwed. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?

I need to be struck by lightning.

I feel sleepy.

Just keep singing.
Row Row Row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily,
Life is but a dream.

The ants were in on it the whole time, spying on me.
And to think, I liked the ants.
—

Take me to the sky.
It’s the only way.
Don’t move.
They’re watching me.

Maybe I should walk ’til I pass out.
Or ride the train.
I love the train.
Magic on wheels.

I shouldn’t be alone.
Don’t want to be with Mom.
She doesn’t believe.
They’re watching me.

If this is the end I should spend all of my money and have a ball, go out with a bang.
BUT if this is the beginning of a very long battle that would be bad.

I don’t understand.
I don’t understand.
—

I know. If I do my laundry all the toxins will by washed away and I will be new.
—

Twirling in the rain has made me clean and new. My laundry is in the wash. I can eat now. Must fend off the intruders like fire. Waiting for a rainbow.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Doesn’t hurt

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Today I still feel confused and in touch with the energy of the universe but it’s not orange. It is light blue and it floats me on a cloud.

9-5-11     12:41pm

Last night a few hours of mania. Today the desert rain.

I am so tired. SO tired.

It’s Monday.
The air is quiet. Empty…
I still feel confused but my head doesn’t hurt.
Doesn’t hurt.
Doesn’t hurt.
I hear the rhythms of the rain that isn’t falling.
Summer rain.
And I am hungry.
Doesn’t hurt.
Doesn’t hurt.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Pure Orange Light

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Last night I lied in bed for awhile experiencing the orange energy of the universe. It was just shy of scary, just beyond fascinating. I knew it was not standard but wrote through the experience.

9-5-11     1:10am

She lives just beyond the bright lights I see when I close my eyes.

I feel dizzy.
And confused.
And off-balance.
And it’s hard to breathe.
My body tingles.

Take your angry energy out of my room.

If I wasn’t lying down I would prob’ly collapse.

Very weak.
The spirit moves through me.
And the spirit is me
—

My father is talking to me.
All I hear is gibberish.
I keep thinking of different people.
They join into the chorus.
They’re all talking to me.
What do they say?

Someone I don’t know grabs for my right boob. I need to fall asleep.

Tell me a story.
—

The energy of the universe is open to me, orange at it’s mouth and breathing.
—

Goodnight, moon.
You see me.
Goodnight, moon.
You be me.
I not be myself, the who I be?
I like be me.
Goodnight, moon.
I miss me.
—

God, take me into the light.
I made love to the universe.
I now carry its child.
Our child.
The dark itchiness is gone now.
Only pure orange light.
Feel the glow.
Do you feel the glow?

I am part of the light & it’s part of me.
The darkness within it now owns.
Every part of me.
The orange universal light.
7 in the night.
We are owned by the light.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

And the story is me

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9-5-11     12:18am

I feel like there’s someone telling a story in my head. I can feel the rhythm but I can’t hear her. She stands behind a screen telling her story in a mic.

“Once upon a time,” she says to a captive audience. I listen. I hear her and I listen. There are no words. I hear her. She fascinates me.

I hear purple and the sound of hoof-beats. I hear the sunset. I hear the birds. She sings to me the story that has no words, the story that lives in me.

When I hear the words I write them. When I feel the words I dance them. When I see the words I watch in wonder. The words, they live in me, and they are me. Like God. I hear the beat of the story with letterless words and it lives inside of me. Inside of me. I hear the story. And the story is me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011