Category Archives: Wondering

Messed Up Morals

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12-22-10    1:51am

Have you ever examined the morals behind songs and fairytales? I was considering Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer while wandering hopelessly lost through Walmart today. It’s a messed up story. The moral or message or conditional-belief lesson is basically:

Don’t fret if you’re a social outcast. You’ll be loveable if you’re just perfect and save everyone. Otherwise you’re worthless and will be alone forever.

If that doesn’t put you in therapy, try having a label for a name. That’s like naming your kid Judy the One-eyed Retard and having Lady Gaga put out a single about her pathetic life and one glory day. Really? Alright then. Merry Christmas to you too.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Dear Daddy (Nov 2003)

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written on the 2nd anniversary of my dad’s death, posted now for Jingle’s Poetry Potluck (and because I’ve been thinking about it).

Dear Daddy,

Need me.
Feed me, the way I fed you.
Comb my hair.
Don’t tear.
DON’T TOUCH ME

Where did you go?
I don’t know.
I NEVER KNOW
And for as much as I’d like to I can’t, pray I never will.

The bruises, restraints, overpowering drugs.
The anger
The incredible loneliness.
Talk to me Daddy.
Be one of the voices in my head.

Why did you hit me that day?
Why didn’t you stay on that mountain?
GET OUT OF MY LIFE – hold me tight
If you could come back and do it again, would you?
Would you call me your child?
Why in the sky do the clouds always shroud the image of your body from my wandering eyes?

© Michelle Routhieaux 11/17/03

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

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(written during flashbacks of my dad after listening to I’ll Be Home for Christmas)
12-17-10 10:15ish pm

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

See the color
Feel his fingers, his breath

Bathroom floor
Tears flowing
All I want is a family.

I want someone to take care of me
To love me
To fight with
To sit quietly with
My dad.
I just want my dad.

Little trees
Pine needles
Running Away
Space People
Nurses’ Stations
Wristbands

The floors
The ceiling –

Laundry.
(deep breath)
Laundry.

I miss my dad.
For What he was
What he wasn’t
What he could’ve been
What he taught through the silence I’m not sure I’ll ever learn
But I’m still grateful for it.

Why didn’t you stay on that mountain?
Why did you choose to come home?
Your life from my view is a map I don’t want to follow
But it’s my map.
I don’t get to choose.

Did you like jazz music?
What helped you get through it all?
I’m pretty sure it was your space people.
Crazy keeps us alive.
When I hugged you, could you let go or did you not want to?
I love you.
I want you to love me too.

So I put on a face and everything seems alright.
But inside I die
A little more each night.

I am sitting in a bathroom terrified of my life.
It’s just life
But it’s so much more than that.
This is IT.
Don’t you get it?
I’m not coming back.
There aren’t any do-overs.

I’m scared…
So scared.

S- wants me to sing tonight.
She knows it makes me feel better.
I don’t want to be on display.
I just want to be held.
Please, God.
Comfort me.

I am a child in need. –

I am worried about S- leaving.
I’m so scared of losing her.
So scared.
So scared.

Last night at the W-?
I am scared.
And I can’t seem to pull it together.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I am scared

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From my journal tonight. The dialogue is between me and me and me.

11-18-10     2:12am

I keep hearing the chorus of “You are More” by Tenth Avenue North. I feel the urge to say I’m sorry over and over again. Please. Just please don’t leave me.

I’m cold. I’m lying in bed. Today was the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death. It wasn’t much different than any other day. I saw my therapist, had dinner with Mom, took a nap and went online. I recall going to choir but that wasn’t today. I wanted to go to the cemetery but we didn’t. It closes at sunset.

I feel so angry, and sad. Helpless. Watching an illness is good training in codependence. It compeletely control you and is out of your control.

I’ve been napping in the early evening. I haven’t felt good and I have nothing to do. I can’t handle working on the endless tasks for the group. I need the group to leave me alone. To give me some space. You don’t own me. I don’t appreciate waking up to calls from strangers, urgent FB chat crisis pings, or 75 emails in a week about stupid shit I don’t care about from 1 person. LEAVE ME ALONE. (sigh) I need some respite.

I feel guilty tonight for telling a friend I wish her learning curve was steeper. It’s true but it’s selfish. It has to do with fly paper – a model of my feelings. Whatever she feels I feel. I can’t control it. If she’s happy, I feel joy. If she’s sad, I feel pain. When she hurts, I hurt. It’s like voodoo magic. Whatever’s there sticks. I should be angry at myself for not being able to control this phenomenon, but that reminds me I have no power and is scary. And I’m already scared enough. So I hope these people who affect me avoid pain. Because I feel that pain. You know? There’s no fix. But avoiding pain is impossible. I don’t understand.

I’ve been thinking about independence.
___

I am so scared. I can’t run away. I can’t get away from me. But I can’t stay here with me either. I will kill her, put her out of her misery.

Who is she?

She is that girl, that little girl playing and crying for her daddy. The one who wishes on dandelions and smiles and swings.

I love her.

Yes. She is beautiful.

Why does she have to die?
Why are you going to kill her?

Because she won’t stop crying. She is hurt and there’s no way to fix her and I can no longer handle her crying. I can’t take it.

Girl: I’m scared. Daddy, please. Make it go away. Please, Daddy. Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you help me?

How often do you see her?

Every day. She keeps tugging at my shirt. Play with me. Hold me. Comfort me. Please, just make it go away.

I can’t take it. She’s driving me insane.

Do you love her?

Yes! That’s why I have to kill her. She deserves peace and so do I.

What would bring you peace?

If she wasn’t sick.

SHUT UP! I’m not talking to you.

If she wasn’t sick. And she wasn’t stuck in time. And if people understood that she’s only 7.

She is the hope. Why kill the hope?

So the rest of me can die in peace.

Do you really want to die?

No. I want to be free. I want to heal her with a magic hug. I want to never feel alone again. To never feel helpless. To be taken care of.

Can you give her comfort?

I wish.

Girl: Please, Daddy. Don’t leave me. I don’t understand. Please. Somebody help me. Get off the phone and pay attention. This teddy bear can’t cure me.

She sounds distressed.

She’s almost always distressed. Except when she’s exploring or brainstorming. Then she’s happy. Or spending time with people she loves. She’s like a cat. She needs comfort.

Does she get it?

Sometimes. Not enough to survive. I give her drugs to numb the pain. But they can’t fix her. She’s going to die.

She is broken.

Yes. She is broken. And she is all that I have. And when she dies I die. I want to hold her in my arms and make it better but I can’t. But she still keeps tugging on my shirt.

Where is my daddy? Why doesn’t he love me?
How do angels fly?
Can I have an ice cream? …
Hello?

I can’t save her. (deep breath) I can’t.

But you can’t kill her either.

I know. I love her too much. She’s all I’ve got.

Do unicorns fly?
Can I get one as a pet?

She still believes, you know. In hope and God and love and faith. And unicorns. She loves everything good and beautiful, always stops to smell the flowers. She believes in Santa and knows that people are good.

And you don’t.

I try… I try.
It’s like trying to believe you are blessed as you watch your house burn to the ground.
I am blessed. I just can’t.

She is your bunk mate.

She is my best friend.

A dilemma.

Quite. (long pause)
I feel rage and I am scared.
I am scared.
I am scared.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Dazed, Dazzled & Confused

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9-14-10                3:45am

I’m so tired. I miss –. It’s only been 3 days since I saw her but it feels like forever. I haven’t been thinking about my last journal entry (not posted here). I just miss her hug.

I finished printing all of my blog posts tonight. Looking at the stack makes me feel accomplished. (I hear that guy whistling outside again. At least I think I know who it is.) I started blogging February 21st and the notebook is almost full.

Hard copy of my blog


It’s just a handful of the writing I’ve done. It’s interesting to see it all in one place.

(sigh) I feel so tired. I know it’s almost 4am but the amount of time I sleep doesn’t affect my level of tiredness.

I hosted a lecture tonight at my group. Stupid damn Monday night football screwed it up. The last 3 lectures I averaged 60 people. Tonight? 20. Grrr…

I need someone to talk to. It gets lonely in my quiet kitchen at 2am when I’m filled with thoughts and anxious energy and have no place to put them, no reason to say. I keep hearing “Silent All These Years” by Tori Amos.

There is something about speech that is soothing. When the words are inside me they stir in my heart. They make my soul tremble and throat ache. Just the vibration of sound helps ease the tension. But where do you put the sound at 4 in the morning when everyone’s asleep? Reading my writing out loud can be such a release. (street sweeper)

There is so much to say and yet I feel quiet… My eyes water, my neck twitches. Dogs bark and the cars fly by. The fridge is noisy. I think Mom’s asleep. I’m curled up in the big chair writing. It was my dad’s chair, although he never used it. I miss him. I wish I could talk to him now and that he could answer back. I need his wisdom. I need his experience.

(break to hear music in my head)

I can’t, I can’t.
I can’t right now.
Colors, shapes & music.
I feel confused now.
Touch. Touch.
Let me sort something.
Dazed, Dazzled & Confused
He ordered the test.
Just sing. Just sing.
Please sing.
Please sing. Just don’t stop singing.
Thoughts Go away, go away.
Go away.

-M

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Tick Tick Tick

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8-22-10                2:56am

I was listening to Sacha talk to this guy on Friday about his son, a singer who’s not living up to his potential. And there was something she said that sticks with me. It’s a very small and powerful phrase. “Tick tick tick.” He’s 24 and time’s a wastin’. There’s not much left.

It has a different meaning for me, but it’s generally the same.

Tick tick tick
Your life is almost over
Tick tick tick
Before you melt away
Should you stay one more day
What will you be?
Will you be free?
Will your dreams come true or will you watch them melt away, today?

Tick tick tick
I don’t know what time it is
Tick tick
Or what day, or the year
Tick
I don’t care.
I just want to be happy.
Tick
How to be happy … what was I saying?

Tick tick
I know the time is running
Tick tick tick
Faster than I can see
Tick tick tick
And soon I will catch up,
Or maybe it will catch me.
But hopefully when we meet we’ll have some good stories to tell,
Of dancing (tick) and singing (tick) and feeling mighty swell.
Cuz when we meet up (tick) I won’t be walking away.
Tick tick tick.
Just give me one more day.

I know my clock is ticking, in every meaning of the phrase. It makes me quiet and fills my face with vapor. Tick tick. (close my eyes and sigh…) I won’t be walking away.

(thought continued in So Let’s Play)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Christmas

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I wrote this while listening to Sacha sing tonight at the Westgate. Quite an experience.

7-9-10                  8:29am

Tonight here it is like Christmas. I close my eyes and expect to walk outside into whipping wind and snowflakes. I would feel the cold on my cheeks and smile and flinch. Feel cozy by a fire, like warm maple syrup, and cuddle up. Watch children run around and write to Santa.

Tonight there are people talking all around me. It’s annoying but I float above them. Twirl around in the sky.

Shhhhhh…  Listen!  Magic.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What is a Hampton?

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7-4-10                  8:13pm

What is a Hampton? My friend posted on Twitter that the air in the Hamptons is so crisp and clear. I know the Hamptons is a place, but what is a Hampton. Is it a mountain? A river? A cabin? A stream? A proper noun who’s been demoted? A famous person who owned such place and the apostrophe of ownership has since disappeared, as well as the name of whatever he owned? What is a Hampton?

I’m not even in a class of people who can afford to know what they are, much less visit. ;) Somebody help me out.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

My Reward for Eating Vegetables

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6-4-10   3:55am

God has a weird sense of humor. You remember those carrots I told you about, with the dip? (sigh) He KNOWS I loathe things that make no sense, yet tonight he gives me a carrot mystery.

I was happily munching on my onion dip covered baby carrots when I bit into one that I couldn’t bite through. Felt like there was a rock in it. I wondered what could be inside this carrot I was attempting to eat. So I tried biting a different place. Well, part of it came off, which I ate, exposing this dowel-like rock hard cylinder of what I thought would be carrot. Have you ever come across this? It doesn’t bend or break. I can’t even break it’s skin with my fingernail. What the fuck? Check it out.

What would you think?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A New Name for Dip & Kids Movies

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6-4-10                   3:23am

I think we need a new name for dip. I love the substance. It’s the name I have a problem with and that has me scouring my kitchen tonight looking for something to DIP in the dip. But why? It’s the dip that I want. I don’t need the extra calories from the bag of chips I devour because I want to eat the dip. I settled on carrots tonight, but I don’t want the carrots. And the weird thing is I’m dipping carrots in onion dip. Yes, I’m dipping a vegetable I like the taste of in a dip flavored like a vegetable I avoid at all costs. Really? I don’t get it. I don’t like onions. I hate the way onion dip smells. Yet I crave it. And last night I ate most of a bag of sour cream and onion chips, dipped in my onion-flavored sour cream. (shake my head)

While we’re on the subject of things not making sense, what’s up with kids movies that aren’t kids movies? I watched Wall-E tonight. It was so depressing! And I can’t fathom any kid I know understanding what the movie was actually about, the implications and messages. I wouldn’t have understood it at say 8 or 12. And UP? Good movie. WAY too deep. Everyone I know who saw it cried. I had trouble following it. The first 15 minutes were enough to make me wonder what the fuck I was watching. Love, miscarriage, death, eminent domain? It’s a KIDS MOVIE! It shouldn’t put me in a funk for days. Does anybody else feel this way? When I put in something from Disney or Dreamworks I want to come away feeling warm and fuzzy inside, not confused and bewildered and very very sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Are we not still in a drought?

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5-26-10                 3:46am

Okay, so I have to ask. Are we not still in a drought? Cuz I remember very clearly several months back all these rules being issued about what days we’re allowed to water our lawns and how we can’t wash our cars and such. Yet MTS, or whomever takes care of the trolley stations, continues to powerwash the sidewalks.

Now I called the Helix Water District when I first saw this awhile back. Their response was that it’s not illegal but they would send whomever a letter reminding them that we’re in a water shortage and that they need to conserve. How, may I ask, does that help? I don’t quite understand. I was riding the trolley home Sunday night and the driver announced to be careful on the platform because it was wet. I looked out and saw the men in orange vests spraying down the sidewalk. Again. How exactly does the city wasting so much water (there are 54 trolley stops) set an example for the citizens (like me) who are not supposed to water our grass or wash our cars? Really. I don’t get it. I’m not allowed to hose off my driveway, yet they can powerwash 54 trolley stops without anyone blinking. Can someone please explain this to me?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010