A Guardian and other randomness

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3-30-12     12:55 am

i wonder how the mind works seven in the night. Tonight I went to a bar to hear music. I pondered the plasticity of the brain and soft shoe dancing. And “Mona Lisa” made the joints of my ring finger tingle. I wrote about my feelings and fears, drank tea and ate bad chicken. Altogether a good night.

I was disturbed though by this one waiter. He’s never nice to me. He tries to appear to be but he’s cocky. He asked to see my ID to be in the bar after I’d already ordered. I said since they serve food there’s no age limit. He said I would need a “guardian” with me. Wow. How old do I look? I’m not drinking. I’ve been there many times before. My behavior is not disruptive. I walk around and write. Even 20 year olds don’t have guardians. I felt offended. He blamed it on his manager. I guess tea drinking chicken eating writers are not wanted as regulars there. Quite disconcerting. For the record, I’m 26. And sober.

I talked to Jim today about my trip to GA. I went to Possum Trot last weekend and had a blast, remembered how much I love clogging and how much I need to do it more. The project/idea side of my brain started scheming and I decided I need to take a trip to GA to find myself through clogging for a month. My mom is completely against it, says it’s ridiculous and crazy. My friends and providers think it’s great. I think it’s awesome and exciting and terrifying. But I so wanna do it. I found a craigslist room for rent ad there and actually emailed about it. I want to find me. Wherever I left her she’s waiting.

I took a trip to GA 8 years ago under very different circumstances. I’ve grown a lot since then. It’s something to remember. I want to learn to be more independent, to take care of myself and not have to rely on others. I think this might be like a missions trip. Mission: Find me. Get away for a time from everything here, everything doctor, illness, all the labels and expectations. Write, dance, breathe. I don’t know if it will happen but the planning gives me hope. A thing to believe in. A thing to be.

It’s weird. Today I hear the cadence of what my thoughts should be, but I can’t quite hear the words. It’s annoying. And free. Really it’s not free, but it should be. Knee. Things rhyme but they don’t make sense. Whatever. Just me. I spent $95 at Victoria’s Secret today to get a free umbrella. I shoulda just bought an umbrella. They never have panties that fit me. I know I have a big butt but it’s not THAT big…

Zoe’s on the door and I can’t think. I noticed at the workshop this weekend that I didn’t have as much trouble thinking. Less confusion and thought blocking. And the more days of not dancing the worse it gets. I have to wonder if I danced every day if I’d be less confused. Life processed through dancing makes sense. Life processed through other things is just a mess. Oh yes. (sigh)

I’d really like some peanut butter and jelly. Not so much the bread. Imran. (big smile) I know I’m rambling, but I like rambling, and so do you. Here’s to not making sense. (clink)

I gotta sleep. I feel like someone rearranged all the connections in my brain and it no longer works right.

Happy trails, Michelle

PS – I’ve lost my love of capital letters lately. like wearing pajamas to work.

(happily watching Stand Up For Mental Health videos and random YouTube comedy)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Now I am…

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(continued from “I am from…”)

3-21-12     4:07pm

Now I am what?

Now I am stronger.

Now I am less afraid.

Now I am starting to own myself, to upgrade from the standard model.

Now I am more honest, less moody, more willing to be vulnerable.

I am learning to trust.
I am learning to be me.

Now I am sharing my writing.
I am putting it out there, even through fear.

Now I understand there doesn’t have to be a what.
And that’s scary. But I’m here. I’m not leaving.

I come back to that.
Now I am.

—

The cadence makes me nervous.
The content makes me cringe.

(breathe…) Just be.

Face burns, stomach turns. I feel tingly.

I need to paint the sky.
About to pass out.

I feel scared of being.
No identity.
I feel scared of me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I am from…

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7 minute writing from the prompt “I am from…”

3-21-12     2:52pm

I am from brown carpet and air, a place the sun sometimes shines.

I am from stripped cars and “don’t make any noise” and “get down.”

I am from “hide.”

I am from hospitals and nursing homes.
I am from watching the almost dead.

I am from the place in my soul that screams DANCE!

I am from me.

I am from the places I try not to remember – of pain and drugs and heartache.

Sometimes I forget where I’m from.
Sometimes I try not to remember.

I am from “do it perfect or I’ll leave you.”

I am from “you’re a horrible person.”

I am from the place that pushed me to move on, to run away, to save my life.

I am tired of being from. So now I just am.

I was from.

Now I am.

(thought continued in “Now I am…”)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I had a birthday recently

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3/21/12     1:45pm

I had a birthday recently. I just remembered this. I never responded to the 150 or so posts on FB – not because I’m rude. I just couldn’t deal with it.

It seems I have a birthday every other year. One year of party, one year of hiding. This was supposed to be an on year. My prediction was wrong.

This year I wanted to celebrate being alive, to treasure the gift. It didn’t quite work that way.

(too painful)

Breathe…

Need to sing it or throw it up out of me. My head hurts. The words are backed up in me. About to explode – no sound. I think I should take less Seroquel. Three pounds of water weight in 3 days.

I’m sitting in my yard pulling cattails (the weed). Jenny’s excited to go to Possum Trot with us. I’m second guessing my offer. I am SO tired. SO hurting. I cannot make it rain.

I had a birthday recently, a great lunch with a friend and an entire day’s meltdown. Loud weepy crying spells. I locked myself in the garage, bathroom & car. I smartly went to hear music and unsmartly tried to drink. I had a birthday.

I am now 26. I never celebrated 25. Like it never happened. I don’t want to be 26. I want to be 25. Divisible by five, a nice round number. I don’t like even age numbers. 26 starts the Sex & the City part of life. I don’t own enough pairs of heels. Yet somehow I’m here, sitting barefoot on a towel on my lawn in the shade of shirts on the clothesline pondering my age. I don’t even feel 18.

I don’t want to remember but I hate that I can’t. I see snapshots. Re-experience. The rest is blank. Sometimes I ask people what they remember about me because I can’t. They’re confused. Well, honey, so am I.

Angela (my birthday lunch friend) said she’s been honored to watch me grow through the years into who I am now. Who am I now? I don’t remember. I tried to think of what changed me, something. The only thing in my mind was when I thought I was dying. It really shaped who I am, gave me a platform. I don’t take as much shit anymore. I appreciate. I hold dear. I am more grounded in my work. I feel steady knowing I know my shit and that no one can take that from me.

(pause to freak out about new freckles)

11 years ago yesterday I entered the hospital for the first time. 11 years ago tomorrow there was a shooting at my school. It’s been a long 11 years.

(call from S- to say M- is married. tears.)

I’m tempted to say I’m happy for him, but I’m not. Good people have good people. I’m not one of those people. Why didn’t J- just tell me instead of saying it was crazy, I was crazy? Why not just wear a ring or post it on your FB profile? Much easier. Nothing is easier.

(hear “Do You Love Me?” from Fiddler)

Watching a dizzy ant.
Sometimes crazy doesn’t deserve to be loved.

I would like to throw up my gut. Then maybe I wouldn’t hurt so much.

There is a place in everland.
Fall behind the glass.
Where people fall out of touch.
They lie right on the grass.
Behind the glass
For all to see.

Happily ever after land,
A place that taunts me,
Haunts me.
I watch them go there.
(quiet)

It all falls away.

I had a birthday recently. I’d rather not remember.

(rocking)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

My bitter love isn’t

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3/20/12     10:25pm

Something magical between S- and M- tonight. I am left with a feeling of peace, calm. The most beautiful set – emotional, powerful, soft. He had a realization. He shared some music with her. I watched. I treasure the privilege. It was a moment, her listening, him watching intently. A love. A piece of magic.

I wish I had something like that. Not a romantic love, but a trust. A history. A hug.

I am so grateful to share in the energy, to talk with S-. To pretend. Maybe if I imagine it I can live it in my head. I’ll be loved and no one can get to me. Love will protect me. Bitter love.

– doesn’t know I like him. And he doesn’t like me back. And that’s okay. Bitter love. The silence doesn’t go away.

Dear God,

I watch the dots pass by me.
I am not in control.
You drive my car down many paths.
I am not in control.
The dots pass by. I fill with light.
I am fire. And then I am ash.
But I am not in control.

Be, they say, not do. But how?
Please, God. How?

The dots pass by.
I listen and breathe.

-M

My sadness fills rivers.
My heart, it shrivels.
My body is in pain.
I am alone.
I am alone.
–

Jesus, I can’t feel you. Are you there? I’m scared. I choose love but feel fear. I feel alone. Am I alone? Why can’t I feel love? Is it a brain thing? It just is. Everything just is. Could you make everything isn’t? I’d appreciate that.

My toes are cold. The tv is on. I’d like it if is were isn’t. Would life be better in isn’t? I don’t know. Please, bitter love, love me or go away. My bitter love isn’t.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

When I lost…

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4 minute writing exercise at a workshop

3-17-12     11:30am

When I lost my faith I stopped dancing. When I lost my dancing I lost me. Somewhere in a corner she is locked up, crying quietly. I lost me. I don’t understand. She understands less. When I lost my faith, I lost me.

I used to believe I could do anything, that somehow God had blessed me and I would do good. But now I do this. They say this is me. But in the mirror she’s not what I see. When I lost my faith, I lost me. I miss being me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Polka Dots & Puppy Dogs

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2-27-12     12am

I’m sitting in my living room working on my friend’s MacBook Pro, with which I am falling in love. We are helping my mom with an aptitude test online and I can faintly hear the radio coming from my room.

I haven’t journaled in some time. I’m afraid to open the book. And when I do I just draw. I drew a picture today of my feelings. It was a bit weird. I send bizarre emails to my therapist and have started walking in circles talking to myself again. There is simply too much going on in my life. But my friend’s boyfriend fixed my wifi so I can work from the couch. I also love her dog. Quite helpful. And my cat is readjusting to life with a dog in the house.

I know I haven’t blogged in forever. I’m sorry. There just hasn’t been anything I can really say online. I’ve been having a lot of really intense symptoms mental health wise and some nasty body symptoms as well. My body is just freakin’ out and they finally found something wrong with me. But not something definitive. They’re slowly trying to figure out what’s going on with my neck/throat. I’m having trouble swallowing and throwing up and choking. The muscles connected to my larynx are popping and it hurts to sing. And apparently I have a nodule on my thyroid. So I went for a barium swallowing test and upper GI series and will have a biopsy of the nodule. I don’t really care what comes of it. I just need it to be over.

I just finished helping teach a clogging class at an elementary school. I had so much fun. It was physically more than I could really handle, but I loved the kids and having a reason to be out of my house. I also started bowling again. I didn’t go this week but I really like it. And the bowling alley cafe has awesome food.

My mom’s looking for a job. I’m trying to make meaning of my life. And it’s almost my birthday. I seem to have a birthday every other year and this is an on year. Last year I had a non-birthday. This year I want to celebrate. I’m not sure how but I’ll figure something out. I’m alive and I’m grateful. I pray a lot more these days. Give myself over to God. I realize that I have no control over my life and that scares me. But instead of just being scared I can acknowledge that I don’t have to be scared alone, that He is always with me.

I don’t know what’s going on or how to fix it. I know not the how or why. I’m just cruisin’. Sticking to one moment at a time. Not trying to write a masterpiece here but just a note to say I’m still alive and haven’t forgotten this thing called a blog. I’m just in the middle of a twister right now waiting to get out. Having some fun. When the writing comes back I will blog again.

Take home message: I recently discovered I love bowling alley corndogs and I’m now in love with the new version of leggings. I now like wearing dresses. And I’m getting tired of pizza. I thought I wanted a dog, until I lived with one and realized they don’t purr. If dogs purred, they’d be close to perfect pets. I love having a friend living here. I wish I was the one looking for a place to live. I feel scared a lot. I miss my tv. I haven’t gone to jazz in a long time and the void is rotting my brain. I still love laundry. I still want to feed the ducks. And I still love NCIS and stickers. I wear a lot of mismatched things now. I love polka dots, and all things sparkly. I’d really like to pay my bills. And going to an awful board meeting today made me appreciate my board meetings SO much more. I love being alive. Finally.

Love, Michelle

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

You’re Just You: Wisdom from the Voice in My Head

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1/22/12     12:25pm

What’s wrong with you? You’re just you. Nobody else could be you. And they wouldn’t want to if they knew what it meant. And you’re pretty damn good at it. So keep doin’ it. You’re the only one who knows how.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I am not a teacher

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1/17/12     3:44pm

I was thinking about Mrs. Lindsay asking if I want to be a teacher. I would LOVE to be a teacher. But I think my adherence to rules is quite lacking. I do things my own way, follow my own rules. I couldn’t get through college. My options would be plenty if I had finished.

Teaching dance is something I love to do. In my own time and my own way. I get to use my quirks to help others understand. And to understand them on their way. This kid came up to me today and told me his aunt died. I don’t know why. People tell me things. They always have.

In my 6th grade yearbook we all had to answer where we thought we’d be in 10 years. I said I’d be on Broadway or teaching kindergarten. (sad) It’s almost 15 years later. (sad) I am successful in what I do. But it’s not Michelle. How do I find Michelle?

Kids think I’m a teacher. I buy school supplies, love glitter and often carry markers. I color-code, categorize and specialize in creating systems to increase efficiency. I own a billion dry erase boards and use them every day. Systems, colors. I use sticker charts to pay my bills. And I live at Staples. But I’m not a teacher. I’m just me.

I don’t know how I got here. It was so great to see everyone today. I wish I had something great to tell them. I am the kingpin of a local non-profit. I run my own empire. Pretty cool when worded that way. I want to want me.

I miss teaching SO much. But I am not a teacher.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

“Hi I’m Eric”

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Okay, so maybe this is a night of sharing, in the social media sense of the word. I just ran across this video on my mom’s Facebook page. I like the song so I decided to watch it. Totally made me cry.

Honesty is not something I’m good at, especially when it comes to feelings, sensitive information about myself, or in any other way allowing myself to be vulnerable. I admire this kid’s guts and bravery. Even if no one else ever saw the video, he put it out there.

Check it out.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

The Green Thing

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From a Facebook forward:

Checking out at the grocery store recently, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment. I apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this green thing back in my earlier days.” The clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations.” She was right about one thing – our generation didn’t have the green thing in “our” day. So what did we have back then?

 After some reflection and soul-searching on “our” day, here’s what I remembered we did have…

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled. But we didn’t have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn’t have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby’s diapers because we didn’t have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts. Wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right. We didn’t have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house – not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she’s right. We didn’t have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn’t have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint. But isn’t it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the green thing back then?

Please share this so another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smarty-pants young person can add to this. ;)

Shared by Michelle Routhieaux 2012

I am SO hungry

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1/6/12     11:28pm

I am so hungry. SO hungry. I can’t BEGIN to tell you how hungry I am. Even though I know I shouldn’t be.

I go through phases where I don’t eat much and am not hungry at all. Then there are times like now when I just can’t stop eating. I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m not on a new medication. I’m just HUNGRY. It’s so frustrating. I’m literally salivating, even after just eating Chinese food and drinking a bottle and a half of water.

I don’t know what to do about it. My hypothalamus hates me. There are so many random things going on with me. And last week’s mania. And my staying up super late now yet sleeping 12 hours a night when I was going to bed earlier and sleeping about 8 hours. And my inability to control my body temperature. And getting fever blisters on my lips again. And feeling SO cold. And now HUNGRY. And more horny than usual. What the fuck is going on with me???

I can’t keep eating and get fat again. I can’t tolerate being fat. But I can’t tolerate feeling hungry either. I Googled around for appetite suppressants and all I found were diet pills. I don’t want to lose weight (although it wouldn’t bug me). I just don’t want to gain it by eating when I couldn’t possibly be hungry but feel starved. This is a problem for me.

If I don’t eat, I continue to feel hungry. If I don’t eat for long enough, I get sick. But not knowing when I’m actually hungry interferes with my knowing if I’m going to get sick. If I do eat because I feel hungry, I don’t feel full. I feel even MORE hungry. Which is worse. But I have to eat something. And if I don’t eat, and eat and eat, it’s like I’m going to explode. What is the solution? Is there one? Or do I just have to wait until my body swings back the other way to eating almost nothing? A few months ago I couldn’t eat more than half of a kids meal at Panda Express. Today I finished off a two entree plate, with the chow mein, 4 spring rolls and 3 sodas. And, while the physical fullness was painful, I still felt hungry. As I do now. I don’t know what to do.

(sigh) I’m hungry.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Is there such a thing?

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1/4/12     12:20am

Oh, good God. The race has begun. They interruped my tv show to talk about the Iowa election today. It’s all over FB. Really?

I used to somewhat like politics. I thought voting was exciting. I thought I could make a difference in the world. But it’s not true. I have zero faith in the system. I don’t understand why Iowa and Florida are so important. And I know that no matter who wins they will cut social services and healthcare and try to kill me. And that my entire year will be spent trying to avoid radio, print and tv ads by the people vying for the position of person who can kill me and all the people fighting each other about various propositions.

Was it always this way? This sleazy and annoying? What would FDR think? Would Benjamin Franklin embrace this insanity or climb back into his grave? I can’t imagine him loving our “progress.”

It would be nice if I could just sequester myself until after the election, or at least close to it. Where is the hope? I need some political hope. Is there such a thing?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Moments of Happy

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1/1/12     5:26pm

I don’t know where to find it but there is a piece of research about smiling that I’m using as a coping skill tonight. It says that smiling works both ways. We smile because we’re happy, but smiling also makes us happy. Even when we’re not.

At first I thought it was bullshit but then I remembered doing it in theater and tried it again. Smiling (happy or not) sends a rush of chemicals through the brain. I can feel it. So I’m doing it tonight. Smiling largely while unhappy. It actually works for a few moments. You should try it.

Moments of happy. Free and immediate. No prescription necessary. So what if I look funny? I have moments of happy.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Take me to the pirates

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1/1/12     4:30pm

I woke up today hearing myself say, “I have no reason to be happy.” It was strange. Right out of a dream, literally.

There is a light hope in the air. It’s 2012 and new things will be happening. I got a request to be an AVID tutor today. Instead of feeling excited I feel terrified. I already committed to volunteering for 6 weeks to teach dance, which I am thoroughly enthralled by, but it also scares me. I’m not good at balance. I need stuff to do but overwhelm easily and my body just freaks out. I’m scared to live. I didn’t use to be.

I remember when my life was a whirlwind of activity. No one could keep up with me, except my mom. I taught dance and went to school and tutored and wrote and did projects and theater and choir. I had jobs. I had a few friends. I don’t really know what happened. Somehow I lost me.

Now I’m afraid to leave my house some days, terrified not to. I see doctors, go to groups, don’t dance. I write when I can and I live in the fantasy. I live in the fantasy. I want to have a full and productive life. I’d rather be healthy.

I’m frustrated because 2 days ago I was freakin’ out. The pirates were coming and I was happy. Everything was fascinating. I was floating and the world was on edge. But the pirates are gone now. They left me. Why would they leave me? Doesn’t anyone love me? Don’t they understand that I want to go home? My brain feels frozen and hurts. I feel so sad.

(Breathe… Breathe.)

Pervasive sadness has no words. Take me to the pirates.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

The State of Affairs in Michelleville

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1/1/12     6:55am

(sigh…) I feel sad.

The last of my guests left an hour ago and I just finished posting pics online. I’m sitting in my chair watching the sunrise out the window. Zoe is playing. Mom’s asleep and Margaret’s online.

I feel sad. Tonight I had a party. Another in a long string of annual ones. Sober game nights with specific friends. I got dressed up. I felt really pretty. We had food and played games and laughed. And of course banged on pots and pans. I shouldn’t feel sad but I do.

There was a little girl here tonight. She was no less than disturbed. She was telling us all about her 5th grade life – specifically the people she hates and their drama. I’ve never felt so old. I had nothing relevant to tell her and was honestly bored. As the night went on we all grew more concerned and disturbed. That child is fucked up, possibly dangerous. I’ve heard a lot of things but I’ve never heard a 10 year old talk so vividly about her need to kill specific people in planned out ways. The kid is evil. And she was freakin’ out. I needed her to leave. I still feel her energy.

(deep breathing…)

I do not look in the pictures how I feel. In fact, I look like a fat hooker. Take back the sands of time.

I think what was most upsetting is that nobody texted me at midnight. No Happy New Years, no FB posts. I didn’t send any midnight texts because Mags was here and my friends were gigging. My best friend disowned me this year and my other friend’s in Ohio. I know it’s annoying to get bombarded with holiday texts from random people, but not even one? The State of Affairs in Michelleville.

I am tired, and I feel sad, and I think my contacts are stuck to my eyes. The pirates came and left without me and I feel sad. Quiet. Sad.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

2011 Blog Report :)

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12/31/11     6:55pm

My favorite part of the blog year is the annual report. I think I did great this year. My readership has grown. Last year I had 204 posts and 4,600 hits. This year only 44 posts but 2,400 views. That’s great. All of my posts come from my journal and there was a lot of stuff I just couldn’t post this year.

I’m really proud of myself for keeping my blog going even when I thought it was doomed. It’s scary to go back to posting after long dry spells. If you’ve ever considered starting a blog I say GO FOR IT! Maybe a ton of people read it. Maybe nobody reads it. But you get to have a voice and share it with the world. I took a chance. I feel proud and accomplished.

Check out the report from the WordPress helper monkeys (click here.)

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,400 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 40 trips to carry that many people.


© Michelle Routhieaux 2011, image from WordPress annual report

On Writing

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12/31/11     2:56 pm

I got the most amazing compliment today:

“I just wanted to say that I love your writing. I admire the imagery and honesty in what you write and it is something that I aspire to do in my own writing. I just find it comforting that I can read such an honest take on a day to day life and still feel like I am reading a novel or fictional narrative. Thank you for making me think about my own life when I read about yours. Never ever stop writing, else I shall have one less comforting element to appreciate.”

I haven’t written much or shared my writing in a LONG time and this week it just started pouring out. It’s like pressured speech only in thoughts and they don’t come out my mouth.

People tell me I write like a story. It’s just what I hear. And what I hear corrects itself if it doesn’t sound right. Different moods have a separate cadence and on days like today they just flow. It’s like a rainstorm from a clear sky. As I get more out there everything rhymes and be comes poetry. And then it just stops. Close the book and wait.

I used to write letters. Everything has a story. I listen. Just listen. You might hear writing too.

—

8:03pm

When I write, it’s like having someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t talk back or argue, who doesn’t judge, who just listens and nods. I have a therapist and a few friends to talk to now but I didn’t used to, and I would write. And write and write and write. Letters to people who never wrote back. And as painful as it was that they never wrote back, it allowed me to just be free. I still write as if I’m talking to them. As if someone kind is intently listening. When I am angry they are angry too and when I am sad they comfort me. All in my head, and on the page.

For a long time I couldn’t really communicate in spoken word. Not that I couldn’t talk. I was just terrified to share my feelings and to speak honestly. And for good cause. I couldn’t even read my writing to the people I wrote to. I was too ashamed. Thankfully, Cog cured me of that. It’s still hard to read my writing to people or to just come out and say what I’m thinking. But I’m getting pretty good at it. I listen to my thoughts and I hear my writing. The rest is what you see. Thanks for reading.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Dec 31st

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12/31/11     2:30pm

I just sent out the end-of-year giving email for my organization. I couldn’t do it before now. And honestly, what’s the rush?

I get all these letters and emails about how it’s SO important that I give money before Dec 31st. They’re filled with guilt-inducing stories and desperate pleas. I feel obligated to give and angry. Giving shouldn’t make me feel angry. I should want to give.

Dec 31st is not a magic day. There is nothing particularly special about it. Except that it’s the end of the tax year. But come on, if you need a tax deduction that bad you should’ve started giving months ago. But, since someone somewhere decided this day should be special, I am riddled with guilt. Even if I don’t read the solicitations, I feel guilty for deleting them. (sigh)

I am proud to say this year we’re not hurting for money. We’re not broke. We dealt our cards right and we’ve been blessed. We’re doing well. If someone wants to give us money, great. But not ‘cuz it’s Dec 31st. This day was made to party.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011