Bring back the mail

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

Dear Me

Journal entries – Dear Me is a fight I had with myself today.

11-15-10     11:48am

Today’s show is brought to you by the letter F, as in flashbacks – the experience of re-experiencing something, usually something you prayed never to experience again. Splendid. Tomorrow’s show brought to you by the letter S, as in sarcasm.

1:02pm

Why am I wearing sequins? Ask me why I’m wearing sequins today. Because everyone will say I look beautiful and not ask how I feel. Actually, I thought they’d make me feel better. The brush-off is a secondary benefit. It’s not making me feel any better.

I wanted to walk to catch the bus to lunch. But I missed that window of upset energy. Too much FUCKING planning. Now I’m tired and want to sleep and cry. I posted on my FB “I can’t do this.” P- said, “Do what?” Does it really matter?

Dear Me,

Stop saving me. I don’t want to be saved. Ya hear? Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you DO something? Paralyzed by pain and fear. I don’t want to be here.

Yes you do! You just want to be loved. And YOU can’t give that to me. You fucking failure.

ME? I keep you alive. Every fucking day you don’t want to go on and I pull you out or put you to sleep or find you whatever crazy food will distract you long enough. You are the failure you. You NEVER change.

That’s right. I’m the failure. Saving lives and managing crazy people EVERYWHERE I go is failing.

Yes. You’re not doing what you love. You are withering.

I’m not withering. I’ve already died.

Then why are you still fucking up my life? WHY do I keep having to save you? to find reasons for you to go on?

Because I don’t want to die.

Can we make up our minds? I thought you were already dead.

I am.

No you’re not.

Yes I am.

Then how are you writing?

It’s you that’s writing, remember? You’re the one who keeps saving me.

I hate you.

I hate you too.

I’m still hungry.

Pizza?

You’re on.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010