Strong Enough

12/13/2017     1:30pm

I’m sitting here scanning a box of poetry from high school. It’s been under my bed for years, now next to the couch for months. Today is the 17th anniversary of when suicide became real to me. I wish it’d never happened. And the impact of this writing I only read a few lines here or there of gives me ultra goosebumps, makes me extremely nauseous, and if I was standing I’m sure I’d collapse. (and the tears…) (“If You Want Me To” by Ginny Owens)

I want to be right in the middle of the pain. I feel SO guilty. I LEFT her there. But she was me. And I can’t get her now. And she just screams and screams and screams. I can’t imagine having been my teachers when I wrote or spoke emotional truth. (stare…)

The music is very loud and I’m not sure what to do. Supposed to give a friend a ride to a group I’m leading tonight, at which I anticipate there to be some problems. I can’t be this person, or get into this person, and then do that. But not doing it validates that she doesn’t matter and never has. (head in hands…) (“Stronger” by Mandisa)

I wish I could see David today. I need to write too. Something specific. This is really best done somewhere with a garden. ;) I have to be strong enough to stand with her. I have to be strong enough for her, strong enough for me. Strong enough to let go.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2017



12/3/12     1:56am

In writing tonight about sadness and pain I am reminded of joy. I felt such joy singing today. I sang with my choir at a nursing home and for a few moments all of it was gone. God sang through me and I was filled with hope. My director said he’s going to call me Merry now because I’m so joyful. It’s true. Singing brings me such joy, especially gospel. I need to remember and do it more often.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012P1160408-3

Anita sings the sky

7-15-12     7:45ish pm

Jamie plays the circles that are purple.

At Dizzy’s.
Feeling fragile.
They don’t have my soda.
Flute lady is playing.
Candles are flashing.
                              Like LSD.

Got to sit with the Lizfest people. I like them. Hugged Chuck. I went on a boat today. Flute lady makes me crazy. Jumbles my brains. Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t mind being psychotic now and then. Candles are warm.

Chuck says I look worn. I am.

Mixing drugs – Lori’s flute, Jamie’s electric violin, Mikan’s keys. Bluegrass later. My mind spins.

The sound moves in a counterclockwise motion. I feel vibration. The light flickers. I glide back and forth. Springs dangle. Orange hovers in the night. Brown never touches the ground. 

If time was a feeling it would float. Like dust in the air. Time flurries. Body & soul. And bread…

Orange. Thick on the ground, fills my soul, envelopes my mind. Beat beat, flicker, stomp (yell!). I do despise the yelling. Slam! Pause  Too much mind…

My eyeballs. They float in it. Time.


I feel sad that Allison be here. She no voice be drug. Fairytale not psychadelic. Hummmmmm.
          Too much dichotomy. Too low for her. Makes mind hurt.

Feel like I’m being attacked by a flute bird wielding a strobe light accompanied by an attack band. Quite the posse. –

:) Mikan’s trio

The pirates aren’t coming.  They’re always here. They live among us. I only can see them sometimes. I feel them in my cheeks.

Oh do play a ballad please.
The drums are killin’ me.

I prefer when Allison sings Allison in Allison keys. This night confuses me. Grandly.

I wanted to come tonight to see friends, be around people, have me time and experience music – a most powerful drug and often mood lifter. I forgot flute Lori would be here. I feel overwhelmed.

Mindfulness of Emotion (anxiety):
Face – teeth clenched, eyes squinty, cheeks tight
Body – barely breathing, legs crossed, dizzy, rocking, feel energy coursing through me, tight muscles, runny nose, light/noise intolerance.

Action urges – leave, scream, take a break, cry, do nothing

(rock to trio – thankful)

The best closing.

Mikan makes emotions.
Jamie makes the world unwind.
Lori twists it tighter clockwise & brings the pirates.
Allison sings the fairytale.
I don’t know what Duncan does.
He feels like middle school.
Haven’t met the other guy.

This night is confusing & uncohesive.
What’s the word for that? I do love music though. I miss these people.

(smile) the encore is a good ending.
I keep thinking “Anita sings the sky.”

7/15/12     10:35pm

I feel God.
          I feel warm.
                    I feel love.

My skin feels warm. My mind is calm. My lips are hot. Cry Holy.

Music + Hugs + Acceptance + Positive socialization = PEACE

                    God is in me.
                    And God IS me.


The energy of the universe wells up in me. I am warm. My body temperature is rising. My face feels tingly. I feel it in me. Head pain. I start to feel very hot. Need to sing. It must pour from me. Make beautiful music. Anita sings the sky.

I feel the God within me. (Hum…)
I feel the God within me.

                    Hear my heart beat.
                    I am alive. 

I have FAITH.
          I BELIEVE.
     I have OUR FATHER.

– is not my friend.
(statement crashed the energy)

(singing prayer)

I am so sleepy.
Thank God for music friends.
Need a hug.
(put on Jamie’s robe)
I’m renaming it The Hug Robe.
Thank you. <3

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012 

The Butterfly Flower

(stream of consciousness during Electric Ladyland II at Anthology)
4/8/12     6:50pm

Dear Anthology,

I hate your guts and all the surroundings. It would have been EXTREMELY helpful if the girl on the phone had said I can buy some tickets at the door, but not the ones I want and they will be much more expensive. Oh, and a warning that your staff is rude would have been helpful too.

I don’t understand why every time I come here “upstairs is closed.” Last time they told me I had been “upgraded” to the bar lounge. It’s not an upgrade. I Hate the bar. I can’t see, there’s a flashing tv, and it’s freezing.

The music is wonderful but I’m having a really hard time sitting here.

I LOVE the music. It breaks free the broken pieces of me.

Your music is the sound of feelings, the color of magenta bold. It braids my brain.

Open my mouth to breathe.
Juicy Fruit gum.

Bandaid for a Brain Bleed. There should be a song called that.

If I were defusing a bomb, I’d like to be listening to this. It snakes though my brain grabbing wisdom.

“Braised bacon” does NOT taste like bacon.

Is there such a thing as an electric banjo?

When the channel is open the feelings are mobile. They dance in the air.
Oh, such color.

When you play, the dots float in the air. You make the dots and they float and dance. And everyone’s dots are a different color, like neurons and atoms. Yours are purple. Mikan’s are yellow. They float upward and build on each other. Voices are twisting bending lines. Everything up in the air. It is an electric ballet.

When the green man sings I hear you play JP’s love. I don’t know why. It is a loving pain that spins to become free.
Brings a warm smile to me.
Shut up, people. Love is made here. The dots disappear.


What is that sound? Like a thought bent by riding the train…
Fluid thoughts are much prettier than crooked ones. As actual bacon is better than braised. And jalapenos shouldn’t taste like pickles. Pickled or not.

It is the red dots that get in the way.

Like cat food for the soul.

The music of brown carpet & hugs.

Must dance.

(big smile) I want to be in the dots as they turn orange.
Breathe it in.

Shut up you pre-clappers…
Let the dots fall slowly.

New dots caused raindrops, clear the truth.

I hear the sound of a heartbeat when it cries. Alone.
The texture of the taste of dark red.
Memory full.

Sometimes it is beautiful. And it is nothing else.


Michael Londra. That’s what it is.
Too many dots. TOO MANY DOTS!

Hummingbird-like dragon makes magic cat food dots for dancer’s soul.
Yes, I like it.
I rock and hum so they don’t explode in me.

(hug from -. “Glad to see you out, smiling.” me too)

Hard to hear Jamie’s awesome solo. When the wall turned blue, the music got softer.

Drum solos always get me.

The dots are like bubbles but don’t fall and take longer to pop.

My cells jump inside me! Aaaaahhhh!
Space Mountain jumping music. :)

(my candle went out – smoke)

The pink is over my soul and the train sounds outside. I love trains.
Smile in the night.

The sound is shiny.

Thank you, God.

Need to bounce! Happy comes when the candle is out.

The music is in my face.
The music IS my face.
She begs to make the orange. (big smile)

Hey, now. Don’t drop the orange ball.

Thank you, Electric Ladyland. Thank you, Jamie.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

My bitter love isn’t

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.


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

Mainlining Jazz

12/30/11     9:45pm

Some people do drugs. I don’t do drugs. I do music. And not just any music. Jaazzz music.

Funky shit tonight. I feel dizzy & confused. I shouldn’t listen to the flute. Between my eyes hurts. The dose of poison lies in their minds.

Tonight I am waiting on the dawn of a pirate ship. I’m sitting on the floor behind Chuck’s podium. The fog is thick and everything is lit up. The night is quiet and a cool breeze jostles just the leaves. Something is coming. The ship is coming.

I sit here inside Dizzy’s and watch it happen, all without sound – just jazz – through the windows. The energy is here and the ship is coming. I feel paranoid. Oh the energy. Breathe. Invading my mind.

It may be possible the alien ships use the fog to pass in the night undetected by the human eye. No one really knows what lies beyond. I feel dizzy. I think I’m overdosing. Too much jazz. TOO MUCH JAZZ.


I feel frantic. Breathe…

The world is turning now. There is no one here.
They’re coming. The ships are coming.

I need to call Dr. N.

(trumpet stops, bass starts)

My face is hot, whole body tingles. Feel euphoric. Try to breathe.
The sound bends time. Keep light in mind. And I’m the sober one.

Mainlining jazz. I feel dizzy. —

More often than not this happens when Gilbert plays. Spirit energy.


Cold. Now it’s cold. Why is it cold?! More flute. GO AWAY FLUTE!

Hard to breathe. In… Out…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Killing Demons

12-26-11     9:42pm

I told Mikan I’d been transported to ‘Ice Castles’ tonight. He said, “That’s the point.” “To transport me to ‘Ice Castles?'” “No, to another place.” But you do that every day.

And it got me thinking a) that I really shouldn’t eat the shrimp and b) what is another place? And what is here? Reality is subjective but my own reality is subjective to itself. How can I be transported to another place if I don’t know where I am to start with? I don’t know where I am, much less WHO I am. How can I be moved? (easily) And how do I know that I’m moving?

I close my eyes and rock. I feel dizzy, but alive. Which is a much different feeling than dizzy and dead. But I still don’t know where I am. What is am? Can I be am and was at the same time? What about will be and used to be? Does be require motion?

GPS. GPS my ass. Where am I in the great scheme of things? Seriously? If I knew where I was on the great unknown I might just freak. WHERE AM I? (music land)

I don’t know why I think of this just now. I wonder who I am at length often, which I guess is less freaky but equally as disturbing. I don’t even know who is writing this. But I like her and she likes music.

I feel dizzy, high. I smile drunkly, yet sober. I feel planted in my seat yet my body floats. It is foggy and my thoughts are pink. The music moves through my body, eating me, refining me like worms. Need dance me. Need dance me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011, drawing by Jamie Shadowlight

How’s the weather?

9-4-10                  4:09am

I discovered a few weeks ago that when my friend Sacha sings it changes the weather. My perception of the world is rarely congruous with reality and the weather in my head is often much different. Since then I’ve found it helpful to ask myself how the weather is to give me a better picture of what I’m feeling. I asked myself tonight. This was the answer, some random commentary, and more answer.

9-3-10                  7:44pm

How’s the weather?

It’s a bitterly cold night. I’m standing in the center of a bridge over the ocean looking out into the distance. The sky is perfectly clear, filled with stars, but I’m not looking… I stand there for awhile just watching. Then I take a step back, turn to the left, and continue to walk.

It’s very loud in here tonight. I feel like the world is surrounding me. I displace it as I move, but I’m not a part of it.

The woman (where she was sitting) I’m not a fan of. She’s shallow and always appears a bit tipsy. And her hair is WAY too long for her age… S & J are fighting. At least the music is good.

The woman laughs like a pellet gun.


Sacha has green and blue waterfalls around her, moss and lily pads. “Cry Me a River.” Cool, dark, misty caves. Streams of light shining through the very tall trees.

“Amor Impossible” is warm orange and yellow with sand blowing and white chiffon.

“My Way” is purple.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

So Let’s Play

8-23-10                2:33am

I feel peaceful tonight, calm. (big smile) Listening to worship music on YouTube.

I was thinking about Tick Tick Tick today. The ending was missing something. On the end it should say, “So let’s play.” I’m not waiting for anything. If today is what I have, I’m gonna have fun. And I think you should too. Let it rain. Feel the drops on your face and smile. (rocking but happy)

Tonight is a haze. My body hurts but I’m happy. I feel free. I don’t know or care why. I feel like something big is about to happen that God’s been preparing me for. I don’t know what, good or bad, or why. I just know that it’s coming and whatever it is He’s got my back.

I am so grateful for what He’s given me. For my unique perspective. And for the ability to see that it’s time to play. Writing last night about illness and death somehow made me happy. It peaks my anxiety, but it’s like letting go of what isn’t and grabbing on to what is. And I like what is, even if it isn’t perfect.

(wave of nausea and trouble breathing… yawn.)

I can’t speak for tomorrow, but tonight I love and accept myself. It’s like a big warm hug from God. :)

It feels like I’m standing in the ocean and my emotions are changed with each passing wave… but the waves aren’t knocking me down.

It’s time to say goodnight… It’s time to say goodnight… It’s time to say goodnight (goodnight). It’s time to say goodnight… It’s time to say goodnight… (repeat until sleeping ;) )

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I Can’t Make Her Happy

8/20/10               1:15am

Mom is throwing a no-one-cares-about-me fit. (sigh) I hate these nights. There is so much guilt and tension. She’s stressed. I get it. No control. Life caving in. But it’s not my fault that she doesn’t talk to anyone. And I don’t appreciate her putting me down when she’s upset.

There is nothing right I could do tonight. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m not in an understanding mood. I’m NOT her friend. She drove me around today, which I’m grateful for, but now she’s mad at me for never finishing projects. I counted all the change in her piggy bank tonight and she told me to put it back in. What? And she’s constantly fighting with the cat. I know she’s into everything but it’s NOT IMPORTANT. Zoe being on the counter is not worth getting upset about. She’s not gonna learn if you’re never not mad at her. If everything is wrong, nothing is.

Zoe was stuck balancing on the door tonight and I told Mom to sit down, that scaring her wouldn’t do any good. She was so angry. She sat down at the computer and said nobody cares about her. (I have a headache now.) Then she stormed off into her room mumbling to herself.

This week she’s mad at me for not being stable, not being able to make decisions, not understanding what she says. I can’t answer your question if I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I can’t twitch my nose and be magically symptom-free. I can’t make money appear out of nowhere or make Zoe a calm kitten.

Today was pretty good. I saw Jim and ran errands, went to the Jazz 88 happy hour, and then to see Janice Edwards who sang “Come In From the Rain” for me. And I decided that some time in the future I want to have a baby. Even if it is selfish… And I brainstormed a new project that might actually be successful.

I may not be able to finish a sorting project. I may rock randomly and be confused easily, but I’m living my life. I’m making it. I’m doing what I need to do to get by and to be happy. I can’t make her happy.


© Michelle Routhieaux 2010


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

Give Me Back My Fantasy

7-4-10                  1:24am

Tonight I need to go back to fantasy. Reality is too much.

I hear “Impossible” sung by Sacha & Daniel in my head. “I would sell my very soul…” Did you?

They worked so hard, all my doctors & therapists, to bring me out of my fantasy world into reality. To teach me to see the world around me, to experience the now. But now I can’t seem to get back.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to feel this. I want someone to write to, someone to talk to in my head, something to look forward to when I’ll see one of my fantasy people and get a recharge of hope again. Is that too much to ask? What’s wrong with fantasy?

Guided imagery, hypnotic pain reduction, meditation. It’s all fantasy. Why not me? Give me back my fantasy.


“Impossible” is intertwined now with “The Work Song” from Cinderella – the song the mice sing while sewing her dress.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010


7-3-10                  11:13pm

I feel really sad tonight. Mom and I went to watch fireworks but I still feel sad.

I went to see Sacha sing last night and I can’t seem to shake what happened. At first it was quiet with a few people there. I felt lonely but I had the perfect cozy corner and was comfortable. Then Lavelle came and the energy picked up.

I went to ask how to find his cd info on FB and he and Peter (his friend) invited me to sit with them. I didn’t want to sit with them. I go to concerts to get away from people. But it’s kind of rude to turn down an invite when I’m sitting alone.


I hope I don’t see him again. He likes me. He wants to write me poetry (so he says.) He wrote a poem-like thing complete with bad grammar and signature in my journal. He asked what kind of food I like and I said I have food rules. He said that sounds complicated and he’s an artist, he doesn’t need anyone more complicated than him. I resisted my urge to say, “Wow, you’re vain.” If you can’t handle my not eating seafood I am definitely not the girl for you.

He sat next to me to talk but didn’t, which is good because I just wanted to listen to Sacha. When he left he came back, leaned down and thanked me for being sexy. I said thank you.  He said, “(pause) No, thank you.” I’m pretty sure it was meant to be flattering but I didn’t feel flattered. I just felt dirty.

He then proceeded to hijack “At Last.” Now NOBODY interrupts that song. I don’t care if the roof is caving in or your hair is on fire. It can wait. Hold your breath. Part way into the song he starts singing random lyrics full-voice from the audience. He is singing for all the world to hear. I’m confused. Sacha’s confused. Johnny just keeps playing. My anxiety goes through the roof. Eventually he stops and Sacha finishes. Having a great voice is awesome but song hijacking is never cool. He pulled a Kanye. He stole Sacha’s moment. But not only did he steal her moment, he stole mine. I love that song, 4 minutes of fantasy. It’s like waking a child who’s sleepwalking. You just don’t do it. In my book it’s right up there with peeing in the Holy water, screaming “FIRE” in a crowded theater, or yelling, “I have a bomb strapped to my body!” on a plane. It’s disrespectful, outrageous, upsetting.

Consequently, I took myself and my anxiety attack home. I found my Xanax and have been stewing about it since. Lavelle called me last night but I was too tired to talk and had nothing to say so I didn’t answer.

My upsetness isn’t just about his actions. It’s about what they mean about me. Blame Cog for the Downward Arrow Technique running my life, but it all comes back.

Yes, I’m complicated. But I’m honest. After “For All We Know” I told him that’s one of my favorite songs. He said, “Then you should be happy.” “It’s not a happy song,” I said. I listen to lyrics. I care what people say and why and what they don’t and what they’re thinking.

That man could not handle who I am because (core belief and/or truth) I am broken. And I’m not ashamed of it. I don’t need to change for someone else. If I’m not acceptable the way I am, move on. But please, do it respectfully. You may be a player but I didn’t come here to get played. Or reminded that I’m complicated and undateable. I came to get away and to dream, and to see Sacha.

Peter has his work cut out for him keeping Lavelle in line.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

For All We Know – Audio Post

7-3-10                  12:36am

Okay, so I tried out the new Phone Your Blog feature tonight. This is a less than optimal phone recording of my favorite song by Sacha Boutros at the Westgate Plaza Bar tonight. For being the equivalent of a recorded phone call I think it’s pretty good. Johnny G on the piano and some rude people talking in the background. Enjoy. :) (click the gray triangle button below to listen)


Sacha & Johnny G

It’s the Music… (and other stuff)

6-10-10                 2:35am

Sorry I haven’t been writing. I just haven’t had the energy. I had a good week and now it’s time to work again, on illness that is, or with it. I’ve been inundated with symptoms. Another day of no moving or talking, constant exhaustion, weakness. In the past few days the large movements have come back. Today I was a buzz of zaps and weakness and sticking my tongue out all the time. In between I managed to do things. I went to therapy, then to Quizno’s (couldn’t breathe), then to the beach. I lasted about 20 minutes and climbed the stairs. Quite a feat. Went to the bay to see the big ships with Mom. I walked all over Target and made it almost to the checkout at Albertson’s before almost collapsing. That was nice. Zapping all over. Crashed in the car. Some more movements tonight and now I’m okay again, minus the frequent unwarranted blinking, grimacing and sticking out my tongue. I wrote on FB tonight:

In between God’s version of invisible lightning dances and frog imitations, today I saw Jim, went to the beach, looked at that big old ship that’s here from Portugal and went to Target and Albertson’s. Long but very good day. Tomorrow’s Mom’s birthday. Hopefully it will go well.

My primary goal, after staying alive, right now is to have fun. Followed by being with the people I love and staying away from the people who bug me. On any given day, just one is enough. But two or more is great. I told Jim today it was frustrating thinking I was going to die Saturday night (due to fucked up vital signs and the inability to breathe) because I actually like my life right now. He said he’d never heard me say that before. That was powerful. I’ve been with him for a year. And I don’t think I’ve felt like this before. I like my life when I’m doing things I love. I don’t WANT to die right now. And that’s a good thing.

I said that I’m trying to make the best of it, of being sick. I don’t know what it is and even if I did or when I do there’s probably not much I can do about it. He said, “It doesn’t sound like there is a best.” But he’s wrong. There is. It’s the music.

My mom doesn’t understand why I go out when I can barely walk or breathe. I keep trying to explain it to her. I don’t need more sleep. I could be sick anywhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s here at home or at a restaurant or concert. But I’m so much happier when I’m sick to live music than when I’m just sick at home. The music is healing. Just for a moment, nothing else matters. I can just be free. I can’t dance right now. But I can still hear the music. And trust me, I need it.

I’ve been working on this project for a few days for a friend. I’ll post all about it when I’m done. It’s meant to provide comfort, but it’s providing comfort to me. We talked about codependence today and giving versus receiving. Jim asked if the drama is really worth it. And right now, I think it is. Cuz if I can’t have what it is that I need right now, having something is better than nothing. My friend was telling me about the 5 Love Languages last week and I took the quiz on the website. In descending order, mine are: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Receiving Gifts, and Acts of Service. I think it’s kind of a pecking order because if I can’t get quality time or words or touch I give gifts or do service. I need to give. But I need to receive as well.

I was listening to Celine Dion and crying last night with the main part of the project I’m working on. There is this song of hers that always gets me. “I Want You to Need Me.”  (whooooooooooo…) Just listened again. Makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes I just want to scream, “What do you want from me?! Please, whatever it is, just tell me. Let me give you something or do something for you so you’ll spend time with me.” But I’ve realized the people I want to need me, they don’t want anything from me. There is nothing I can give to get the time that I need. And they don’t have that time to give. I’m just along for the ride. But until I find or get something, it’s a ride. The music. It helps.

M- posted today “Make a Wish!” and I held my breath in anticipation and excitement, then paused. What should I wish? I was torn between two things – my friends in pain being happy or my health. I wondered if not putting them first made me selfish or if I could find a second thing to wish on, but I settled for wishing for them first AND me. I’m getting there.

Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday. The gift I got her requires energy, which I don’t have, so I hope she okay for postponing it. Thanks for reading and sharing your time.


PS – I attempted to read a book today. Remind me not to do that again for awhile.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Will I?

5-26-10                 2:46am

Will I?” from RENT keeps playing again and again in my head tonight.  It’s such a powerful song. It’s a many part round of this phrase:

Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

RENT was my soundtrack for several years. When I was living with Mary I listened to it for days at a time while pacing her backyard (when I wasn’t crocheting and watching Law & Order.) It speaks to me. At the time with being at-risk for HD it was particularly relevant. I was constantly wondering what would happen to me. The show is still relevant. I’m just less scared now.

I think practicing mindfulness and acceptance has really changed me. I know I’m going through something I can’t change, something I can’t fix. But I’m not scared right now. Just for today, I’m okay.

One Song Glory” also speaks to me.  Especially the line that says, “One song, before the virus takes hold.” I think I’m writing that song. I think that now is my time. You know?

Do you ever feel like something really big is happening in your life? Like you’ve gotten to this very moment for a reason and you’re about to find out?

I’m pretty sure I will lose my dignity. And I don’t know if someone will care. And I probably will not wake up tomorrow from this nightmare. But it’s okay… It’s okay.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

This is My Time & I Decide

5-24-10                 4:52pm

Just for this moment I feel peaceful, calm. I have this song in my head. It’s so powerful & true. Listen.

This is my time to shine
This is my place to find
All that I have inside
I never knew
This is my time to show
What I must have always known
That nothing’s impossible
And dreams come true.
And dreams come true.

Overcoming all these things
Here I finally find my wings
Now I know I’m ready to fly!

I may not be a corporate executive or a research scientist, or on Broadway or a doctor. But this is my time. I’m successful and loved. And I love myself. I am making things happen. No, God is making things happen. I’m seeing change. And I get to decide.

I have overcome a lot of things and now I use my choice to decide. Listen.

I may not have control over the outcome but I have control of my actions, the decisions I make. I decided this week to push myself. There’s only now. I’ve got nothing to lose. Everything is a choice, every choice an opportunity.

I get to decide to stay in my house and feel bad or go out. I ate goat cheese yesterday, and golden beets, and cucumber. Wow. I never try new things. And I liked it. I liked being eagerly uncomfortable and the tremendous feeling of success.

This is my time to realize that I can make a difference and that there IS power in persistence. I’m tied to little. All I have is time.

I decide today to go out with the guy who’s not dark and twisted, the one who scares me with his normalcy. And makes me smile. Because I want to. I decide to go out by myself and eat good food and take in great music just because. I deserve it. I decide not to let myself fester, not to lose this momentum by being idle. I decide to take care of myself and to take chances. And to sleep. Cuz I get to decide. This is my time.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

A Good Night – Croce’s & N-

5-24-10                 3:12am

I had an awesome night tonight. For those of you who are always hassling me about not eating healthy, I did. Certainly tastier than a burrito but much more expensive.

I went to Croce’s downtown, had to get out of my house. I got off at the 12th & Imperial trolley stop and asked valets and hostess people along 5th Ave where I could find food and jazz that wouldn’t break the bank. They pointed me there. I’m glad they did.

It was such a great experience. I had a table in the corner right by the piano. The waitress was attentive and helpful. The food was amazing. I couldn’t figure out just what to order since I don’t eat most of what was on the menu. Not because it’s weird food. I just don’t eat much. So I settled on the goat cheese salad. New things are scary to me but I tried and loved it. And, save for leaving off the onions, I tried every part of it. Even the beets and cucumber.

Note to self: I LOVE fried balls of goat cheese!

I overheard the person next to me order potato soup, which I didn’t see on the menu, and I love potatoes so I ordered that too. It was more like puree than soup but it was good. And she didn’t look at me like I was crazy when I asked if I was supposed to eat the leeks in the middle or if they were just for decoration.

Much more soup than it looks like here. Warm & filling.

I also got a piece of cheesecake. I got strawberries on the top instead of their fruit topping that had orange liquor in it. I don’t do alcohol. It was so divine. Tiny bites of delicious cheesecake and strawberries with my eyes closed to good jazz music. Amazing.

Mmmmm... Heaven on a plate

Even the silverware intrigued me. The forks are anorexic but the spoons make up for it.

And as I sat there I watched the staff. They interacted and joked with each other and with the musicians. They smiled and laughed. Most of them didn’t seem to hate being there. The manager was welcoming guests and the musician introduced him as a fellow musician. The musician gave props to the bartenders. It was a cool environment. The team worked.

It was very different than my experience at Bing Crosby’s where nobody talks, the wait staff is invisible and there is a general attitude that they’re better than the customer. At Croce’s it wasn’t like that. It was warm. I felt at home. And when I left I felt full of something other than French fries and regret. I missed Sacha though. The music tonight was good. It was fun and upbeat, but she’s powerful. The two together might make me melt. ;)

I wrote in my journal, “For $32 and a tip tonight I got a goat cheese salad, potato soup, cheesecake with strawberries, a Sprite, the perfect corner table, great service & some awesome jazz music. (big sigh) The happiness is worth it.”

When I left Croce’s, I took the trolley back to East County and met N-. We went to Fridays. I had a strawberry lemonade and some mashed potatoes. I love potatoes. He talked about cars and airplanes and school and family. Mostly I just listened. And I wondered what he thought of the listening.

As I listened to his thoughts about school and the future and his schedule I thought about how different we are. I didn’t really have anything to say. At least nothing that was relevant. And I had taken some meds on the trolley so I wouldn’t throw up that were making me tired. I literally said almost nothing, except for something about the origin of blue raspberry and asking a few questions. (AT – I have nothing to offer.) I was witnessing his stream of consciousness. He seems so happy. And determined. And figured out. I felt like an observer.

I like N-. He’s like the perfect guy. Family-oriented, studying to be a doctor, loves music, goes to church, doesn’t drink, sings. I don’t know if he dances. He even lives in east county. Go figure. I don’t want to feel so separate. I don’t want to feel so empty.

Tonight was a good night.

©Michelle Routhieaux 2010