Sunday (vent)

4/30/2017     12:32pm

I can’t do this.

I’ve been home about a half hour. I took an Uber from 1925 Elm, wherever that is. It has not been a good day.

I actually woke up when my alarm went off at 8:30am and started researching how Facebook Live works so I could share Women’s Day at the church with my friends. K- had texted letting me know T- was speaking because he knows my friend really likes her. I didn’t get an event up yesterday due to the NAMI Walk but I put it on my page and I wanted to be able to share it, especially with that friend. I told a few people at the NAMI Walk too.

My body hurt quite a bit today from missing my 5pm meds yesterday during a nap, but I got up and took a shower. I had laid out my clothes – a really cute black and white skirt and black top. I heard my mom getting dressed, which baffled me since she neither likes that church, or Women’s Day, OR ever wants to go there. She said she just hadn’t been feeling well. Bullshit. She’s spooked from almost dying and wants to go to church so somehow “going with” me, which means driving me, which means us being late on a day I’m specifically trying to capture everything, seems perfectly sane. Right. But my balance is off today and I’m running into walls and dropping everything and I still fucking hate everyone, carried over from yesterday. I forgot my purse and she was determined for me to eat yogurt instead of writing or changing the last few settings on my phone or figuring out how to tweak a camera accessory to work with my phone.

She was pissed that I’m cranky, for which there are more than a few reasons, some of which are physical. When we got to the church we were the ninth car, including -’s. “Where are the humans?” I said. We were eight minutes late so I thought maybe for once they started on time. The doors were closed. No one opened them. I let my mom in. When the few humans who were there noticed my mom was there they were all excited and happy to see her and saying how they’d been praying.

(make a smoothie, move to couch, turn on piano music)

Everyone was happy to see my mom. I’m glad they paid attention to her. I sat down. The service hadn’t started yet, which I find annoying. – came down from going over a song to hug my mom. He hugged me too. He looked old today and I said so. He said it looked like I got the notification. He gestured towards my outfit. I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. The other ladies for Women’s Day were in black & white. I’m assuming that’s what he meant but I still have no idea. I said I wish I had gotten the notice/notification for this day sooner so I could send it out to my people. He said no, that he didn’t want any more notices or people, he just wanted Michelle. I stared/glared at him confusedly. What the fuck was he talking about? I told him you can’t have Michelle without notices or reminders, and I bring people. Again with the no more notices, just Michelle. He said he was changing things, blah, blah, blah. I looked at him again and said, “Don’t make me hit you today. I am not in the mood.” I was not joking and there was no way what I said would have been taken that way. I don’t even remember the last thing he said to me. I just know it was in the same vein. I grabbed my purse, stood up, hands raised in surrender and said, “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t be here. I’m out.” And I stumbled my way down the aisle and out of the church. I guess I’ve stormed out of enough events in my life that no one bothers to follow, or text, or call. It’s not in the best of neighborhoods. I don’t like being followed, but I’m not sure what meaning to attach to being ignored.

I don’t know what – was referring to, or what he meant. I certainly don’t understand. It was his notice I was talking about. HE sent it to me. He calls me his “new evangelist.” While I don’t like that word, it’s a type of outreach. What is Michelle without networking, without outreach? Really? Go ahead and define me without anything related to connecting people to other people or resources, without some component of organization or information, without sharing, or teaching. I dare ya. Spreading the Good News, or sharing the Gospel, is NETWORKING. I can’t not be me. And I don’t intend to.

I was aware as I left that I didn’t have my journal but I didn’t dare turn back to get it. I walked. I had my purse and my phone. I walked up 49th to Federal, down to Euclid and called an Uber at Elm. I knew it wasn’t safe for me to be walking there. I don’t fit in. I didn’t care. If someone had tried to mug me I would have just handed them my purse. It’s not worth a fight. I’m dressed too nicely on a Sunday morning to be a prostitute and I’m white so that rules some things out. On Federal a police car passed me, turned around and drove past me again. He did this several times. I was paying attention to my surroundings as I walked, but also to my body. Yesterday and today my face has been tense and twitchy, but I noticed something new today. As I walked, my hands were open static, palms forward. They just stayed there. My fingers weren’t moving. My soul was frozen. I give up. I stopped to smell red and yellow roses, said hello to the homeless people as I passed on the street. I smelled the two types of jasmine, picked one. I stopped to stand under the shade of a few trees. I just wanted to write but I had no paper. I needed a safe place to stop.

I wish I had wanted to die. Precarious situation. I’m used to feeling awful and wanting to die. It brings relief and I’m okay. But I didn’t want to die today. I just couldn’t stop the feeling. It’s all over. Nowhere to go from here. Dr. M said we can reset the inside of my brain but not my life. Sometimes I think it’s better to feel worse than good. At least in death there is hope. In this, it’s just endless bullshit followed up by a helping of confusion and then some more shit on the side. Why try to feel or get better if being better hurts worse?

There were no words in the UberPool. Driver barely spoke English. Before he arrived I looked down at my phone and my mom had sent me a text message. It read, “Don’t let the Devil keep you from being in church this am. Come back in, please.” I replied, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll see you later.” I was so hurt. How dare she? Sure. I use everything I have in me to get to a service I’m doing something special for, am extremely triggered and offended by something someone important says to me, leave so I don’t scream or hit someone or say something their delicate ears can’t handle and somehow it’s the DEVIL keeping me out of the church? Riiiiiiiiight. I’m in bed with Satan and my goal is to fuck up the church and cause a scene wherever I go just to get in the way. I’m sorry I never realized the beauty of this plan. I suppose all the people I bring and media I share are Satan-derived too. I earn Hell-points for everyone I bring to church or convert and extra for each time I get upset and leave. (close and roll my eyes) Why even try?

M’s coming over in a half hour to work on folders. I don’t care to see anyone. I don’t want to work. I hate the new labels. I need to return the proof for the table runner. I need a nap.I think I’m getting sick too and my doctor isn’t returning my message. (sigh) Mom called to say she’s bringing food home. I JUST WANT TO WRITE AND SLEEP.

God, please help me.
Happy Sunday.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2017

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I’m sorry

12/1/15     7:40pm

I did something that caused my best friend to explode. She called me tonight screaming at the top of her lungs about how she told me not to and she could sue me and I’m supposed to be her friend. There was nothing I could say. That level of distress requires time and sometimes drugs. It ruins friendships. It’s my fault. Whether or not I believed my action was okay I guess it wasn’t. I can’t undo it. I can’t make it better. She doesn’t remember what I remember about when we talked about it…

I feel very sad and I have goosebumps all over my body. My gut feels hollow, forehead burns. And I’m outwardly silent. There is nothing I can do. There are some serious needs of my own that I need to address tonight but in this moment all I can do is sit, furrowed brow, and wait. Makes me wish I’d never posted anything about the event. No good deed goes unpunished. No good friend unshamed. I really hurt her feelings and for that I’m sorry.  There’s nothing I can do to fix it. And there are thoughts I can’t post here. I broke her trust.

My mom is sleep-watching The Voice so I’m going to try to process my issues elsewhere, maybe with my penguin earmuffs. It hurts my heart to know I hurt her so much. I know the feeling of the crack in her voice and the inability to control the pain and the rage. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Settled disgust, helpless rage

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