My Brain is a Beach Ball

(writing from the hospital)
2-3-13     9:20am

I was just sitting in morning meeting thinking. A 2″x 2″ metal square is depressing the front of my brain. It has a nice matte dark finish. It’s pressing on my brain. Impairing, altering my ability to think. Throwing off track the course of my eyes. Making me want to die.

I began to desire the removal of this pressing weight, but my brain might float away as it’s done in the past. Filled with the glory of the Spirit and the creativity of a child. To twirl and leap in the sunshine, to build empires in the night. To despair and fall into self-destruction from harnessing such energy.

(distraction)

I certainly don’t want that, though it’s fun for a night. Like a beach ball flying up in the air when you fall off to the side.

I started thinking of the beach ball, of its resting state. It doesn’t require compression, being held under water, and it doesn’t float away – if cared for properly. I suppose proper genetics and nurturing allow a beach ball to progress without incident. But if it’s stabbed or over or under-inflated or dried out or forgotten, you never know. Under tremendous pressure it will pop. It may also take on water very slowly, become ever so much heavier until one day it is deemed unusable and its human walks away.
My brain is a beach ball.

My brain is beautiful. Beautiful in its complexities and creativities and jerks. In its random fuck yous and kindnesses and deep appreciations. In its expression of itself and God to others. I sometimes want to hide it. I feel ashamed. I hold it under water and I pray for it to die. I hide it in the shed. I drag it through the rocks. I leave it in the sun. The damn thing is indestructible. I don’t know why it loves me. I don’t know why it sticks around.

For some reason my brain has yet to kill me or allow myself to do it. It hasn’t banned me from knowing how or walking through it many times. It just says, “Not now.” God says, “Not now.” I trust Him. He sent Dr. Harvey to sit with me last night. My brain has never left me. I have altered it, drugged it into submission, injured it, begged & pleaded. It has a passion for life. For learning and love. It holds tight all the things I’ve let go of for me, all the things I’ve forgotten. It tucks away what I can’t tolerate. My brain is amazing. I love my brain.

I really hope they can help me here to make a safe zoo for my beach ball brain so the world will be fun and I can think but I’ll be okay. I so want to be okay. Please help me be okay. Someone is standing on my brain.

My brain is a beach ball.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2013

Jesus & Happy

4/2/12

Jesus,

Did anyone tell you what happiness is? That you had a right to feel it? I’m pretty sure the knowledge/awareness of “happy” and the expectation that I should or should be able to feel it are fucking me up.

Have people always expected to feel happy? What if feeling awful is the default? If I was okay with feeling awful my life would be much better. Is this an American thing? I do NOT feel happy.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Messed Up Morals

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

Are we not still in a drought?

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

Cold Ketchup & Toilet Seats

5-26-10                 1:41am

So I’ve been wondering for probably a week now just why we keep ketchup in the fridge. Maybe it’s just in my house, but we keep all our condiments in the fridge. Even those ones that need no refrigeration. And while I’m fine with most things being cold, ketchup is not one of them. When I eat a hot dog, I’d like to actually taste the hot dog and not be thrown off by cold ketchup. Yes, I eat ketchup on hot dogs. Get over it. I also don’t like cold hot sauce. It’s just wrong. It doesn’t make any sense. I can’t taste the sauce. I just taste the cold. And I can’t even taste what I’m putting it on. I guess if I’m trying not to taste the food that’s good, but I generally like to taste what I eat.

I’ve also been wondering about toilet seats and the battle to get guys to put them down. Just why are they lifted in the first place? That’s a pretty big hole to be aiming at. I imagine it’s kind of like crayons or target practice. You start with a big target and eventually, as you get better, the target or the crayon gets smaller. But it doesn’t seem to work this way for toilet seats. Why? Why can a man who has been peeing for say 15 years or so not get that tiny stream of pee into that big hole? I can’t imagine how tall a guy would have to be to have a stream of pee so large it couldn’t be reasonably directed into the hole of a standard toilet seat. What’s the deal? Really. I can see lifting the lid to vomit. When you’re sick or drunk what comes out of your mouth can be unpredictable. But not pee. What’s the deal? Really.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Can pigeons float?

5-15-10                 4:15am

So, it’s 4 in the morning and I have “For Now” from Avenue Q running quickly through my head. I have yet to see an earwig tonight, which is making me worry that something’s wrong. I’m not sure what. And I’m wondering if pigeons can float.

Yes, pigeons. I was at the beach with my mom the other day just watching. Birds, dogs, people, and of course waves. This group of pigeons discovered a patch of seeds on the ground and after eating for awhile flew off together. They circled around a few times before flying off toward the sea. And I wondered, can pigeons float? Cuz I know ducks can. Or at least they can swim. But these pigeons, they didn’t come back. You know? I know that birds can fly really far without stopping, but pigeons don’t migrate. They just eat fish. (I think.) So once they get out to wherever in the ocean they’re going, what to do they do? Can a pigeon eat a fish mid-air? I can’t imagine flying all that way to eat a fish mid-air and then flying back without stopping. So I’m wondering, can pigeons float?

©Michelle Routhieaux 2010