One Cell in the Sea

The Devil in the Bathroom

©Rachel C Johnson

My mother confronts her demons in the shower. Early in the morning she addresses her issues whilst washing her hair. She chose the shower, I presume, because she maybe thinks no one can hear her, but I can make out every resentful word on mornings I sleep in. I unwillingly play audience to her diatribes on these mornings I have nowhere to be, paying relentless attention, eyes fixed on the dark water tower just beyond the yard. She’s noisy in the mornings, slamming doors with righteousness. I’m not falling asleep again.
When I was young I had a fear, probably spurned from the tales of Bloody Mary, and I couldn’t face myself in the bathroom mirror if it were dark. Unable to look my shadowed self in the eye, I would turn away until I found the light, or not go in at all. The anxiety followed me to the bath, and later the shower, where I felt eyes peering from places I couldn’t see hidden by shower curtains or, simply my back, turned on them. I had demons—demons in the bathroom—watching me from every point.
Even now my hand finds the light before my eyes hit the mirror—my refusal to face the glass becoming my refusal to face my darkened self. What lies beyond that mirror in the dark? I would like to remain mature in my imagination, say nothing—dry wall and insulation—but my childish superstitions and penchant for fantasy leave me questioning my appearance in the dark. Dark mirrors bring out the demons just as enchanted mirrors the beauty, and I’ll keep my eyes out of mine in the absence of light.
When I moved it was into a dorm, and I never had to face my demons in that bathroom. The light was always buzzing and someone was always there to share the experience. I took to hurrying my routine in the bathroom if only to shorten the communal event. There were times, however, when I would use the bathroom as an escape plan, a way to find peace from my roommate, a way to be alone with my thoughts. Finding an empty bathroom was a blessing, offering up a chance to take a moment for myself. In those moments I may have avoided the mirror for the safety of the stall, freeing myself from the obligation to face my mirror image. But, even while avoiding that sight, seeking console there alone forced me to cope with said demons. And, in a way, hide behind them, from the stress my life was developing. I hate my demons, but when I look in a lit mirror I see myself as something beautiful, and maybe only to contrast what lies in the dark.
My mother, she faces her demons with a noisy battle in the bath. My battle is silent, trudging on through age, keeping me aware of the little demons that haunt me.

November 12, 2007

Strangers in My Own Home

And Things Won't Fall Apart

Rachel C

It’s been raining. Raining now for three days straight; summer’s over and the fall’s come so soon. It stopped for about two months. Stop raining, and the temperature rose, and the humidity became unbearable, but the moment September came it poured. It’s been gloomy, and quiet as if the world were muffled by these clouds. Knowing me I’ve been enjoying my heart out of it, turning to watch it rain for brief moments while at work. It hasn’t become colder, but we can sense it coming, just by the look of the sky. The people around me are naturally put off; Oklahomans don’t enjoy their chilly weather, they don’t find satisfaction in a strong downpour. For the most part, I don’t understand most people—the people who choose to live in Oklahoma. It’s easier to assume they’re crazy than to bother with their reasoning. It’s easier because it helps me remember that I don’t want to live here anymore. It helps to remind me of one day moving out, and moving on.
The last few weeks have been planning, and changing, and becoming somebody else. My future, my ideas, my ambitions have all shifted; I’m solid in my head and steadier in life than I have ever been before. I am on my two feet as much as fate will allow and my legs are growing stronger every day. Some things have changed for me, and I won’t lie by saying I don’t know why or how. I do, I know exactly the reason, or at least exactly the theory I’ve created. Everything is moving, rearranging, altering my outlook on life. Mostly, it’s annoying, that I’m changing so quickly and so decisively—as if I’ve ever really been decisive before—but it’s also uplifting, and I am happier with each day. I know. I feel better. I feel aware. But mostly, I am just relieved. Relieved to have learned my lesson, relieved to be moving forward, so relieved to know who I am.
These past few weeks have been a life lesson, my realization of growth and wisdom. I put myself through a lot of unnecessary pain these past nine months, but I had to learn my lesson. I was tired of being arrogant, tired of being stupid, tired of being impatient. And being all of those things forced me to fuck up time after time, fail over and over. I got tired, I had to learn. These nine months have been about experience, and these next years will be about growing, moving forward, putting to action the lessons I’ve so painfully learned.
And I no longer feel redundant or dumb; these affirmations are for the sake of understanding what I’ve become. This is about moving forward, and I have finally realized what it takes to make that happen.
It’s raining again, always raining, and I’m happier for it on the outside. When it’s raining I can smile and be noticed, I can find comfort in the little things I hold dear; but even when it’s pouring torrents, when I’m happy just to be caught in the downpour, I’m happy to know this rain isn’t that kind of symbolism. It’s not that torrential downpour foreshadowing months of personal mistakes. It’s rain, September rain. Already it’s raining, and it’s just a sign that things are always moving forward.

September 7, 2007
They're All Just People to Meet

People Come and Go and Walk Away

Unlike Me
Rachel C

I wanted water. Water’s comfortable; I get water. Water is to me like a habit, something I have settled into, something soothing and sure, certain to make me feel better, relieve my constant nerves. I wanted water, because I was good at water, because I knew I could make water work for me, however I wanted to. I wanted water, because I could control it, I could control my watery future, and it was easy. Water is easy.
People are creatures of habit. We drink the same latte, eat at the same restaurant, sit in the same seat, all the time, every day. We do it because it’s comforting. It eases our nerves to know that everything in our routine is the same. Despite how quickly our lives and the world outside of our habits are changing, those little rituals make us feel at home. For years my routine has been based on my future—all that I plan to do with my life, all that my future revolves around. Which city, which school, which major, and ultimately which career. And around all of that, before and after everything: how to get there. My habit has been to plan, plan for my future, prepare myself, set my mind in focus. Five, ten, twenty years from now, set it in my mind, always focus on those dreams. To be fair, all of that constant focusing didn’t necessarily get me anywhere, ever. Through high school and into college, I have focused, but never on the day and the task at hand. Focusing on the future and not the present doesn’t get one there, but, the day dreaming was habitual, consoling, and it even had me convinced that I was comfortable with being so damn comfortable. I was wrong.
My habits were to remind myself everyday of my future, what I was doing and how I was getting there. My habits were to daydream and it became routine to fantasize about the life I was planning. My goals, my life, my future were set, comfortably, in a dream I knew I could achieve, even if I spent everyday dreaming and not working toward it. It was a dream characteristic of me. If I told anyone, they nodded knowingly; I’m easy to read, my emotions and my dreams on my sleeve. They were like water, flowing out of me, easily and naturally, I was born to it. I wanted to be comfortable, I have a tendency to be nervous, so comfortable is what I tend to strive for. I was comfortable in my natural habitat, doing what I considered to be so very like me. Much like childhood habits, chewing your nails for comfort, or pulling at hangnails for release, I scheduled and planned my life for a career that I was certain to succeed in, that I was certain to be comfortable in—something that wouldn’t make me anxious every time I thought about making it happen. But, as I’ve said, things in our lives, in the world outside, change so quickly they take you by surprise, and sometimes they can throw your routine out the window. And then what? You’re nervous, nervous because this is uncharacteristic, this isn’t natural, this isn’t so very like you. This is not habitual. This is fire, but you can’t deny how much you want fire, even though fire isn’t who you thought you were.
Habits are typically bad habits, at least the ones I am guilty of. And, once I was comfortable, I let them get the best of me. Until one Monday, when I realized that I’ve trained myself to believe I am only capable of one future. Like freezing water into ice—changing its color, giving it flavor, forming it into a heart shape with a silicone mold—I froze my future on an outcome I was certain of. My pink, strawberry ice-heart was familiar to me, but something has melted it, melted my future, melted my water. I’m capable of things I thought uncomfortable, and maybe what makes them uncomfortable should make me want to push through, turn the fire into something as soothing as water, even if it will never flow as easily. Because, I wanted water, but things have changed, and fire is so warm, so unpredictable, so very unlike me. I’ll walk through the fire if it will take me, until it becomes like a habit, until I am sure that I can face the heat without the water.
Even thought it’s not in habit, even though I’m anxious all the time, I have no desire to turn back to comfort. This fire, this blaze, is too bright to deny, and I can’t let water extinguish what could be so very great for me.

August 27, 2007
But I'm not Going Anywhere

The Reasons Have All Run Away

Our Downfalls
Rachel C

I spent an hour wandering the isles of a book store. I purchased three books and I still have nothing to read. I love the authors, I love the blurbs, but whether I will ever read them is the question. They were bought more as novelty items, something to say I have; something for someone to see, not necessarily for consuming on an all-night literary binge. Just another three titles to slip delicately onto my shelves. I am addicted to ideas.

August 8, 2007
But the Feeling Never Did

Two Steps Closer Than I had in Mind

I'm not going to lie...I've been a little weird lately.

In Repair

Am I tired, or am I
still awake and dreaming
of everything I’m not.
I’m wrapped in spirals
and crooked bull’s eyes
watching the world turn around me.
There is so much
I don’t know and
so much I
wish I did,
and I am not hopeless
without it, but tired.
I am tired, of never
knowing, of never seeing into the future.
I have no power
of divination. I
am blind. I am blind
to what you
smell like,
to the colors of the room,
to the softness
of my blankets
and the firmness
of my bed.
I only hear
what words are spoken in the loudness of my head.
I am quiet.

July 20, 2007
See what I mean? Weird.

Gaps

New rooms—unfamiliar;
and faces to match people to.
New ideas that fill the dents
in the road like puddles to plow through.
All the old things are growing
dark, like memories, faded around the edges.
And all the new things are piling up
on top, on top, on top,
one above the other.
Houses aren’t homes and home
has no heart; and the cable’s going out—
flashing on, flashing off, void of snow
or white noise. Nothing feels like comfort,
nothing feels like safe,
everything is a mystery
like new shoes and a new city.
Like new friends, who hardly know
any history or plans.
Everything is familiar, but nothing
is the same; nothing is familiar, but everything
has changed.
And I am stuck inside myself
for the duration of the day.
I’m wandering the rooms I’ve left
unfamiliar in my head.
It’s time to open up their doors,
expand into them; move all my
baggage from the crowded spaces
I’ve used and even out my head.

August 1, 2007
Oh, I'm sure there is more to come.
I Lost Myself Trying to Catch the Sun

Don't Aim High, Don't Aim Low

Things Fall Apart, as They Tend To

Rachel C Johnson

Half of me wants to be in Seattle all the time, the other half in Chicago. As for the rest of me, I’m dying to finally do something great, break out of this cycle I’ve been pulled into, this cycle of financial downfall and general discontent. To break out of this state, the state of mind that is Oklahoma—the intrepid discontent on an Oklahoma summer.
It seems that the closer I come to any sort of comfort the more I realize how in the dark I still am. I feel like, for once, I was almost on top of my situation. Not necessarily in control of it, but to the point that I felt I might finally have a chance at comfort, at repair. But, my world has a tendency to come crashing down. Things fall apart, all over the place, all of the time, and, as far as I’ve seen, at the most inopportune time. “Bed news never had good timing,” just when you’re together life falls to pieces.
I’m tired of being in repair. I know it takes time, but time is starting to get the best of me. Time is supposed to be on my side. AS they say, once you stop fighting you realize time is your friend. But, time seems to be fighting me. I’m standing still and it’s pushing me to the ground. No, I have no control, I have no way of calculating this end, but I think I have the right to ask time to be my companion. I think I might have the right to need it on my side. I wish it would stop throwing the punches, I can’t see for the black eyes I’ve been dealt.
I’m blind. From now on I seem to be relying on memories that don’t belong to me. My head is swirling, torn and in two places. All I can do is start into the familiar Oklahoma sky, place for lack of water color. And in the head I might just let my mind wander deeper into a state of submission.

July 26, 2007
Don't Hang On, Don't Let Go

With a Little Smirk

My Dreams are Dreaming Me
Rachel C

My life is in chronological order, but my mind doesn't work that way. I spend so much time contemplating the clouds, once I wake back up to life I'm so far behind or too far ahead I miss the present, I miss what is happening now. I miss the signs until I catch up and contemplate them later. I anticipate words that are too far away to actually hear. Nobody is ever prepared for the present; nobody expects what is happening right now. And I see so much of every time surrounding, I lose track of what time it is now. I don't hear what you're saying until you're on your way to complete your life. And I'm so thoughtful I tend to slow it down. I slow us all down, tire us out, and while you're sleeping, I jump ship to another period, sometime when you don't exist, and I am deep in the life I am not prepared for yet.
I don't know why I do this, though the comfort could explain it. The present is awkward, you don't exist any time else, and I don't move quick enough to say the right thing today. So I say it tomorrow, but you aren't in my head, not the way I wish you were. And no one ever hears exactly what I have to say. If I say it today, It will come out wrong, and I'll lose the chance to make it up tomorrow, and my mind will shift to focus on the past.
I'm not prepared for the present; I'm not prepared to move in chronological order. But I don't have control of time, not even the time in my head.

July 15, 2007

There's No More Logic

My Foolish Notion is Too Fun

©Rachel C

I want to take
you and drink you
and somehow become
a part of you and by
doing so I want to love
you and I want you to
love me.

July 1, 2007
When There's Magic Between Me and You

Come Now, Come and Mourn Me

My Old Bones are Growing New Bones

©Rachel C

Driving home I can see a string of nearly black clouds floating low in the sky. They’re thin, and almost resemble smoke, but they don’t have nearly that consistency. It’s weird to see such dark clouds so thin, and so low as if they just evaporated from the surface of the earth. So low, it seems, a tall man could reach right up and swing his hand through them, scattering the droplets and shaking them back to earth. Maybe even a short girl, with ballet flats and big dreams, could reach up and swipe them away, pull them down to her chest, breathe them in like a natural humidifier. From an angel where they lie next to the dark clouds in the horizon, they are nearly invisible, but once you’re facing the sun, they’re so close, so low, so dark, and so stretched thin you could pluck them right from the atmosphere. For some reason, I feel like these clouds, so fragile and yet out of reach. As if everyone could touch me, feel the moisture of my skin, but I am just an arms length away; a tall man’s head is too far below my feet. Touchable, right there to hold, and so far away, so scattered and stretched, so dark and no one can come near me. Those clouds, I know, aren’t me. They will pour their insides to the ground, or dissolve if they come any lower. They will disappear, and I won’t ever see these clouds again. I may have taken a dive, disappeared, dissolved for a moment, but I can resurface, I can breathe more life, I can begin again—maybe not where I left off, but where I am now. Those clouds will die, and I have not, and someday I will come close enough to touch.

July 1, 2007

It's So Easy, Now I'm Gone

Don't You Break--I Will Not Let You

My Fingers Get in the Way

I hate you simply because you act like you don't care. And you don't talk to me anymore. But I miss you more than I hate you. And songs and moments like these make me miss you even more.

I guess in the end, everything is lonely, thus I must be my own bestfriend.

--replace you with myself--

People touch our lives--but I wish you hadn't left mine.

June 28, 2007

I'll Make Sure They Will Not Get You