Who Is Joelle?

         Since this is 2019, I suppose I should introduce myself for this year. Hi, I'm Joelle. I'm eclectic. I like cats, dragons, green apples, chocolate, and fantasy stories. As a musical artist, I stylize my name as Joélle.

         I love music.

         I have to get braces in a couple days and I really don't want them, mostly because flossing is already a nightmare and now it's going to be a night terror (at least they're clear?...).

        I have a black persian cat named Micia (MEE-chah) who I love most dearly and talk about far too much in regular conversation because she's GREAT and obviously everyone else in the world needs to know just how GREAT she is, too. 

     I have insomnia, major depressive disorder (MDD), and ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis, a.k.a. chronic fatigue for all of you who are thinking, 'seriously, she's using medical jargon now? I clicked on this 'cause I thought it would be interesting, not another grumblegrum*...').

          I have fibromyalgia (muscle + joint pain/weakness), tremors, and finally, the real kicker: neurological auto-immune disease (we think). Now you may be thinking about how sorry you are for me, but please stop and read my wording above one more time. 

       I HAVE insomnia, and I have auto-immune disease, but they don't have me. Sometimes they pull me under a bit and I need some time to swim back up, but I like swimming. Supposedly, some people want to hear about my life and my thoughts and my perspectives, so I'm going to try to update this blog every Sunday. (Shoot. *Looks at calendar and cringes*)
        If you're interested, follow me. :) I hope we can have a lot of fascinating discussions over the year of 2019.

             Hugs,
                Joelle

*GRUMBLEGRUM [noun.]

 Joellenese for the "muttering of unsavory words under one's breath".

Loo Thoughts

DEAR
      Bathroom Thinkers:
           It is so freaking hard to play the guitar. Everyone lied when they said it was easy. I have been practicing like crazy! In the Christmas spirit, here's a pretty guitar version of O Holy Night. I feel like classical guitar is underrated. It's harder, but it's so beautiful.

           Poemmas now continues! Here is a very strange free-write I did in the women's restroom in university. Everyone else chose places to write that were more outside the box. I thought inside the box for once-- or rather, the cubicle, as it were. And yes, you read me right, the restroom. Washroom. Loo. Bathroom. Toilet. Yup. Enjoy:

Loo Thoughts

       Muttering to oneself, rifling through bags, dropping with a clatter. Voices ricocheting off the walls, keys dangling with a clash-- so many sounds. Chance meetings when the door is touched from both sides at once, running water dancing over all other noise. Whispered phone conversations held in the far corner, foolishly assuming tiled privacy. Chapstick running away, red-yellow-red, chased by only visible fingers, hoping it won’t go too far. Rushing feet in colorful straps shuffling, hurrying, waiting, trapping, snapping at the door.

       Then silence. But the silence isn’t really; air swirls in from high above, circular muttering. Claps and voices seep under the door, from so far away; removed. Sound reigns in this room of squares, the only place where sight is second. Monotony is torn by new arrivals, slowing down as though this is a restful place. Noses rubbed raw sniffle with abandon, feeling free to be loud among the tiles. Sweeping screechily lightly spreads, echoes spiraling through. Rips and rustles, bangs and splashes, sighs as mirrors catch someone in passing.

       Why do we feel different here? Really, we are less exposed in our carpeted halls, where footsteps make much less sound. 

With Clean Hands,

Joélle

Depression in Poetic Form

DEAR
     Depression:

             I have been thinking about serious issues all day-- if you're not sure what I'm talking about, read my previous post-- I thought I'd continue Poemmas with this rather deep look at the depression center of my mind. I wrote this two years ago, in a college class, and it's one of the most personal things I have ever created. I hope you like it.

Grey Thoughts

I.

A tiny void of ink, black–

my confusion blooming in that one small droplet. I

see thoughts pressed down, as shaky handwriting far

too heavy for someone who appears to be bright,

sunbeams. Emotions slowly becoming something else-

Black, curved, marching; dripping

I can taste them, touch them, almost.

But not quite.

II.

My ink feelings

leave velvet teardrops, shaded with

night, across stark paper, yet

all I see is distorted beauty:

lovely words saying terrible

things, drowning in an inky

wash wrung from my thoughts– I’d

hoped they would fade,

but the paper appears as an open wound,

raven scars biting pale skin.

III.

I'm stuck in

the exact moment between day and night,

just waiting. I'm

falling through the twilight sky, still waiting,

fading. My heart is grey, dim, alone; surrounded

by frozen sparks. I am sitting

in the arms of an autumn tree, slowly losing

my colors. – I shiver

I am covered by a bittersweet avalanche when

I cry;

the skies' tears join mine. Icy tendrils

bind my mind and my fears turn to glass

with one side. I can just see out, but no one looks

in past the glaze of laughter.

I think I might break- like glass,

like ice, like mirrors, like lies.

With A Blot Of Ink,

Joélle.