– spoken by an alien from the movie Contact
There’s something about a stick of celery that calms the mind.
I never cared for celery on it’s own. I’d fill its trough with peanut butter, and that was okay. But just a plain naked stick of the vegetable tasted bland and made too much noise to be worth the trouble.
Not so anymore. It’s taste is wet and clean, and is loud cracking sound drowns out the noises in the brain. It’s the perfect comfort food for the troubled soul.
So this morning at 3 o’clock, after losing time to the singularity of senseless dreams, I got up and wandered into the kitchen for a few sticks of celery. I brought them back to the bed and chewed on them and tried to sleep but my head hurt so I took Excedrin and listened to myself chew and the ceiling fan click until five o’clock came and I got out of bed and turned on the lights and started some music on YouTube in the living room.
Which is where I am now. More celery, a couple boiled eggs, medications ready for later, laptop open on my lap.
I don’t know who I’m writing to anymore. My blog has just under 70 followers. Some of them are people I know, but the vast majority are strangers. I wonder about them – about you. I wonder what each of you look like and if sleep comes easier for you and what shape your lives have fallen into. I wonder why you read a post and decided this would be a good blog to follow.
I’m a terrible judge of people, and the anonymity of the internet doesn’t help. A woman friended me on Facebook a while back because she’d seen me several times at a local coffee shop but never talked to me. Then, last week I think, we actually met in person, accidentally, in the same coffee shop, and talked and talked and talked until the place closed, and half an hour after further as the baristas were cleaning up.
She wasn’t anything I had expected. Her story, or what I heard of it, is her own so I won’t share it here, but meeting her and talking face to face, I felt human again. I spend so much time alone. Writing, sleeping, going from therapist to the bank to psychiatrist and supermarket. I rarely sit down with a single person and talk with them as if the two of us are the only people on Earth. Most of the time I feel like the only person on the planet who isn’t really from this planet. So it was good to have a person sit down and want to talk. Who talked to me as if I weren’t alien. She actually laughed at some of the things I said. She revealed her pains – some of them – and I tried to hold back and not empty my entire store of boredoms and death-wishes.
Blogs can’t provide that kind of intimate contact. They are good at finding contacts, but the real communication happens elsewhere. And that’s what we need I think, as a human species. As unique separate individuals who bump by each other on the street like cows in a herd.
So I’m going to go out on a limb here and invite you to contact me on facebook. I want to hear your story, not in a well worded blog post, but in the closets we can get to a real conversation online: with Facebook messenger. And if you don’t have Facebook, let me know what you do have and I’ll create an account or do whatever needs to be done and we can connect your way.
My name is Ellee Adams. I live in St. George. I went to Kearns High School, graduated with a BA in English from Lewis State College in Lewiston Idaho and got my Masters at Pacific University in Forest Grove Oregon. Look me up if you feel so inclined. Tell me your story, or as much as you want. And you can ask me about mine.