2009... you little bastard.

Well, I feel like I have to write something about 2009. My fear is that a) there is too much to tell, b) some of the things to tell should probably be written down in a locked diary and hidden under my mattress, and c) I don't feel quite prepared or ready to write about the year. Will I ever be prepared or ready, though? No. So instead of meditating about the year for a few minutes/hours and then writing this post, I will instead make this post my meditation. This will be messy, this will not be chronological, and in no way will this be logical. Abstract, fragmented, vulnerable-- descriptions of this post and this past year. And it begins (ends):

*January was a bit of a haze. Probably went to a couple of parties, talked about Europe and cruises, and closed a few chapters.
*February 14. Snowy, wet day. Had plans to hang out with that Jack kid from school. Met at Savers. Went to lunch. Bookstores. Del Taco. Parking lot. Kiss on the cheek. Scrape ice off car. And the crush begins.
*Write poems about Jesus, of course. Get a non-Jesus poem published in a journal.
*Team Engaged. The most school involvement I have had in nearly 8 years. They lose; doesn't matter. Great friends and great posters are made.
*March 12. I actually have a boyfriend.
*Moab. Sparkle. Become better friends with Whitney. Najib has a knife.
*Beat wedding.
*Job at museum ends. Thanks a lot, budget cuts.
*How in the world did I become the features editor of the school paper? Well, I know how. Because I applied and I was qualified. But when did I become such a go-getter?
*Cut hair, dye brown. Not big news, I do it all the time.
*Move in to apartment with Jennifer as my roommate (and then eventually Greg and Jack as my roommates as well).
*Oh yeah, I ate pizza for the first time in ages and felt relatively okay about it.
*Celebrate 25th birthday camping with my dad and sister. It rains.
*Spend all summer adjusting, reading, and reading. Oh, and reading.
*Things really really really begin to suck in August.
*And I mean suck really bad.
*I become a vegan for a little while. Start a blog with a clever name.
*Newspaper retreat in Park City. Read out of the Bible. To everything there is a season.
*Go to Jackson with my dad and sister. Peaceful.
*Write an insane number of papers for somewhat insanely difficult (but rewarding) classes. Proud of myself (sort of).
*Newspaper conference in Austin. Halloween night I, as Bob Dylan, become Holy! Holy! Holy! at Black Cats.
*Thanksgiving. And then Christmas. Books.
*Medicine. Pills. Caffeine.
*Buddha, please.
*I am getting tired.
*This year was pretty dull. No big surprises or ups or downs. PSYCH YOU SO HARD IN THE HEAD.

It's time for me to publish this. I don't really want to write anything else at the moment. Poetic lines are not coming to me. I do not know how to end this. Not that it's the end, though. So I will leave you with these words: The way to illumination appears dark.

today i thought about some goals

I start a lot of my posts with the words "I" and "Today," but not this time!!! Oh wait, yes, this time. But just wait until next time!!! There's not a chance I will begin my post with "I" or "Today." This will be my sole New Year's goal.

Okay, not really. I have a couple of other New Year's goals. They are as follows:
*learn yoga and do yoga
*Along with billions of other people, I want to be healthy. I even bought The Complete Idiot's Guide to Total Nutrition. Bring on the amino acids.

I can't remember my other New Year's goals/resolutions... Damn. Oh well, those two are pretty good ones that will take up time and energy, so why overwhelm myself with more tasks?

Prepare yourself for a "look back at 2009" post. I may need a tranquilizer after I write it.

results from first day of experiment

I shouldn't have taken my medicine at night. Even though my prescription tells me to take Wellbutrin twice a day, I think I should build up to the recommended dose. I couldn't fall asleep until 3am last night (even though I was exhausted), I had a night full of tossing and turning and insanely complicated and vivid dreams, and then I woke up at 8am. I am back to being exhausted. BUT I still think it is working well. I have been in a slightly less chipper mood today, but I think that's mostly due to the lack of sleep.

Last night I decided to check out the side effects of Wellbutrin. I already know a lot about it, but I just wanted to refresh my memory. I realize every drug has side effects. And although many tend to have side effects that sound incredibly terrifying, almost to the point that the side effects sound worse than the disease, these side effects don't usually manifest themselves or are at least a lot less severe. That being said, side effects still cause fear in my heart (which may be a side effect of something or other). I got nervous. Do I really want to start taking antidepressants again? Do I want to be dependent on a substance? Will these chemicals floating around in my brain and blood and body ultimately be beneficial or bad news? I guess this is why I am conducting the experiment-- because I just don't know the answers right now.

And maybe I will never know the answers. Maybe I should stop my constant concern about the long term and instead focus mainly on the short term, even if that seems a bit irresponsible.

Nothing is ever going to be 100% good or 100% bad. Right now the good outweighs the bad in this antidepressant experiment, so I accept that and will continue the experiment. Wish me luck and pleasant dreams.

experiment

It's the end of a decade, but it's the beginning of an experiment.

Today I took my Wellbutrin for the first time in months.

I don't know exactly why I went off of it in the first place. I have always been careless with my medication, unfortunately. I take it sporadically and then will suddenly decide that I don't want to take it all, so I quit cold tofurkey. The side effects, I believe, of quitting cold gobble gobble are worse than any side effects while taking it. So why the inconsistency? Again... I don't know.

Lately I have been a bit on the manic depressive side. The sudden mood swings scare me and cause me to do and say things that I deeply regret. Thinking about all of this, I decided to conduct an experiment. I took my Wellbutrin this morning and will continue to take it to see if I notice a positive change in my mood and behavior. If so, great. I will then continue to take it consistently. If not, that's okay. I will then go off of it gradually and not cold fowl.

How do I feel today? Well, I honestly feel great. Much more stable. This could very well be a placebo effect because I don't think I could feel the Wellbutrin in just one day, but... Maybe? Whatever it is that is causing my improved mood and outlook, I like it and it has been a much needed relief.

Next experiment: What will happen if I eat a steak during an Animal Alliance Club coffee night?

comedy troupe

I apologize for never posting my second favorite photo the other night. But have no fear (especially if it's a No Fear T-shirt circa 1996), here is the picture:

You've already seen this on Facebook circa Now, so this picture isn't very exciting anymore. BUT IT WAS AT ONE TIME. Look at how composed we all are. Good for us.

Tater Tot-ler

Here is a picture of a boy named Tim or Kevin or something who prefers to be called Tater Tot instead:



He also got kicked out of preschool for having LONG HAIR.

He also looks like a miniature version of Jack Jared Waters.

This is my favorite picture. My SECOND favorite picture will be posted later tonight. Stay tuned or stay LAME.

inside my igloo is a heart

Things I don't understand:
*Twin Peaks (but I love it)
*money as god
*my quickly rising and falling obsessions
*pork butt roast (this is a real thing!!! what is it aside from the punchline of a thousand jokes???)
*god as money
*Nickelback

Things I understand:
*Felicity's insecurities in college
*the lure of Walmart (cheap prices, poor treatment of employees, and customers that shop in pajamas-- all charming)
*buying a book for its pictures
*denim shirt, denim pants, denim on the brain
*breakfast
*i is for igloo nine times out of ten

the batshit craziness of finals is here and gently stroking my hair while singing nonsensical riddles in my ear

If only I could write blogs instead of 10-page papers... But that is AGAINST THE RULES and I must continue to play by these soul crushing rules if I am ever to graduate. (And then I shall go on to play a different set of rules that deal with 9-5s and corporate suits and broken copy machines-- psych. I plan on being a barista or nun or something after college. Truly. That's another post for another time, though.) Anyway, what was I saying? I can't remember. Kidding, I can completely remember because it's all I completely think about all the complete time. My paaaaper.

Sure, I've had weeks and weeks to work on this paper. Sure, I could have started it weeks and weeks ago and been much less stressed than I am right now. Sure, but then what kind of red-blooded American college student would I be? A responsible one? They don't exist. They are just a myth. Like the Loch Ness Monster or Michael Jordan.

Oh, I could go on complaining and whining and crying about my irresponsible and lazy work ethic, but what fun would that be for you the reader? Instead I will delight (and perhaps disgust! disturb! disappoint!) you with a list of facts from today:

*I got a free hat from Outdoor Recreation! I don't know why they were giving away free hats, but they were. I love my new hat and so will you. There is a picture below that you have PROBABLY already seen on Facebook/in your dreams.
*I wore my big, clunky, unfashionable, WARM and SAFE snow boots again. I remember being 21 or 22 and insisting that I wear my white cowboy boots during the winter months. I fell so many times in those boots because they were not made for anything but looking cool/stupid. Now that I am sOoOo much older, it feels good to care less about fashion and more about practicality.
*I am freezing my ass and everything else off in the newsroom. GOOD THING I HAVE MY HAT AND BOOTS TO KEEP ME WARM. And Jack.
*Not to bring up my paper again, but... Well, to bring up my paper again, I decided just a few hours ago to be insane and change the topic of it completely. I threw my old idea out with the bathwater (?) and started reading up on everything hip hop. I actually feel good about this, despite having to write the whole thing in just a few days.
*I stole some trail mix off of Jessica's desk. Jessica, if you read this, I am not talking about you. I am talking about that other Jessica from the newsroom. No worries.
*Hey, Jack, I can smell your 12 inch... SUBWAY SANDWICH, that is! It smells delightfully subby.
*This isn't news from today, but from yesterday: I received quite the positive feedback in class about my play. How could you NOT love a play that includes a psychotic Snuggle Bear? Okay, so I am thinking a couple of people, including a dude who writes really bad Westerns, actually hated my play. But whatevs. The people whose opinions I trust liked it. Maybe one day I will let you read excerpts from it, blog reader(s).

Sorry. Long. But now the moment you have all waited for/dreaded-- The uncensored picture of my uncensored and unpriced (FREE) hat:

days of derangement, nights of passion!!!

The hours that remain keep punching me in the chest and forcing my head into a toilet while flushing over and over and over again.

Basically, the deadline for my Goshert paper is getting closer and it won't stop bullying me. Drowning in my own doubts everytime I start (or even think about) a paper sure wears a girl out.

And even though everyone else is swamped by stress, I sometimes feel like the only one-- like this whole college thing is a big elaborate plan by a group of sadistic individuals posing as professors to drive me into the hollow world of hysteria.

But then I realize I just bring this senselessness on myself. I could have prevented! I could have prevented! Can I still? In all seriousness, I do not know.

this is not sad; but don't worry, not everyone is not sad

There is too much sadness inside everyone. I don't have to add to it. I want to write uplifting words! Why do I only write when I am sad? And is it bad that the one thing I "do well" is the one thing I do when I am sad? So do I subconsciously stay/make myself sad in order to produce odd, scrambled writing? Because when I am happy (or relatively so), I end up writing the way Kinkade paints cottages. What? Exactly. But it's too easy to only write when I am feeling down. There are so many holy holy holy things to unearth inside of me and transfer onto the page/blog/skin. Let me do it! Let me breathe in the golden eternity! My promise to you (and me), however, is that this golden eternity shall not include glowing highlights and saturated pastel colors. Or maybe it will! Who knows! Holy Kinkade! Holy insistent cottage coziness! Holy idyllic settings such as gardens, streams, and more stone cottages! HOLY!

i am sad, but don't worry; everyone is sad

No words come to me anymore. I feel chronically sleepy. I could stay in bed all day, just tossing the sheet up in the air and letting it slowly fall, slightly suffocating me over and over again.

I want to do things over again.

this won't make sense unless a light bulb broke and the mercury got to your head

We laugh at people falling from the sky because their landing is so soft. But our own falls are cushioned by solid oak coffee tables, cement sidewalks, and, yes, even the occasional glass ceilings.

You look at me with sad eyes, I know. And those funny lips of yours can't hide a thing.

We're in the same place; I dream of police and thieves. They are all so confident.

We're in the same place, alone; Their guns and ammunition never used, not once. They were so confident.

(Hold the cord above your head, sometimes that helps the light to work because there's a short.)

It's just a natural phenomenon. Objects with mass attract one another.

And I guess that's how my cosmos came crashing down.

Why is it that I keep imagining my brain to be made of Gak? You all remember Gak, right?

My paper is finished, but the stimulants ingested in order to help me finish my paper are still going strong. Well, not that strong, actually. I am, sadly, getting quite used to anything caffeinated. My tolerance level is at an all-time high. My ability to resist caffeine is at an all-time low. I am probably tired all the time, but do not know it because of the chemicals chemicals chemicals. But fear not, reader(s)-- this week I plan on feasting on food, not stimulants. My body, my brain, and my bloodstream need a break before they breakdown.

Speaking of breaking down, let me break it down for you. Here is completely useless information about me that is in no way necessary for you to know. So stop reading right now. Go log on to Facebook and change your status instead. It will quite honestly be time better spent.

What are the names of all the roommates I have had in my life so far?

Allison, Emily, some girl whose name I can't recall, really nice girl from Denmark whose name I also cannot recall, Ellen, Erin, Ashleigh, Laura, Hannah, Georgiana, Holly, Chaunte, Alissa, Jack, Jennifer, Greg

Why has it taken you so long to think of another useless question?

Because my brain has been sucked dry and all I can concentrate on is the sound of the clock.

Does that clock exist?

It did a second ago-- now two seconds ago-- oh, three seconds. Yes, three four five seconds six ago it seven existed. Eight.

...Seven ate nine?

Scary, don't.

Time for you to make tomorrow's lunch.

Thanks for the reminder. And tomorrow owns lunch?

Appears so.

Nothing is as it--

Oh don't start.

Fine. I am going to publish this now, man, and you can't stop me.

Why would I? You're publishing me, after all. And there's no such thing as bad press.

EXACTLY. You're saying bad press doesn't exist, right? Because you're right. Yeah, nothing exists, you know?

Hey, look-- I know nothing because I am just your blog. You create me.

I just did.

the healthiest state in the union and perfect for lovers

I don't want to be one of those people that say, "Oh, no one reads my blog because no one ever comments on my blog," because that's just a passive aggressive way to get people to comment. Right? Am I messing up the meaning of "passive aggressive"? Anyway, I don't want to be one of those people, BUT...

Yeah, it doesn't matter. No one HAS to leave a comment. Who am I writing for anyway? Myself? You? Joe the Plumber? Are you Joe the Plumber? Who here wants Joe the Plumber to "fit your pipe"? Who here doesn't understand what that means? That's what I thought.

I want this:

But is this realistic? Maybe. Actually, it's pretty damn realistic. But it will have to wait. In the meantime, I need to be okay with right now. I need to be okay with the deadlines and the late nights and the sighs and the shaky hands. Because what good will it do to put all of my hopes into the 14x14 cabin if it's on the other side of the country? It will just lead to attachment and inevitable disappointment when I realize that the grass is, indeed, not always greener.

I still want it, though.

fuzzy thoughts at 1:02pm

*Imagine a tabby cat eating a pan of lasagna in record time. Funny, right? I am thinking of making this very idea into a long-running comic strip titled "Lasagna Cat of the Future: One Cat's Journey Into the Future."

*I had a beautiful Sunday yesterday with my beautiful Jack. He really is so pretty. I wish I looked like him. I know, I know, "get a room, you guys." But I really think he has such a pretty face. Just look at it.

*One day I am going to do yoga regularly. And meditate regularly. And drink prune juice so I can go regularly. ONE DAY.

*"Mmmm... You taste like electrolytes."

*Last night I had some crazy deep thoughts about X-rays.

*Total number of Vermont license plates seen this weekend: 3. I think.

nighttime impressions 1

dream of plane crashes to france
my dead grandmother winking at me
that mole on her face not there
when she was alive or when i was
awake. the street light says
stop traffic, go you wanderer
but don't wander too far because
some cars are moving so just
wander in a straight line and if
you write wander too much too often
too all-at-once (seconds apart) it
looks much too weird (unless the
letters aren't written in a straight
line). give it to me crooked like the
hills you imagine running away to.
but aren't those hills just north
of france? can you take a bus
to get there? because time permits
and planes crash a lonely crash.
i'm much too ego driven to keep
my hands on the wheel.
it's a yellow light-- now what?

promise, numbers 1-6

I promise to have a good day today, despite the snow. I promise to be healthy, or at least relatively so. I promise to be nicer, such as not bad mouthing girls who went to my high school. I promise to take things slowly, mindfully, holy. I promise to take at least a twenty minute nap at some point in the next 12 hours. I promise to be okay.

let's all read a book, okay?

Good lord.

I will admit something right here right now. Although I am incredibly busy, I somehow just spent the last half hour looking at blogs of girls I went to high school with.

Good lord.

Let's just say I don't know how Jack and I survived good old PGHS.

I could say a million more things (well, probably 5-12 more things), but I will stop before I sound like an even bigger brat.

I love everyone.

Biting my tongue.

Everyone is awesome.

Blood in my mouth.

17 September 2009

I don't expect to be inspired tonight (and the nerve I have beginning each poem with "I" and forever speaking of tonights). The constant adrenaline stream of today has emptied into the ocean where I'm stuck. The rain just moves me around (even my handwriting is slow and deliberate and meant to be tidy and this was meant to be waterproof paper but then it would be less of paper) and more of tonight will bleed into tomorrow. Catching reflections off the waves and these water metaphors are just barely enough to drown out the sound of a (Quick! Someone! A bucket of--yes--water and soon! This lack of poetry will set the whole house ablaze!)

my brain: an american hero, an american treasure, an american idiot

It's about that time of night when I feel like my brain has fallen asleep standing up. In other words, the television is on in my brain, but it's just static. In other words, my brain is wearing footie pajamas and sleepwalking into a loud party in some hip downtown loft where the drinks are served with Red Bull. In other words, my brain logs on, but then watches the screensaver. In other words, if my brain were on drugs, it would be on caffeine. In other words, this is my brain. And this is my brain on caffeine. Any questions? No, this is not a vegan fried egg. This is a totally egg-ful egg, fried until nothing is left but dust dust American dust.

my future home

Desolation, desolation, I owe so much to desolation.

We are ugly, but we have the music.

Okay, so we aren't ugly. We're beautiful. And we definitely have the music--or rather, it has us.

Tonight was my first time seeing Bob Dylan in concert. I was supposed to see him last year at Deer Valley, but a shitstorm (well, not an actual shitstorm--more of a rainstorm) hit and my dad, sister, and I (unfortunately) split.

Saltair may not be the number one place for musical events, but at least it was dry as a bone inside (that's what he said?)... Well, except for the occasional drip drop of water leaking from the ceiling. I'm guessing it was water and not the sweat/spit/other bodily fluid of the tye dyed dude behind me.

Thank you, Bob, for casting a great shadow. Thank you for playing "Ballad of a Thin Man." Thank you for bringing together generations of people who care about your words. Thank you for that hat.

Confession: This post was supposed to be about something depressing, like my chronic depression. It was supposed to be about my frustrations with not feeling any emotions (except for the emotion of frustration, apparently). It was supposed to discuss in an abstract way my past. It was supposed to cast a great shadow on the world of blogs and the blog of the world. It never was.

But here's my post-Bob Dylan concert post. Enjoy. Or rather, enjoyed.

fear/un-fear

Things I am afraid of right now:

*two Goshert midterms
*breathing public air (for fear of catching the SWINE FLU)
*wearing these slightly tight wingtip shoes right now... blisters?
*using the word "propagate" incorrectly

Things I am not afraid of right now:

*the rain-- I got me a mothatruckin' umbrella, fools.
*second-hand smoke
*giants accidentally eating me in their alphabet soup
*being stalked by Tom from MySpace

Rob Steffen, here is your shout-out.

Hi guys. I'm back. And I'm still vegan. And I'm still chronically anxious and depressed (BUT WORKING ON IT!). And I'm still in love with the Dalai Lama. Why? Because he recently said the next Dalai Lama should be a woman. Here is a link to an article about it: http://www.doublex.com/section/news-politics/next-dalai-lama-should-be-woman?page=0#

I apologize for the sloppiness of the link. HTML what? I don't know. I don't even know what HTML means. I think it has something to do with Harriet Tubman and Martin Luther.

Right now the school custodian is discussing guns with Greg Wilcox.

There is pie in the newsroom. Right now. If anyone wants a slice. You better hurry, though. IT WON'T LAST. But you know what DOES last? Tattoos. Speaking of... Never mind. Secret.

I want to read more Rumi. And I want my room(y) to be clean. But do I want to clean it? Not likely. I'd rather read Rumi in my non-roomy room. Ruminating over... stuff. You know.

Man. Caffeine.

I am going to go as the Jonas Brothers for Halloween. All twelve of them.

who WOULDN'T want to count their breath for ten minutes as a group? sounds like a party to me!

Would anyone be interested in starting a meditation club? I am being quite serious. Deadly serious. Murderously serious. We could meditate in different environments, learn about and experiment with various kinds of meditations, and then drink tea and eat vegan snacks afterward. I think this could be quite beneficial. Deadly beneficial. Murderously beneficial. Meditating with a group gives off a unique energy not often found when just meditating by oneself. Or something like that.

Or maybe we should just start a pork club. Where we eat a lot of raw pork while porkin' each other. NO. BAD. IDEA. No bad ideas! All good ideas. Okay, so maybe I'm a bit manic right now. What's it to ya? Let's just sit.

oh, and i've seen a few bison. they really don't care about us.

I've been in Wyoming, okay?

Anyway, I could be telling you all about my trip so far. About the hikes, the SIXTEEN mile bike ride (which was just a breeze, by the way), the uninteresting moose, the vegan food (uh... other blog...), the secret desire to buy multiple cowboy hats... I COULD be telling you all about this-- and I guess I just did-- or I could be giving you a painfully (pun genuinely not intended) dramatic metaphor about a wisdom tooth that is infected adn needs to be taken care of because the longer I wait to deal with it, the more infected it will become and the more I will have to rely on pain pills/distraction.

Whatever. I'm tired. I have to be at least three cups of coffee in to really sink my teeth into metaphors.

See you in two days.

Until then...

Yeehaw.

play pitch number one

The Primary Treatment

Two androgynous people are sitting at a bare table with empty glasses. Surrounding them are television sets turned off. The couple begins a linear conversation with one another. The televisions slowly turn on and static appears. The conversation becomes more and more nonlinear as the white noise gets louder and louder. Throughout the commotion, a bizarre multitude of characters join the scene and a variety of equally bizarre situations occur. The noise gets to the point where no one can be heard or practically seen. Then there is a flash of white, the televisions switch to testing patterns, everything quiets down, the excess characters disappear, and the two androgynous people are now wearing robes, drinking wine, and eating fish. Their conversation is a repeat of what they were talking about in the very beginning, but everything is said backwards. At the end of the play, the characters sit underneath the table and the televisions switch to video of the audience that was secretly filmed during the play. The audience will sit and watch themselves for the next ten minutes while baggies of fish food are passed out to everyone.

it's bound to melt your heart

I'm interested in and confused by white noise.

People have ideas for me. And want to buy me coffee to talk ideas. Little do they know that I just sit at home in a cat sweatshirt doing nothing. How does something like that inspire ideas?

Black licorice. I am now a fan. Is this a sign of getting older? Black licorice seems... Sophisticated. As far as licorice sophistication goes.

Okay, time to open google.com and type in "Melt Your Heart lyrics Jenny Lewis." And then, well, read the lyrics.

Sometimes I forget about Egypt.

I need to revise my two play pitches tonight. Which basically means I need to write two entirely new play pitches. I think one will have to do with white noise and the other one will have to do with sawing off a head. I am a chronic doubter of myself.

Why don't I ever drink brandy? Or sherry?

I miss math.

"And we've lost the people we could have loved, and you...
What you know you have or what you think you aren't
It's never perfect."

genuine questions in post and genuine question in post title: will you answer my genuine questions?

As a nearly shameless fan of cliches, I will throw this one out there: Forgive and forget. Well, for me it's forgive mostly and have one hell of a hard time forgetting. I can't forget what happened, as much as I pretend to all day long. But then night cuts like a knife (is this a cliche? does this make sense? i am pretty much just sleep blogging, like sleep walking, but with blogs.) and I remember every shitty thing that has happened. How does one stop being so passive? How can I remember myself?

get ready for a shitload of copied and pasted quotes

Lately I have been surrounded by negativity towards other people. Whether it is me feeling this negativity or people close to me having these feelings, it is there. And it shouldn't be. Ill feelings breed nothing but destruction to the soul. I need help with being a more compassionate person. The funny/ridiculous thing is that I will get frustrated when other people feel frustrated-- but aren't I just doing the exact same thing I am frustrated with? Does that make sense? No, it doesn't really. So, without further ado, I bring you some Dalai Lama quotes that have a way of instantly humbling me. Enjoy and Namaste.

"Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible."

"Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them."

"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion."

"In the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher."

"Sometimes one creates a dynamic impression by saying something, and sometimes one creates as significant an impression by remaining silent."

"This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness."

"Whether one believes in a religion or not, and whether one believes in rebirth or not, there isn't anyone who doesn't appreciate kindness and compassion."

time is an accessory

I feel somewhat petty about the yoga comment I made in my last post... That's all I'll say. That I feel a tad petty about it and that I probably didn't need to write it. Anyway, moving on, today has been so incredibly long. But I don't think I have accomplished much. Okay, so I have. And it doesn't really matter if I "accomplish" anything anyway, because hell-- it's the last day of summer 2009. I should have spent it in the laaaaziest way possible and felt ooookay about it. I know why I am so "goal oriented" today and it basically has to do with medication. It's exhausting. I am conflicted in all kinds of ways. But I am going to remain vague about it all. At least for now.

I am stressed out about this upcoming semester. My classes are so spread out and I myself feel so spread out. That's the right phrase, right? Oh wait-- I guess it's "I feel so spread thin." Right? Well anyway, basically I am realizing that the four months of complete and total nothingness will not help me tomorrow when I begin my four months of complete and total everythingness.

But I just got off the phone. And I was talked to in a calming voice with calming reassurance and calming advice. I feel better. I could still use four hundred Xanax, though.

Does anyone have time management advice? Ha. Time. Like it even exists. I should have asked if anyone has man's greatest/worst accessory advice.

if you leave me comments, i will make you a vegan dessert and give you a five second hug

Enough with the posts that are just copy/paste quotes from thinkexist.com... It's time for more list posts that are copy/paste from the bRaIn.

*There are some who think yoga is evil and will do evil things to your body. But I disagree. I disagree so much that I am willing to do yoga for 40 days and 40 nights straight just to spite these people/her.
*SIX days of veganism. I HAVE YET TO FAIL! But when I do fail, I hope I fail because I have been hired to be a food taster for a noble king in some far off land. This king will like his scrambled eggs scrambled and, well, I'm getting paid to make sure he does not consume any poison, so eat those eggs I must. But until that day, I'm stayin' a vegan.
*I miss reading. I miss it so much. I panic when I think of all the books I probably won't get around to reading... Well, until we are all stuck in heaven for eternity and are, like, NOW WHAT. I guess I could get around to a few things in heaven, such as reading every book/pamphlet/People magazine article ever written. Just readin' and bein' one of a million wives to one of a thousand planet making gods.
*Ties are probably uncomfortable for dudes to wear, but they should try wearing a bra every single day-- then that damn tie wouldn't be such a burden.
*I have purchased quite a few relationship books with a Buddhist twist lately. Cool. I really think they are going to be better than any therapy I could get, at least at this point. BUT I think therapy is still a good idea. AND I think this is definitely a topic for a later post, so no more details now.
*Oh damn. I should probably start thinking about what I am going to do after graduating. Most likely grad school. Or maybe I will go live on a ranch somewhere and walk around in my underwear. I can do practically anything!!!... Except for getting a job. Who has a job with only a bachelor's degree? Especially when that degree is in English? No one. Sigh. Oh well. Why would I want to put on a tie/bra everyday and go into a stuffy old office anyway? I will settle for the ranch and underwear any day over the 9 to 5.
*I should be planning out future issues of The V. So I will. See you later, skaters, haters, and manipulators (which none of you are!!! well, some of you may long board on occasion, right?).

LOOOVE YOU.

two weeks

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." -C.S. Lewis

"Without trust, words become the hollow sound of a wooden gong. With trust, words become life itself." -somebody

"Wise men put their trust in ideas and not in circumstances." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Shit happens, man." -Meghan Wiemer

"No, seriously-- shit happens and it sucks." -Meghan Wiemer

I NOW HAVE A VEGAN BLOG! TO DOCUMENT MY PASSION FOR ALL THINGS LACKING VITAMIN B12!

Her Soy and Beans

does the exterior mirror the interior?

One week ago, my world destroyed my world. I was heartbroken and heartsick. I was dependent on sleeping pills and Degrassi. My eyes, needless to say, were constantly red and puffy. But now a week has passed. And today was one of the most pleasant days I've had in a long time. Why? How is this possible? Can so much deep pain really vanish in just a mere 168 hours? It can't, right? Have my emotions been buried and supressed only to viciously return in the form of a total breakdown somewhere down the road? Have I build an 18 inch-thick steel wall around myself? Or was I not nearly as hurt as I thought I was/should have been? I am confused about my sudden dry and unswollen eyes. I am perplexed by my politeness. I am disconcerted by the disconnection with my despair. I am starting to feel like a foreigner instead of a warrior.

well it's anyone's, anyone's guess

On Monday I start my vegan life.

I am so damn tired.

I stole two cookies, two apples, and two oranges today from a Best Western.

I can't stay awake.

When I got into my car today, "Mysteries" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs was playing. And it was like I could have written every single word of that song this morning. Very relevant to my life. Incredibly so. Check out the lyrics if you are so inclined. If you are not inclined, then do whatever it is that you are inclined to do, so long as you do not rip someone's heart out in the process and/or steal food from hotel chains. Stealing is just wrong.

sigh

My last entry probably shouldn't have been written.

I need to disappear. From "them." I thought I was okay today, but I was just blocking everything out, looking at a blank screen.

At night the screen is static with flickers of suggestions. These reminders turn into replies and "message sent" and repetitive rhetorical questions.

I should just fall asleep before ten. For the sake of everyone.

And just for the hell of it, here is another quote:

"I love my friends. They are my backbone. Greg Wilcox is on the cover of City Weekly." -Orem Meg

this post features the words "douchey" and "Greg Wilcox"

Well, I'm not on Adderall, so don't expect this post to be long or well-written. As sad as it is, I feel like Adderall makes me a better writer. But at times it also makes me a frantic writer. You know, just writing all sorts of drawn out weird "SHIT" that ends up making no sense. But nothing really makes sense these days/this week, and, well, that's life/this week, kiddo.

What a stupid paragraph. It sure SOUNDS like I'm on Adderall. But I assure you I am not.

I want to say a few things.

I don't know what it is about the public forum. Why am I writing somewhere where anybody in the world can read my thoughts? Why not just write in a private diary with a lock on it and the key hidden under my teddy bear? Because I don't have a teddy bear. And because perhaps I want the "secret" pleasure in knowing that my current struggles and internal dialogues with myself will be read by certain people. I imagine them getting onto the Internet. I imagine them clicking on the link to my blog. I imagine them reading my words and thinking of me. Hmmm. I wonder how obvious this "them" is. It's one person, okay? One person.

Man. I shouldn't write this post. I should delete it. But I like the honesty and vulnerability. Can I admit that? Does admitting that make it less honest? No, I don't think so. I think it just means I am self-aware. Wow, that last sentence sounded so... douchey. Does it sound douchey? Good Lord/BUDDHA, I question myself a lot. I guess I'm really not that self-aware.

I'm rambling. Because I forgot what it was I even wanted to say.

I think I just wanted to say that Greg Wilcox is on the cover of City Weekly and that Pearl Jam is coming in concert. There. Now "them" knows.

And by the way, I DO have a teddy bear. I have a couple, actually. And one that is big and white and wearing a green bow. But it doesn't really matter because I never close the lock. They key was lost long ago.

For SOME reason I only have the energy to copy/paste quotes for blog posts. But these quotes explain my past three days brilliantly.

“There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.” --Buddha

-

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings." --Anais Nin

if you leave me comments, i will predict your future

So here's the deal, reader of blog-- I want to write a post. I'm just in "one of those moods." But I am also at a loss for interesting things to write about. Yet one man's interesting is another man's boring, just like one man's trash is another man's "authentic vintage" that they sell in a vintage store/hipster's paradise at an incredibly hiked up price. Pay $$$ to look like you have no $$$! And try to look as unique as possible just to end up looking as non-unique as possible because everyone else is dressing in the EXACT SAME authentic bullshit vintage as you are! Why can't we just stop? Why can't we just go back to wearing togas and/or loin cloths and/or fig leaves? Now THOSE items are vintage.

Where was I? Oh yes. Nowhere. But nowhere is somewhere, right? Let's talk beauty myth.

Man. Maybe not. The Beauty Myth is a subject I really do want to talk about, but I think writing about it will take much more effort than I am willing to put forth at this moment. At this moment I just kinda sorta wanna watch Larry David get into trouble on Curb. I also want to read more of Infinite Jest, but I don't know if my brain can handle it. My brain needs to catch its breath. Reading a mere 20 pages of that book is the equivalent of running a marathon. I attribute this analogy to Jack Jared Waters, by the way.

Remember John Bytheway? I think I remember a talk he gave about a down syndrome child picking up a desk in the middle of class and throwing it across the room. But most likely I am remembering incorrectly.

This post went nowhere. But it also went everywhere. WHERE in the world is Carmen San Diego? You tell me, reader of blog. YOU. TELL. ME.

goodbye to the green briar

I miss my little apartment by the sea (and by "sea" I mean the "sea of cars on I-15").

I am pretty adaptable to places, so I know I will soon get used to my new place and love it just as much (and probably much more-- I mean, it IS David Lynch's magical house of doors and mirrors), but there is still a sadness when saying goodbye to a place you have spent time and made memories in. Here are a few memories from the three months in apartment 1237...

*typing absurd poems at 2am on my absurdly loud typewriter
*convincing myself I was being attacked by bedbugs
*realizing the power (and necessity) of earplugs
*coming to kind of enjoy music playing 24/7
*drinking energy drinks at 3am and staying up until 8am
*reading hundreds of pages and writing more absurdities during these caffeine-fueled all-nighters
*witnessing the versatility of Top Ramen
*eating cottage cheese in the pantry so I wouldn't gross out Jack
*craving classical music
*watching a lot of "Curb Your Enthusiasm"
*oh yeah, and having a fair amount of emotional breakdowns... but hey, it may have helped me with the absurd writing! There's nothing like a good breakdown to produce some weird-as-shit dialogue.

And my roommates were fantastic. Lovely, lovely people. Even if one of them would, on occasion, snore. (Insert winking and smiling emoticon wearing alligator sunglasses.)

should be writing an article on banned books, but instead i am googling "alligator wearing sunglasses"

And here we go-- another list blog post. I started writing full sentences and even PARAGRAPHS, but then I decided to delete it all and just write what I am comfortable with, which is lists and erotic poetry. Joking about the erotic poetry, but maybe one day it will be less of a joke and more of a career move???

*the fairly entertaining trip down memory lane turned out to be more emotionally damaging than entertaining, but... "fuck" it. i can't let the past continue to dictate my present.
*tattoos. cool. but now i am wondering if i will ever get one? i either want a lot of tattoos or none. all the way or none of the way. lately, for some odd reason, i have been none of the way.
*why have i been none of the way? i have been playing around with the idea that i want to be fairly generic looking. not in a bad way. not in a good way. just in a way. very plain. plain clothes, neutral colors, no patterns. no jewelry. pale skin. perhaps kind of an androgynous feel?
*i sure feel stupid admitting all of this.
*i am neglecting my article. i should stop blogging about very insignificant things.
*but first i want to say that i have a sick feeling in my heart about someone(s) who may have stolen something. i say "may" because it could very well (and hopefully so) be untrue. rightful action, people. don't take things that aren't yours.
*and one final note: i can be quite the hypocrite. and i don't like that. something (me) needs to change (for the better).
*boring post.
*my apologies.
*also, i need to stop apologizing all the "GOSHDAMN" time.

HERE IS A PICTURE OF ALLIGATOR SUNGLASSES:

rooftops

I miss talking with people. I mean really talking with people. For hours, about nothing and everything. This, I think, mostly happened with casual acquaintances and strangers. Maybe I need to meet a few strangers.

if you leave me a comment or two or eighteen, i will take you out to dinner at red lobster

Currently sitting at my desk listening to Chopin.

Items on my desk:
*Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour an Introduction
*Scott Carrier's Running After Antelope
*Merriam-Webster's Pocket Dictionary
*an empty wine glass I used last night to drink half of a Wired energy drink (COOL)
*oh, and a laptop. go figure.

Today was:
hard.

Tonight will be:
better.

Tomorrow:
doesn't exist, silly.

Are my blog entries too long winded? Do I repeat myself? Do I question myself too much? How does my brain know that toothache cream exists? Does it? I'm pretty sure it does. Pretty, pretty, pretty damn sure.

Let's all watch the sunrise together.

sweet and sour

I need to stop being so annoyed of everyone. It's a terrible habit. Don't worry, I usually only get annoyed with strangers, not people I actually know. Because, well, people are actually pretty good people once you get to know them. The problem comes when you don't know the person. You can assign whatever personality, likes, dislikes, etc. to this person, thus falling in love with or hating an illusion.

Ah, illusions.

I suppose I could have said more about illusions than just "ah, illusions," but... Eh. I'll get to it one day. I'llusions get to it one day. What? What did I even mean by that? That was not clever, just weird. And confusing.

So anyway, back to the most obnoxious people on earth-- strangers. There is a boy and a girl on the 4th floor of the library, which is supposed to be SILENT, but they just have to keep talking and talking and laughing and talking about the most boring "SHIT" ever. I don't get it. How can people be so incredibly oblivious to simple social norms? Just be quiet. Or go to the 1st floor. Or better yet, go to The Creamery, order some Brigham Young vanilla, and continue to laugh your ass off in a more suitable environment for your wacky tales.

I'm sorry.

Namaste.

May all sentient beings be free from suffering and the root of all suffering.

Uh...

It's a free country?

Well, enough about bothersome chatterboxes-- let me instead make Jack blush and publicly announce that I love that little guy. He is such a damn sweetheart and he has this gift of making me feel instantly better by simply hugging me or holding my hand. His little gestures mean a lot to me, especially lately.

He's basically the Zooey to my emotionally unstable Franny.

freud, vacuums, and escaping through the window(s) (of our mind)

You can find Jack and I in the UVU "green" library almost every single night (except for Sunday boo hoo hoo) reading the "shit" out of "books." Wait. No quotations around BOOKS. We read so so so much. I think reading is a great escape, like sleeping, but in reality (what IS reality, really? in all reality, what is it?) reading and sleeping are the opposite of escapism... depending on what you read and who you sleep with, of course. Through great writing and messed up, wacky dreams, we confront reality all of the time. We confront difficult, baffling, absurd questions. I think the real escape, the true mindless escape is through television and US Weekly. And sometimes religion. And certain intoxicants. Not that escapism is necessarily a bad thing. There's a time and place for everything, no? I wish I could speak more intelligently about this, but alas I feel rather uniformed and uneducated on such matters. I suppose this is when I go to the bookshelf and pick up a few books and start reading and lo and behold I will magically transform into a well-informed babe with a brain. Boy. What am I even talking about? Just rambling. Just tired and wired ramblings.

Here's something that bothers me about the UVU library... Well, first of all, it's as cold as "SHIT" in here. Green my ass. Also, they vacuum the "SHIT" out of this place. Every single night we are here, four or five international students (who are seriously so cool... I guess I didn't have to mention they were international students, but I did and there is NO BACKSPACE KEY ON THIS KEYBOARD!!!) start vacuuming and emptying trashcans and wiping down desks and eying me suspiciously. I realize that they are just doing their job and that I am just easily annoyed and that I am just chronically paranoid, but can't a girl just have an absolutely silent, non-Arctic experience while she is reading books about body dysmorphic disorder? I guess not.

Fun fact: In his practice, Freud eventually had a patient who would today be diagnosed with the disorder: Russian aristocrat Sergei Pankejeff, nicknamed "The Wolf Man" by Freud himself in order to protect Pankejeff's identity, had a preoccupation with his nose to an extent that greatly limited his functioning.

this is me. i couldn't have described it more accurately. i am getting better. or at least trying to get better...

"The enormous psychic feats accomplished by the anorectic in her attempted suppression of need are exemplified in another way in which she relates to this body that is, and is not, hers. A notable experience for many women caught up on the anorectic treadmill is the involvement in physical regimens of a punishing and extraordinary nature. It is not uncommon to encounter an anorectic taking two or three 'killer' exercise classes in a row or working out for forty minutes a day on the Nautilus machine after a seven-mile run. An anorectic rarely uses public transport, not because it is disagreeable but because it is too indulgent. Strenuous exercise in increasing amounts is often central to the maintenance of a psychic balance as is the denial of food. It is possible to understand these physical efforts simply in the terms in which they are first described by the woman, that is, as the attempt to rid herself of the calories she has ingested and thus conceal that she has indulged by eating. But there seems to be much more involved in the frantic exercise programme than merely the efficient use of calories. In several instances I have been struck by how the completion of exercise rituals gives the woman a real feeling of accomplishment. The achievement temporarily counteracts the feelings of inferiority that the woman lives with so incessantly. If she can achieve such extraordinary feats on so little food, and with so little weight, then perhaps she is of some value. Sadly, these efforts have to be repeated daily and increasingly for the person to maintain the feeling, which is transitory. Nevertheless such efforts are in the service of attempting to look after herself and give herself good feelings in a way that is entirely within the anorectic's control. She is turning around the frail image of emaciation she represents to the world and defying the conventional notions attached to thinness and femininity." --from Hunger Strike: The Anorectic's Struggle as a Metaphor for Our Age by Susie Orbach

that seminary principal is in some serious shit. but this post has nothing to do with him. but please keep reading!

My Saturday, in words and holograms:

*Wake up at noon.
*Go to the Waters' garage sale and buy all of JARED'S Mormon novels about dancing.
*Get a full body massage by a man/boy/infant named Sam.
*Sam forgets to massage my right glute/ass cheek.
*Thanks for nothing, Sam.
*Go to DI, compete with JARED/"Jack" over books.
*Buy a couple of books, including a kick ass/glute Bob Dylan book.
*Go to Will's Pit Stop and buy coffee.
*Drink coffee too soon, burn tongue.
*Go into Borders and disguise coffee as Seattle's Best.
*Fool everyone.
*Read magazines about Vermont, New Mexico, and tattoos.
*Read 30 pages of Franny and Zooey. I have read it a few times before, but man oh man is it good.
*Realize Franny and Zooey is my favorite book, not Catcher in the Rye, although I still think Holden is a gentleman and a scholar.
*Go to my Mom's house and eat some shit. Not actual shit.
*Realize that I say the word "shit" about a million times more than I used to ever since I started dating JARED/"Jack Whatshisname."
*Write a blog post, contemplate my glutes.

LOVE YOU, SICKOS.

well, folks...

...I will probably be up all night. What in the world is there to do in this town on a Thursday night? Jack and I went to Barnes and Noble. They closed. We are now at the library, but they close in 34 minutes. Wal-Mart (or lovingly referred to as "Shit-Mart" by Jack) may be next... Not because I feel the desire to support soul rotting capitalism, but mostly so we can be in a well-lit place surrounded by soul rotting zoobies in terribly ugly flannel pajama pants (with a rubber duck or frog print). THEN WHERE TO NEXT?!? Most likely home. Read. Write. Discover my Buddha nature. Oh yes, there's always IHOP or Denny's. Can my Buddha nature be found in a Moons Over My Hammy? Dare I say yes. Yes. I dare.

I should probably just take a cocktail of sleeping pills and Xanax instead.

by far the dumbest post i have posted thus far

Eff you, Papyrus.

shorter entry, coming next! with pictures! and uplifting words! don't read this post below! read the one above!

Writer's block is by far one of the most annoying things to happen... ever? to me? when I'm trying to finish this very sentence? Man. Everything I've written lately has been severely subpar.

Very unimportant things that are currently bothering me:

*I hate my profile. As in my actual profile, not my Facebook profile. Although sometimes I hate that profile as well. But right now I like it. But I don't like my actual profile. Did I mention I don't like my profile? God. It doesn't matter.

*I don't know why I am an editor. I think I enjoy being an editor, but I really feel inadequate.

*Eff you, ADHD.

*I miss communicating clearly with others. I constantly feel (cue emo music) misunderstood.

*I am all Buddhist talk and no Buddhist walk. Ridiculous.

*Medication scares the bejesus and bebuddha out of me. I really think it changes personalities. It makes people less playful, more robotic.

Okay.

I have to do this now... Things that are not bothering me and actually make me quite relaxed and happy:

*Girlfriends.

*The library.

*Notebooks.

*Days off. (And although I do not currently work or go to school, I don't often have days off. Off of what, then? Oh, I know, I know. I'll save it for my lock and key journal.)

Cryptic post? I don't want it to be. I am going to copy and paste this and then put it into a word document and then print it off and then crumple it up and then stuff it in my mouth and then realize I hate the taste of computer paper so I take it out of my mouth and uncrumple it and fold it into the shape of a swan and then hitchhike out to the Great Salt Lake and release my paper swan into the lake only to realize that it is a crane and that it won't float.

Chu-Chu-Choose Me!

Guess which Orem Meg MAY have a crush on Steven Chu, the United States Secretary of Energy? Well, it's THIS Orem Meg. Look at this guy! Look at that mole! Fun fact: When Steven was a boy, he taught himself how to pole vault using bamboo poles obtained from the local carpet store. Unbelievable!

sosososososososososo

You know how sometimes you will go to a party and a girl will come up to you and tell you that she is friends with so-and-so and that this particular so-and-so said really good things about you and that you are really funny and that she should be friends with you? And then you learn that so-and-so had the swine flu? And then for about four or less seconds you experience a montage of your friendship with so-and-so and remember that you and so-and-so were best friends at one point? But now you don't even have so-and-so's number nor do you even feel that concerned that so-and-so had the swine flu. well, i mean, you're concerned, but you're not rushing out to buy any "get well" mylar balloons. And then a day later you blog about this brief and relatively insignificant blast from the past and wonder why you did so. Perhaps you wanted to talk about how quickly things can change, how rapidly people come and go in your life (in everyone's life, really), how you wonder how long your current so-and-sos will be around, how to not get the H1N1 virus... You want to talk about all of these things, but find that you presently do not have the energy nor the desire, frankly, to delve into these so often discussed topics. You would rather get into bed. You would rather read Eastern philosophy (always the cure for your moments of distress and/or friendship breakups with so-and-so and so-and-so ad infinitum). You would rather not look back, you would rather not look forward. You are looking now. You are happy with your now so-and-so. Now is good. No, now is not good. Now is not bad. Now is now is now is now ad infinitum.

Next post: My recent obsession with using the phrase "ad infinitum." And also my obsession with getting rid of obsessions.

i use an old joke in here...see if you can spot it! the first person who spots it gets a tax break and/or a kitten wearing a bandana eating a banana.

Okay, maybe that post was too short. But the picture was good.

Today I went to the Arts Festival with my dad. It was fun to see/hear him talk to every photographer there. And he actually knew quite a few of them. I hope I get to a point in my life when I can casually shoot the shit with other people in my profession. I also hope my profession isn't something having to do with motorcycles or taxes. I hope my profession is that of a writer. I may write about motorcycles and taxes at some point, though, so in a roundabout way my profession MAY end up having to do with motorcycles and taxes. I will title my first book (which will be an unofficial autobiography of myself) You Can't Get Into Heaven with a Motorcycle: A Look Back at How Meghan 'Biker Babe' Wiemer Avoided Paying Taxes for Most of the '90s: The Nineties: A Decade or a State of Mind?: The Mind: More Than an Empty Bucket: The Bucket List: A Stupid Movie: Movies: Are They Really Better Than Books?: Yes.

Today my dad bought three Alan Watts books. I am proud of him. I bought an old hardback copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I am proud of myself. Pride: A SIN.

"Think of it - unchastity is second only to murder. Perhaps there is a common element in those two things - chastity and murder." -Elder Bruce C. Hafen, 'The Gospel and Romantic Love,' Tambuli, June 1983, page 23

WHAAAAAA?!?!

Anyway, here is a picture of the first motorcycle, which was built, ridden, and then destroyed all in one day, which was surprisingly 100 years ago this very night.

Not impressed?

You should be.

this kitten looks like jack

Maybe my posts need to be shorter. And include pictures.

there is a lot of love to go around, so i will say it one more time: i love you.

I have about 13 minutes to write this post, so maybe I shouldn't even be writing it in the first place... But man, I just want to WRITE. Quick-- I need something to write about. Something that will result in a witty, perhaps charming, intriguing, sexy, hilarious, heartbreaking, intellectually stimulating, visually breathtaking, sincere, and honest post.

NO! I will NOT write about anxiety!

NO! I will NOT write about depression!

NO! I will NOT write about eating disorders!

YES! I will write about how indoor lighting can drive me crazy when it's still sunny outside.

I will write about my tendency to bite my lips, crack my fingertips, and occasionally wink to make sure my right/left eye isn't failing me.

10 minutes left!!!

I will write about the lady that followed me TWICE into the bathroom today at Borders. Was she really following me? Or am I just paranoid?

I will write about how I am paranoid.

I will write about how money doesn't talk, it swears. It's obscene. It's a myth. It's not worth worrying about. So please, don't.

I will write about Woody Allen's absurdity and how it makes me both laugh out loud and want to take a nap (to rest my brain).

I will write about how I just Googled "out loud" to make sure it was two words.

I will write about how much I love the TV show Felicity. I love it so much. If anyone is up for it, I would love to have a Felicity marathon. I would love it so much.

5 minutes! I think!

I will write about my ever increasing love for flannel shirts.

I will write about my new found love for rap. RAP.

I will stop writing so I can go home and take some kava to calm me down. Wait! I wasn't supposed to write about anxiety. But I did. And there is no backspace on this keyboard. Just kidding, of course there's a backspace.

But is there a backspace in you MiNd?!?!?!?

thoughts on a saturday

*i have good friends.
*i wish i didn't have a panic attack yesterday in the newsroom because i should have stayed longer. i apologize, jennie.
*comedy: it's what unites! oh, and divides. that letterman/palin thing is a joke in and of itself.
*"in and of itself"... did i use that phrase correctly?
*i want to read thomas pynchon.
*i met matthew holland yesterday. he joked with me about shootin' hoops.
*meeting matthew holland yesterday was like meeting the bishop.
*i hope najib is feeling better.
*why does jack's throat hurt???
*today's "lunch" could have been a good idea or a very, very bad idea.
*is it possible to not think enough but at the same time think too much?
*i need buddha again.
*buddha would not want me to want him.
*this is why i want him.
*convoluted.
*remind me to buy toilet paper today.
*my hair is ugly lately.
*i can't decide if i am j.crew or tattoos.
*i really do have great people in my life.
*and i love you.

my titles have nothing to do with my posts, so... DMB is in my CD player right now. and it is so good.

I don't want to make this blog be one that I only write in when I am sad or anxious. I don't want to always complain about this and that (and without a doubt end up sounding ungrateful, selfish, and whiney). BUUUT...

Today I have been anxious.

Surprised? I didn't think so. This anxiety has been totally caused by me and me alone. I could have prevented it, but I didn't. So I shouldn't complain. Then why am I even mentioning that I feel anxious? Perhaps I want to purge myself of a little bit of my anxiety by telling all 17 of you. Maybe I think someone would benefit from reading this because they would be able to relate. But is the real reason why I am boo hooing on my blog because I want some kind of sympathy? Pity? Hug? I am guessing it's a mixture of all of these things. Also, I am just passing time.

What to say about my anxiety... Maybe just that it's real? I wonder sometimes if people think I am making it up or exaggerating just how anxious I get because let's admit it-- I can be a rather dramatic person. But I can also be a really quiet, closed off person as well. And non-confrontational (well, except for lately...). Put these things together and you've got a classic case of the "let things build up until you explode and have a hysterical breakdown" syndrome. Is that a syndrome? Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I need to take better care of myself. And I don't mean physically, even though that is very important. I mean emotionally, spiritually, mentally. Lately I have found myself pushing through each day, trying to be funny, cheerful, in the moment, etc. But my feet end up dragging and everything in my brain turns to static and I do all I can just to not start crying. MIND YOU that not all days are like this. I have my very peaceful, content moments; however, I fear that my emotionally exhausting days are far too often than they should be.

What am I so sad and anxious about?

This is what gets me. I feel guilty (and therefore sadder and more anxious) about feeling so gloomy. I have so much going for me. Really. SO much. There are wonderful people in my life who care deeply about me. I am doing well in school, I get to be the features editor for the newspaper, I overall have my health, although I do not currently have a job I have enough money to get me by, and the list goes on. So it should be easy enough to just say "snap out of it" and then, well, snap out of it. Then I can magically turn into a happy person 24/7. Right? To be honest, that does work sometimes. I believe that if you want to be happy, if you say you are happy (even if you are kind of lying), then you can truly be happy. And then I start thinking about what "happy" really even means and why everyone needs to be happy... But perhaps I will save that for another post. My point is... My point is that depression is sure a bitch. It's a struggle, a lifelong struggle. And damnit, so is my eating disorder (which is definitely another post, a post I have already written... probably numerous times...). I just want an understanding ear. I want a patient hearts. I want a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. I want someone to break down my walls even when I say I want to be alone (I don't, I really don't... defense mechanism at its finest). Let me just say that I DO have these things. And I want to thank all of you who are there for me. It means a lot.

I want a breath of fresh air. I want to be okay.

I want to make this post better, but the computer lab is closing. Time to publish this and then go to sleep and then wake up in the morning and feel slightly embarrassed/nervous that I published this.

Catch ya l8r, sk8rs.

and besides, i couldn't afford the bus fare

I want to post something, but my eyes are heavy and blurry-- I should just go to sleep. I was going to post the lyrics to Jenny Lewis' song "It Wasn't Me," but i decided against it. It seems like it would have been too much. But if you are at all interested, google it and read it for yourself. See ya sooner or later, kids. Probably later. Camping. You know how it goes. I need a hug.

your turn

Time for another list post:
*I've spent far too much time in front of the computer these past few days. My brain is applesauce.
*My dreams lately have been relatively controversial. And they leave me in a confused state of mind for the rest of the day.
*Sigh.
*I used to think everyone was older than me. And usually they were. But now I feel old. Everyone seems so young and silly.
*This list is yaaaawn. But if you knew what I dreamt about, you would be on the edge of your seat. You'd be sweating bullets. You'd be crying. You'd be sighing. You'd be as confused as I am.
*I'm not that confused, actually.
*This is confusing because I am being so vague.
*A little mystery never hurt anyone. UNLESS THAT MYSTERY IS THE DA VINCI CODE!!! (I'm pleased that Da Vinci Code jokes are back in vogue. I am a little saddened that swine flu jokes are now passé.)
*Grocery shopping. Tomorrow. Will buy healthy food. Will make a meal. Jack and I shall not starve.
*When you take your pill
it’s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
lost inside of you.
*I have people lost inside of me. Most definitely.
*And then I wake up.


I like my new hair.

you look like a monkey and you smell like one too

I found out today that I will be going here for my birthday next Saturday:

I am pretty damn excited. Of course, I am sad that Jack will be out of town for my birthday, but hopefully I can have a small get together a few days before/after my birthday with Jack and all of my friends.

I have said "birthday" too many times in this post.

Last year for my birthday I was lying on the grass in a park by the railroad tracks looking at my feet and the mountains. It was a good day.

listen to the lyrics!!!

These two women have gotten me through every heartache, breakup, bad mood, and good mood that I have had over the past six years or so. I really love them so much. God and Buddha bless you, Jenny and Karen. You two are saints in the eyes of little old wa wa me.

YOUR FACE is a vanderslice

So a rabbi, a priest, and Meghan Wiemer walk into Velour... Okay, just Meghan Wiemer. Although a rabbi and/or a priest COULD have been there... Is Corey Fox a rabbi? I could see him being a rabbi, and by "rabbi" I obviously mean "teen heartthrob." Anyway, less about Corey and more about me going to Velour last night for the first time in months.

I was a bit nervous.

There's this little thing I have called "chronic social anxiety." I also have a bad allergic reaction to hipsters. (Okay okay okay, I know I can sometimes be classified as a "hipster," but... but... I don't really know how to defend myself. I guess I could just say that I am less of a hipster now and that I always delete American Apparel and Urban Outfitter emails without opening them up and that I like Dave Matthews Band and that sometimes I look through Eddie Bauer catalogs and think about how fun it would be to be wearing khaki shorts and sitting in a canoe.) The anxiety plus the allergies equal me never going to shows anymore unless I have a flask in my back pocket. BUUUT I took a chill pill last night (seriously, I took GABA, which is a supplement, which made me feel a little/a lot drowsy, which also made me feel a little intoxicated, which resulted in me getting a tattoo of Bea Arthur RIP on my shin, which may or may not be true) and put on my big girl panties and went to Velour with Jack to see John Vanderslice. And lo and behold, it was actually not that traumatic of an experience. The concert was good and I only ran into two people that I knew. I guess my days of knowing everyone at shows is (thankfully) over with. Everyone seems so young now. So young and so into themselves (aren't we all, though?). It was like a fashion show last night. Were people there for the music or to be seen? Probably for the music, but they also knew that they would be seen, so they tried quite hard to look different, but ended up looking the same. Ohhh and the indie dance. Yes, I saw the indie dance last night. Lanky boys in tight pants moving their legs and trying to look awkward. Success!

What was I trying to get at in this post? It is far too long to just say I went to a show at Velour last night... BORING. Maybe I was going to philosophize or declare my independence from the scene or tell you a secret about the boy from the band, but I did none of those things. And now I have to use the bathroom (like, really really really bad-- like, uh oh I might pee my pants bad-- like, I hope the Russian custodian isn't in the bathroom-- like, why do I keep typing instead of actually using the restroom?).

Oh yeah, I got a bloody nose last night. But it only lasted for roughly forty-five seconds. I am suspicious that it was just ketchup.

unemployment

Why have I not posted for so long? The simple one word answer to that is SUMMER. My typical summer day goes something like this...
*Wake up at 12pm
*eat Cheerios or yogurt or somethin'
*MAYBE go to the gym if I am ambitious and/or Jack lets me... :)
*do whatever
*do some more of whatever
*keep doin' whatevs
*drink an energy drink or a 24 ounce coffee at 9 or 10pm
*write in my notebook
*type up three poems
*oh yeah, Facebook throughout the day
*take a second to realize that Facebook is a verb
*try to remember what verbs are
*have an emotional breakdown (hopefully these are over, though)
*write some more
*read
*earplugs...
*and sleep with the bed bugs and the pokey puppy
Happy Summer '09, kids.

facebook and pizza and burritos and pretzels and pickles and coffee and vaseline intensive care lotion

Facebook is out of control! We are all trapped in the Facebook net! We are all dolphins in the Internet Ocean and have been welcomed to the Pacific that is Facebook. And soon we will be killed by fishermen catching tuna. And then they will package their tuna with a false seal that says "No Dolphins." Whatever, tuna fishermen. You totally killed us.

burritos and pizza

Remember those long blog entries I would occasionally write where I would just go on and on and on and on about who the hell knows what? Those were fun. Those were also written on stimulants. Now that I am not on any kind of stimulant and getting off of Wellbutrin, I feel sluggish and depressed and not able to do anything, such as write a blog post of any interest whatsoever. See ya!

see ya later, woodbury

Well well well... It's my last hour and twenty-one minutes of work. Sad. But it also hasn't sunk in yet. And it's not THAT big of a deal (oh, aside from the whole panic-I'm-unemployed part), but I have been at this museum for two and a half years. For twenty hours a week. So I have basically spent roughly 2400 hours of my life in this place. (Update: My bosses just said their goodbyes to me. Weird.) Even though this will be a strange adjustment, I am not going to let it get me down because why should I? There's nothing I can do about it, so I might as well just (drum roll...) LIVE IN THE PRESENT!!! I feel as though that phrase--"live in the present"--has become quite the cliche, but it's a TRUE and WISE cliche. And so I will. And I won't worry. And I will eat pizza.

for a blind man, this post will be rather worthless

I want to live here:

I want to go to school here:

I like this:

I am excited about this:

I think he's watching over me:

I am looking forward to going here:

Here's a pretty cool/hott picture of myself:

libraries??? do they have magazines there??? cuz, like, i am more of a magazine reader.

There are a few things that will always calm me down and make me happy, such as Neil Young's Harvest Moon, anything Buddhist, pumpkin patches, and smoking out of my crack pipe. Okay, the last one was just a joke. Not exactly a funny joke, but rather an edgy joke. You know, drugs. Anyway, another calming/happiness producing thing for me is going to the Orem Library on Sunday when it is closed. I love having a librarian for a mother, especially a librarian that works at such a kick ass rad library. These are the things that I picked up while at the library (after I ran around like crazy for a minute or two... Hey, when no one's in the library, why not take full advantage of it and act like a five-year-old?):
The Harry Smith Project: Anthology of American Folk Music
The Complete Poems by Anne Sexton
Turtle Island poems by Gary Snyder
American Primitive poems by Mary Oliver
The Beauty of Vermont (basically just a book of bea-u-ti-ful pictures of my future home)
Discarded books:
Authority and the Individual by Bertrand Russell
Freedom in Exile: The Autobiography of the Dalai Lama by some dude
Wherever You Go There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life by Jon Kabat-Zinn
In My Own Way: An Autobiography by ALAN WATTS!!!
Those Amazing Leeches by some perv who put together a disgusting book about leeches full of disgusting pictures of leeches
I LOVE YOU GUYS. WILL YOU GUYS LEAVE ME A COMMENT??? I WILL RESPOND TO ANY COMMENT, I PROMISE! I JUST LOVE COMMENTS, I GUESS. AND I LOVE YOU GUYS. YOU GUYS ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU. CONSIDER YOURSELF HUGGED.

i know, i know, i really like giving everything a yellow tint

I hope he's not embarrassed that I am putting this picture up, but... I just think it's a great picture.

tip my cup

Who here is terrified to even begin to think about writing their finals for Modern American Lit. and Beat? Me. Papers scare the dickens out of me. You guys... I just said the word "dick". I am so embarrassed. Shit! I just said the word "ass"!

Here's something that will be stupid to explain, but I'm going to anyway. So I think you are technically supposed to put the punctuation inside of the parenthesis above (unless there had been a question mark), but I don't think that makes sense. I started to explain why it doesn't make sense, but then I deleted it because it was sooo boring, but if you are on the edge of your seat wanting to know why I refuse to follow the rules on this one, fax me. Otherwise, I'll just leave you hangin'.

I am a human Mad Lib. As simple (and as complicated) as that. My dear Jack said that we are all Mad Libs, which I thought was so perfect. We fill in the blanks all the time. I fill in the blanks constantly. It's pretty much what I do best (aside from avoiding writing papers). And filling in the blanks without any previous knowledge gets me into trouble! Remember the movie Double Trouble with The Barbarian Brothers? Cool. Anyway, I am working hard at being less fill in the blank and more fill in the cat: http://www.nel.com.mx/nel/projects/fill_in_the_cat_1.htm

Let's talk more about The Barbarian Brothers. Just kidding.

Today while driving to work, I realized that I tend to give strangers nicknames that are both stupid and a little bit rude. For example, I saw some dude with dumb sneakers and I just called him "Shoes". A chick with a dumb cowboy hat on became "Hat". Then there was the douche wearing a douchey V-neck who was known as "V-neck Douche". I wonder what I would call myself if I wasn't myself and saw myself (who's not really myself) walking down the street... I would probably call myself "Mad Lib" or "theoretical physicist". But that's just filling in the blank.

if you leave me comments, i will not kill you

things to do:
see a therapist
eat mindfully
write in my journal
meditate regularly
talk to girls
hang out with girls
yoga
cook
stop procrastinating everything
organize something
sleep more, much more
have a talk
have a few talks
become enlightened
become ordained
pass the sacrament
cliff diving (psych)
learn to swim (meh)
camp

cathedrals kind of freak me out

I am sad today. Well, maybe sad isn't the right word. I am panicked. Yes yes, about school/finals, but there is something else contributing to my panic/anxiety... Maybe a couple of something elses... And it is driving me nuts that I can't quite put my finger on what is bothering me. So... Can anyone tell me what's wrong? Does anyone want to completely take away this anxiety for me? All I need is someone to write my papers for me and to give me an bottomless pill bottle of Xanax. That's all I need. That's not asking for too much, right? OHHH and a hug would be okay, too.

finals? more like week long caffeine binge.

So we all know that I love writing. But when what I am writing will be marked up with a red pen, pointing out all of the places I am wrong, and when what I am writing will ultimately determine the rest of my life, I freeze up a bit. I get extremely stressed out. I eat a lot of cereal. I spend hours on one page. I take Facebook quizzes. I update my Twitter. I create a blog post. I send texts. I do anything I possibly can to distract myself from what I initially loved doing. Maybe if the pen wasn't red. Maybe if instead of grades, professors gave emoticons. Maybe if we could turn in blogs instead of scholarly papers. Maybe if all of these things happened, I would be less terrified.

But until then, I am terrified.

I am also terrified about a bunch of other (and more serious) things. But I can worry about and obsessively eat cereal over those things after finals.

Who here is, like, sooo bored that they wouldn't mind writing a ten page paper about, you know, Modern American Literature and shit? Because if you don't mind doing this for me, give me a call or fax me. I'll be waiting.