hiding from salesmen

There is a poet that I like named Scott Poole. He is from Vancouver, Washington and is the resident poet of Oregon Public Broadcasting's monthly show, "Live Wire!" Today I was reading an interview he did a few years back. When asked what his writing routine was, he answered...

"Well, first I drop into a cold sweat. Then I lie on the floor and wonder if I'm dying. Then I see if there is anything on television that I can steal. Of course, there never is. Then I sharpen a #2 Ticonderoga pencil and throw it into the swimming pool. After that I consider becoming a Barista or Phlebotomist. Then I panic again. Then I watch the movie Barfly, if I haven't done so in the last month. Then I drink a six pack of Fat Tire ale and fall asleep under the living room rug. When I wake up hungover I do seven hundred jumping jacks and then prepare a meal out of nothing but extra virgin olive oil, leeks, and the latest issue of Sports illustrated. Then I eat a box of cookies and read a few lines out of The Old Man and the Sea: "I have seen lions on the beach..." Then I burst into tears and roll down the stairs. At this point I'm just about ready. I play every CD I have that mentions Johnny Cash or is influenced by him. Then I put on my writing underwear with a picture of Emily Dickinson on the crotch. Then I stare at the wall for 17.5 minutes. Then I start writing with no clue, and eventually I produce some piece of trash that I take out and throw in this deep pit I have dug in the back yard. Then I burst into tears, make a sandwich, and tell myself that I'm a freakin' hack and that I don't deserve to live. As I am driving the car at breakneck speed towards a cliff to kill myself, a great idea usually pops into my head at that moment and I have to stop and write it on my leg with a pen I keep in the glovebox for just such an emergency. Well, maybe it doesn't always work exactly like that, but that's how it feels."

Amen.

ich liebe dich

So I am at work right now and I can hear bagpipe music coming from some mysterious location... And it's not just any old bagpipe music, but rather Star Wars theme bagpipe music. Okay okay okay, makes sense. Nope. It doesn't.

I am sweeping the entire museum floor right now. Which is a pain. But then I get to mop! And I genuinely enjoy mopping floors. Mopping floors is like raking sand in a Zen garden for me. While sweeping and mopping, I usually listen to podcasts. Today I have listened to an Alan Watts podcast and will maybe listen to a Radio West podcast. Pod pod pod. Cast cast cast. You know the trailers that schools sometimes use for extra classrooms? Are they called pods? They are, aren't they? And what's the deal with the caste system? Maybe I can create an entire comedy routine based on caste systems. And genocide. No? No, probably not.

I wrote a poem last week about God letting everyone walk on water for one day only. Did I already mention this? I am a teeny tiny bit pleased with it. It has a LONG way to go, but the idea I am working towards is something I kind of like.

You know what else I kind of like? Cleansing the doors of perception. And by "kind of like" I mean "kind of really love". I love you!

on the road to the krishna temple

Is it just me, or does it seem like it is the "cool thing" to be totally indifferent or against the Festival of Colors? I mean, I understand that it is way too crowded and that there are so many lame BYU T-shirts occupied by so many lame BYU students at this festival, but...

And then there's Jack Kerouac. Lately he has been a bit picked on. I also think this is another case of the "it's-cool-to-not-like" syndrome. Come on, people. Lighten up. Just a little. Of course, if you genuinely do not like these things, go right on ahead and not like them. But to not like them just to be cynical is so... 1995? (I am not sure what I mean by that, but just go with it. That's what she said. That was probably my weakest "that's what she said" thus far.)

cockroaches

there's a heaviness around me today. i'm not sure why. i feel physically uncomfortable and am finding it hard to breathe, which i think is mostly due to the wind.

perhaps the best way to put it is that i feel like a water strider. just skimming the surface, relying on tension, poorly developed wings... okay, never mind. this was the worst way to put it.

something just feels off.

maybe it's because i am trying so hard to write this poem and nothing's coming to me at all. nothing. maybe i need to shoot a glass off of a lady's head. william tell style.

mustang michelle and juice box judy

Two adorable girls just came into the museum. They only looked around for about one minute, and when they left one of the girls said to me, "Very artsy." True. Quite true. They reminded me of characters from some junior fiction novel about horses or something. I bet their names are Michelle and Judy.

Now there are two bros that just walked into the museum. They are not adorable. And if one of them says "very artsy", I will punch them. That's not their line. That's Michelle's line. I bet their names are Cooper and Conner.

Oh! Michelle and Judy are back! Michelle has this giant tote bag/purse. Michelle is trying to look grown up. And it's working! I could have sworn she was 37. Turns out she is 11.

I am trying hard not to step on the many ants that have gathered by the desk. I don't want to kill them. Not really out of compassion, but just because I don't know how. I don't think we have any kind of spray here and I would rather not try to find an innovative way of killing insects. Besides, there aren't THAT many. I will leave them alone as long as they don't crawl up my skirt... Which I think they may have already done.

I just stole a graham cracker and two saltines from my boss's desk. Shhh.

dUuuUde. it's 420. like, right now.

eating: spinach salad
car smells like: fish burrito
i love: my jacket
reading: a streetcar named desire
annoyed by: my creative nonfiction professor's formal ways
bought: two pizzas, pizza bites, and tofu and rice bowls
i hate: twilight
wrote a poem about: god letting us walk on water for one day only
miss: sand and rock
waiting for: the next "that's what she said" moment
should be: writing
should have: written
remembering: when i was in gymnastics as a kid and would hide under the mats
also remembering: how i would watch clouds during recess and build tiny houses out of grass
worried about: months
still want to get: holy holy holy
i love these places:

delicate

I loved Spring Break.
I loved where I was and who I was with.
I loved sitting on a rock and staring at the colors around me.
I loved watching the clouds.
I loved the tinfoil dinners, the ashes in my tea, the little girl playing in the sand.
I loved the hungry dogs that wandered over.
I loved greasy hair.
I loved moabstaches.
I loved bare feet, walking on water, man with rolls of toilet paper.
I loved the announcer voice, but I also loved knowing the announcer doesn't have to announce if the announcer doesn't want to. Getting rid of masks, of roles (but not rolls of toilet paper).
I loved the disappearance of my disorders and obsessions and hangups for at least a short amount of time.
I loved the pause.
I loved the bookstore and the abbey merchandise and the great songs.
I loved the comfort of the south and the southern comfort and the green/red tea mix.
I loved small god and big god and all the gods in between.
I loved being.

“But my dear man, reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.”

tonight was good (creating love for e.e. cummings in my mom) and kind of bad (having emotional breakdown on a bare mattress in my basement). but more than anything, tonight was a "oh shit, i missed a chance to go to the deer hunter" kind of a night. :(

i need alan watts.

and a hug.

dare or dare

dare.
be less shy, more open, less self-deprecating.
dare.
eat more pie.
if i want.
dare.
do what you want.
dare.
to keep kids off drugs.
dare.
sell drugs to kids.
dare.
dumb joke.
dare.
there i go again! self-deprecation, an art form.
dare.
paint a masterpiece.
or not paint.
sculpt.
dare.
close the museum once the pregnant lady and white haired cowboy leave.
dare.
done and done.

truth or truth

truth.
i can't tell you real deep truths here.
just a heads up.
truth.
i ate pie yesterday. for the first time in... i cannot even think back that far. we'll just say a long time. how did i handle it? truth. i don't know.
truth.
i am not as comfortable with myself as i had previously thought. i've got a long way to go.
truth.
i deny myself sleep.
truth.
even though i want sleep so so so much. want and need.
truth.
i don't know what i want.
i don't know what i need.
truth.
a hug.
truth.
i once wet my pants on a walk last summer.
truth.
and walking back from a class.
truth.
i had weird bladder issues last summer.
truth.
i think my bladder is much more well behaved now.
truth.
i want her to like me. or to at least be okay with me.
truth.
some things should not mindlessly be written on this blog. so i will remember that for future truths.
truth.
sleepblogging.

i am NOT typing this on a mac and i am NOT happy about it. psych. i don't care, man. if anything, i would prefer typing on a typewriter.

the new facebook is freakin' me out. facebook became such a comfort and a familiar place i could escape to. and even though it didn't change THAT much, just the little changes have really thrown me for a loop. i never thought it would come to this, but it looks like i will have to make an attempt, no matter how feeble, to have real life social skills. so how do i do that? what do i say when i walk up to a living, breathing person? do i speak in the third person? "meghan wiemer likes this." and then give them a thumbs up? how do i express emoticons in a non-cyber world? with real emotions? huh. i'll have to practice that one. ;-(

i am so happy that jennie just walked into the room and asked me if i too hate the new facebook. we were definitely on the same wavelength. speaking of waves, surf's up and welcome to the pacific and vote engaged and oh boy i can't stop. these phrases are on repeat in my brain. in my mind or in my brain? they are two very different things.

guess who's facebook chatting for the first time ever? that's right-- orem meg. i guess i haven't totally given up on facebook. and i guess i have mostly given up on real life socializing. but i am just a tootsie roll and i am just rolling with the punches. wait, i used that incorrectly. "hey TOOTSIE... ROLL with the punches!" did i already type that up on a previous post? god, that would be embarrassing.

just sittin' with my back to everyone while typin' shit. i constantly feel like people are peering over my shoulder. it's freakin' me out almost as much as the new facebook.

so... what should i do now? should i go to the coffee pod for an animal alliance club coffee night? i DO want to go, but that would mean standing up, walking, getting into my car, and driving. should i do homework? should i write? should i sit quietly, arms folded? should i start converting emoticons into real emotions? i think i will just roll with the punches...

words all across america have been reached

surprise!

i am a blonde again. which isn't actually that much of a surprise. i change the color of my hair roughly every three months. must be a gemini thing. uh oh... this entire paragraph is turning into a carbon copy of a text i just sent... it's like, get some new material, orem meg. but seriously, i like being a blonde. even though sometimes i feel more "me" with darker hair, which is sort of strange since i am a natural blonde. carpets don't have to match drapes, people. GROSS. SORRY.

speaking of surprises, last night's pacific themed surprise birthday party was a success! i am so surprised (enough with the word "surprise"! yells the voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like penelope cruz) that i was able to keep the party a secret and that i was able to somewhat lie convincingly. i don't think i have ever thrown a surprise party before and let me tell you somethin'-- it is quite a bit more work than i had imagined. surprise surprise. but somehow--with the help of a 5-hour energy shot--things overall came together rather swimmingly... and while we're talking about swimming(ly), the party's theme of the pacific and welcoming people to it probably does not make one lick of sense to anyone aside from five or six people. and even then, it still doesn't make sense (which is why it makes sense/is so funny). i wonder if people who look at the facebook pictures from the party last night think that we are just a bunch of lame jackasses that decided to have a "random" wednesday night tropical themed party at wolverine crossing. which is actually kind of what we did, minus the "random" part and add in a "birthday" part. man. we are seriously so cool. not just the pacific partyers, but each one of us. including you, you genius.

man oh man oh boy, i am starving. hysterical. naked. dragging myself through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix. okay, actually just starving. (eat a burrito, you fool! yells penelope.)

near, far, wherever you are

I am starting to get lazy and want to just write lists and fragmented sentences for my blog posts. So here goes.

"ocean" and "oh shit"-- perfect

for a good hour or so this afternoon i was petrified and it was NOT pleasant

last night i witnessed three impromptu performances of celine dion's "my heart will go on". it really really REALLY should have been captured on film, but sadly it was not. my my, it was beautiful and terribly strange. strangely beautiful.

boy, that one hour of being petrified sure wiped me out. i don't know if i can really write much right now.

i need to spruce up my grammar skills. that sentence was really annoying to me.

i don't think my zines-instead-of-traditional-papers went over well in alex's class... but i don't really care, which is somewhat unusual for me.

let it be. revolution.

i want to hug everyone right now. i need a hug.

"hell is other people at breakfast." --sartre

good quote. introvert.

read with a pencil in hand

today's purchases:
buddhadharma magazine that talks about medication and meditation to treat depression
sex, economy, freedom & community by wendell berry
collected shorter plays by samuel beckett
the essential dalai lama
a 12oz stainless steel thermos

today's lunch:
a mediterranean salad from oasis cafe

today's weather:
windy

today's depressing store:
forever 21

today's punchline:
helicopter

wonderbush = what i would name a lame band

today is the first time in a long time that i have worn a bra. it is so uncomfortable. but i feel suddenly sexier.

does the phrase "first time in a long time" seem odd or wrong to anyone? it's strange that there can be multiple first times. hey, if that's what guys like to hear...

sexual revolution '09. i am going to stop being so scared to say whatever i want.

my sentences tonight don't quite make sense. to me.

i want to be a part of the vagina monologues this year. when is it? do i have to audition?

unshaven rooms.

the weak men and provo push walk into a bar and by "bar" i mean SEGO and by "sego" i mean giff's corner and by "giff's corner" i mean yOuR mInD

i feel like my posts never have much to say... it's just me rambling about unimportant things, like writing with a purple pen. and nothing ever seems to be linear in these posts. maybe i should write about one topic-- like hot topic and how i once almost got a job there. i told them i liked the clash. they liked that i liked the clash (which i DO-- london calling is one of my favorite albums), but i guess something about me wasn't manufactured pop punk enough-- which is SO not true. i own black jelly bracelets and a non-authentic ramones t-shirt. so what i am trying to say is that hot topic can go take a flying leap.

flying leap?

yes. flying leap.

i just got out of an animal alliance club meeting. i am so happy that i decided to join that damn club (excuse me-- i am so stimulated right now and whenever i am in this damn hell ass awesome state, i swear. sometimes a lot. sometimes a fuck lot-- i didn't really use the "fuck word" the best way i could have. it just sounded weak. the weak men-- anyone? anyone? remember?). ANYWAY, i am glad i joined the club. i am glad that i am much more involved in school than... well, probably more than i have ever been in my college career. which has been a long career. and i am not even THAT involved, which just goes to show you how un-involved i have been in the past.

i want to write for the newspaper. AND i promise i did not just type that because a few of the newspaper people sometimes read this... i have just been thinking about it for awhile. i think about things a lot, but my problem is in turning those thoughts into actions. sometimes i need a little push (PROVO PUSH??? anyone? anyone? remember?). and wherever that push comes from, it just needs to come. and THAT--dear blog readers--is what she said.

weird that right after i typed "that's what she said", najib walks past the computer loft... weird, right? nothing's weird anymore. not even having a black president. okay, that's still a little weird. it's like, "WHAAA...?!?" everytime i remember that we have a black president. man. i was trying to be funny, but it just didn't happen. really, that wasn't funny at all. i am slowly turing into a bore.

you know who is really sOoO gAy??? team uvoice. good lord.

not starving (because he's eating grape nuts), maybe hysterical, definitely naked

thoughts at 6:26pm
it is odd to me that i have read the entire bible
or did the entire bible read me??? no.
i am excited to try out the deer hunter
five hour energy shots: cocaine in a bottle?
i still want a kitty
i stole generic goldfish crackers from my boss
my nails will always be uneven
nobody cares if my nails are uneven-- why did i write that?
somehow i have started writing with a purple pen
i want to start a sexual revolution
penguin dust
oh god oh jesus oh buddha let me be comfortable
i love this picture:

the photographer (larry keenan) said this about the picture (taken in ginsberg's san francisco apartment in 1965): Once when I was visiting Allen in his apartment he asked me if I would like some coffee. Having said "Yes," he presented me with a metal bowl with coffee in it. The bowl seemed strange (like a dog dish) and I nursed the coffee to cool it down. Soon he started asking "Are you finished with that, man?" I would say "No, not yet" and after awhile I started to feel uncomfortable because the bowl seemed important to him. When I finally said "Yes," he grabbed the bowl away -- threw the remaining coffee in the sink and sat down with the bowl for his breakfast cereal. I was using his only bowl.

(.)(.) obscene and inappropriate, meghan (.)(.)

okay okay okay-- i shouldn't be blogging. and i should be using capitals. psych, it doesn't matter. fuck grammar! and capitalization! and capitalism! and team uvoice! and "unwritten laws" or whatever the fuck made the engaged poster come down. i would say "excuse my language", but since i just came (pun???) from alex's class, i don't feel the need to excuse any kind of language. so rest easy, it's okay. is it okay? i should be doing homework and reading and painting walls at work (which is such a pain-- the week that i am so extremely busy i actually have WORK to do at work?!? what the fu...dge?!?), but instead i am going to brag. just for a second.

please excuse my boastfulness.

i submitted nine poems to touchstones and all of them got accepted. ALL. i think that's pretty cool... right? i mean, it's nothing TOO damn awesome, but it is still sorta kinda awesome. i am terrible at bragging. i just want to keep cutting myself down. "cut cut cut" is a dave matthews band lyric. what a dumb ass lyric. anyway, nine got chosen, but now they are making ME choose the four that will be published since i guess only four by the same author/poet/orem meg can be published??? i think i will choose the jesus ones.

i got an A on my modern american literature paper about the poetry of e.e. cummings and william carlos williams. okay, so it was only two pages long, but still. i was nervous. now i am pleased. but still nervous for some reason.

okay, now on to the elections! it is intense. and i am just the bodyguard (my new self-appointed unofficial title)! i can't even imagine actually running. which is why i will probably never run for any kind of office. imagine ME of all people in charge and making laws and ordering people or whatever elected people do. i would just be shy and muttering things under my breath, trailing off, avoiding eye contact. then i would probably just let everyone do whatever they want. and i would also take everything personally. if someone didn't vote for me or opposed some decision i made (that's assuming i would ever make a decision), i would think it was because i am an awful person and because i have gained weight. i am sure a pill.

chill pill, meg!

pills pills pills (not a dave matthews band lyric, but definitely should be. i will bring it up with dave the next time he and i are jammin'.).

another cup of coffee for the road

old habits die hard
OLD habits die hard
old HABITS die HARD
OLD HABITS DIE HARD
die hard starring bruce willis
watched it while blazed
psych
old habits DIE fucking HARD
hard hard hard
habits habits bits and bits of
HARD DIE HABITS OLD
old old old
get me out of
old habits
here
die
hard
hard
hard
hard