perplexed; an eclipse

a blender brought out the beast in me today.
sounds funny.
but it's not.
it's scary.
the real world doesn't scare me.
it's me that scares me.
and apostrophes.
and catastrophes.
but not trophies.
if i could get a trophy,
any trophy in the entire universe,
it would be
"the universe's nicest person."
i would graciously and modestly accept,
then turn around, melt it down,
trade the gold in for cash,
and give the money to endangered species,
or kids with nothing on their mind
but rain for water, for survival.
i'm not going to win that trophy
anytime soon.
or ever.
so i throw my shoes off instead
and walk to the border
with my sailor
hand in heavy hand.
(the tide pulled the moon down
and it landed in my lap.
i'm landlocked, dear moon,
and you will never see your reflection
again.)

move along, nothing to read, just keep on moving

I am writing this to write. To try and jump start my brain. JUMP is an incredibly odd word. Jump. juMp. JUmP. jUmP. Is that even a real word? Is there such a thing as "real words"? All of this is arbitrary. ("Jump" no longer looks strange to me. Just a regular word, nothin' special, nothin' to see or read here, folks.)

My plan for today was to get super silly stimulated and write a paper for my theory class. HA. The first part happened, but the latter is pretty much a failure. So far. It's just an incredibly difficult class for me with an insane amount of writing that makes my mind and nerves and sense of self worth shake. And the caffeine doesn't help with the shaking, surprise surprise.

Speaking of sarcastic surprises, who knew that stimulants = eating disorder for me? Huh. I never knew that. OH WAIT. Yes, I did. Sarcasm. I forgot how to use it. Now I am more confused than when I started. What do these words mean? Exactly. No one knows. Or they do know. Or it doesn't matter? Jabberwocky?

Hey, real world. You scare me.

hormonal

I appreciate you. I really do. I love you, in fact. Thank you for thinking of me.

They say your enemies are your best teachers. Patience. And they are right. Go ahead and knock me down. You deserve an entire apple tree for what you've given to me.

Eff those people who get, like, 15 blog comments in two hours or less. Eff them straight to... MY HEART. What does that even mean? It's sloppy writing, that's what it means.

Quantum theory. You knock me out.

You know what else knocks me out? Tylenol PM. It knocks me out so hard that it's kind of scary. Right after I take it, I begin to have trouble breathing. WHAT?!? I am serious. I get scared. Is sudden sleep worth it? Count sheep instead, Meg.

Oh yeah. I almost forgot. Remember how three adults got punished unfairly/"made an example of" today because of very meaningful tattoos? That suxxxxxxxxxx. That sucks my metaphorical balls.

Ewww.

i know i am "not my past," but...

past boyfriends had this to say about me... it's a tad discouraging...

"i know you are feeling distant and detached, and that makes me want to call you more, and text you more, and email you more, and just be around you more. which i feel is pushing you away more, which makes me want to interact with you even more because i like you so much. all this is frustrating and I really don't want to bug you in any way. if you need space or distance will you tell me?"

"i think you recall that one of the biggest problems early in our relationship, or at least as i saw it, was communication."

"i have always thought you very smart, and that has been part of the frustration. i knew there was so much more than i was getting access to. i think you will recall me having said that at times before when getting frustrated. so i am sorry if i misrepresented you in that way. because, although you are inaccessible in many ways, i have always found you to be smart."

"i SO called it! you ARE alone thinking sad thoughts! no! meg!"

"i am scared that you don’t like me as much as before! and that makes me want to cry all day."

sorry.

I

I need to quit wasting energy on the situation.

I need to stop starting every sentence with "I."

I need to start thinking of others.

I will drive to New Mexico and sit in the desert.

I am a good person.

I will rediscover.

I am not my past.

Or my future.

I am my now.

I will be honest.

I will hurt everyone no matter what.

I can help somebody.

I should help myself.

I will be okay because I want to be okay.

I will stop accidentally deleting my posts and having to rewrite them again, poorly.

Thank you, and may you find your own peace.

the boss is coming over for dinner! fix him some curry!

When I grow up I am going to write a curry cookbook called Sometimes I Get Curried Away with Curry. And the foreward will be written by Ann Curry. Or Richard Gere.

science vs. romance

I read what I dreaded tonight and was, surprisingly, not as affected as I thought I would be.

I had to leave the room, though. I thought I would break down. I went into the bathroom, locked the door, turned on the fan, and sat (fully clothed) in the bathtub. I forced a few tears.

Then I stopped and sat, lethargic, looking at the hair in the drain.

I have, as they say, become quite comfortably numb.

This is good in the short term. It allows me to have a night sans puffy eyes. In the long term, however, this could be bad news. I don't know, though. Maybe it's not this way. Maybe I am just naturally getting over things. And what am I getting over exactly? The answer could either be a relief or a heartbreak. I don't know the answer yet.

And right now I am going to live my life being okay with not knowing the answers, not knowing the outcomes. August wasn't the beginning of my unanswered questions. Rather, it brought my questions to the forefront of my mind. But these kinds of questions take time to marinade. The future is undecided and that's just the way it has always been.

And if she looks like you, then she looks like you. It's science.

(The numbness is my friend at this point and solitude seems more and more inviting. Do I let these feelings continue or do I try and put a stop to them? Again, I'm okay with not knowing at this point. But I do know the answer to at least one question. Do I deserve to be happy? Yes, I do. So I will be.)

tonight

Enya makes me both so happy and so sad. Geeeeez, man.

I really want everyone to know I ain't doin' this whole vegan thing for trendy reasons. I have felt so passionate about animal rights since I was a young girl. I was a vegetarian for a long time and I toyed around with veganism in the past. I have never been "perfect" during these times, but it's about time I let other people and myself know how serious I am about this. I believe in something, so I should stick with it.

In other news, I purchased a marvelous backpack today at DI for two marvelous dollars. Here is a picture:

I don't care if everyone in the world hates my backpack. I love it and that's all that matters. I also love you.

you've heard all of this before. or read it all before. or DREAMT it all before. "dreamt" is a word, right? ohhh boy.

Oh, Facebook. Thank you for being a constant reminder of my past.

Today while "logged on" (as the tweens would say), I came across photos of gals from my cohort in the education program. They are in their final semester of school, which means they are student teaching and will most likely be elementary teachers in the fall of this year. That came quickly. If I would have stuck with the program, I would be in a school right now teaching a bunch of snotty nosed tweens. This morning while I reflected on this and the choice I made to quit, I felt a TINY bit sad. Maybe not even sad. Curious? Regretful? I had worked so hard to get into the program, but then I became a little bit discouraged and left. Was it the right decision?

Then I remembered how out of place I felt among my peers. They were all women (except for the big black guy who was pretty awesome) and very... Utah county. I know I have written about this before, so I need not go into much detail. Basically, I never felt accepted or appreciated. My "talents" went unrecognized and I wanted to tell them all, "HEY! I am actually a pretty smart and funny gal! Just because I don't like Kenny Chesney or have a giraffe print purse doesn't make me a failure!"

I remembered how much has happened since I left the program and went back to English. So much happened. If I stayed in the program, I might have never dated Jack, worked on the paper or Touchstones, gotten a poem published, reconnected with and met some very intriguing professors, gotten involved with the Animal Alliance Club, made some rad ass zines for the Beat class, become friends with Najib or Rob or Whitney or Jennifer or anyone connected with the paper, etc. A tidal wave of things happened since leaving the program. And most of them were positive. All of them were life changing. I wouldn't change a thing.

I think I still have an interest in elementary education. Maybe one day I will go back when I am more at peace with myself and want to "settle down." As for now, I am at peace with where I am and the choices I have made. This post is kind of boring. See ya.

UVU is no longer a school, but a business. Really. Go to the bookstore. They sell Sex and the City DVDs, but no Tolstoys. Congrats, education.

I apologize for beginning my last post with an offensive word. To me, however, it is not offensive if used correctly. Or even used incorrectly. Basically, there is nothing offensive to me about the word. The only words I find offensive are the ones written by Alaskan rogues. And even then they are more humorous than offensive.

So, school. Great. There goes my lazy days of Dostoevsky reading and half a can of Rockstar drinking and here comes my busy days of literary theorizing and double Rockstar drinking (and 24 ounce coffee drinking and Dollar Tree energy shot drinking and drinking in general). Oh, and the paper. Here comes last minute planning and stressing and awkward run-ins that leave me running to the bathroom to cry alone in a stall. But it doesn't have to be this way, right? Right. I swear I am going to plan out each issue of The V at least a day before the Monday meeting. I SWEAR. I am also going to swear more in The V. You know, like saying things such as, "Utah Valley is the dope shit, motherfucker" and "Fool, you best believe we bring you the most bitchin' shit in the damn Valley each week." Things like that.

I don't want any major panic attacks this semester. I don't actually want to abuse Rockstars, coffee, energy shots, or any other stimulants. I want to stay on task and keep a planner (ha). I want to give Jing Dong a hug. I want to vote for Team Engaged. I want to be done already, basically.

Anyway, I effin' love you. Have a beautiful day.

sink swim sweep keep

Oh fuck it.

I want to be happy. I don't want to let her or him or that get me down anymore. I've said this before, but it's a new year, no? Well, according to my calendar of sleepy kittens, it is a new year which doesn't really mean anything. But let's pretend that it does. Let's pretend that it means I get to be happy. Let's pretend that it means I get to move past IT. Let's pretend that I become a really peaceful, warm human being instead of a paranoid, weepy girl surrounded by a self-built brick wall.

Let's not pretend it never happened.

Because it did. And I'm not going to sweep anything under a rug because, well, frankly I don't have a rug and I have a dust pan from IKEA. Point is, I am going to stop pretending and actually be. I am going to be happy, I am going to move past it, I am going to be full of peace and warmth. And I definitely know it happened. I know it every single day. I suffer every single day. BUT here's the catch: I know (but sometimes forget) other people suffer as well. I want to reduce the amount of suffering in the world, which means first reducing the suffering inside of myself. It also means forgiveness. It also means allowance. I can't suffocate suffering; I need to experience it and look at it and work through it. Without question I have experienced it. But that's where I stop and where the metaphorical rug comes in.

Throw out the rug. Throw out the destructive comfort I find in sadness. Throw out the replay button. Throw out the mud of 2009 and jump into the clear pools of 2010. Note: I cannot swim, so stop taking everything so literally. I will stop taking everything so seriously. I will laugh this year. I will be okay. Come what may. Also, come May I will know how to swim. OR MAYBE NOT? Yeah. Probably not.

three words

I hate her.

It was so easy for me to type those three words. It's just as easy to say them, too. I could probably say them to her face without blinking an eye. And obviously I am confident enough to publish them.

I hate hate.

These feelings have been destructive for nearly a year. They died down here and there, but like a persistent rash, they kept coming back, making me more and more miserable each time. As much as I want to think of the past year as a year of love, I will see it as nothing more than a year where I hated a girl and hated a boy and ultimately hated myself.

Forgive and forget.

No. That's the quick answer. That's the answer that hurts others the most and gives me immediate satisfaction. But the satisfaction doesn't last long and I am back where I started, which is a defeated and frustrated feeling towards the entire situation. In all honesty, I want to forget. I don't want to forgive. But maybe it's time.

I hate him.

And sometimes I genuinely do. Other times I say it to get a reaction. It's possible to hate someone you love so much, which was a discovery I made this past year. He will never understand this, at least not yet.

I miss him.

Fill in the blanks with whatever you want.

I feel trapped.

It's a sinking ship, folks, which doesn't matter when you only have one paddle. Best give up now and wait for the waves to bring you back to shore.

we all fall down

Can't 2009 and all of its unanswered questions just stay in 2009? Apparently not.

Good work, everyone, at keeping the fire lit.

If you need me, I'll be over here in the corner surrounded by ashes.