bell hooks THIS, punks.

I was watching a rerun of America's Next Top Model yesterday and the girls had to get their photo taken in ball gowns... IN A POOL. And the water in the pool was freezing cold and the girls were shivering and one girl almost got hypothermia and the pictures actually turned out really pretty, despite the cold.

Stay with me.

My life right now is kind of like this particular episode of America's Next Top Model. I'm in a pool, you guys. A metaphorical pool. And this metaphorical pool is full of metaphorical ice cold water. And for a meta moment, I am drowning. We all know I literally can't swim, but I try it anyway. I've been trying to swim in frigid water for awhile now. But I need to stop before I get metaphorical hypothermia/have a very real breakdown. I have limits. I need to realize and accept that fact.

And it helps that I have support in getting out of the water. It really helps.

There comes a point when I need to be okay with any decision that I feel is right even if I have no support, but for now this support is my life saver.

Speaking of Life Savers, do you think models allow themselves to eat Life Savers? Probably. They probably survive on coffee, cigarettes, Life Savers, and eight balls.

Speaking of eight balls, anyone wanna go to Ozz sometime? You know, that pool hall down in Provo. They now serve disgusting looking food.

Speaking of food, it's an issue.

Speaking of issues, I'm proud of this week's issue of The V.

Speaking of Vs, every woman should get hers checked out every year.

Speaking of years, where have they all gone?

don't let this man open this closet!

A true statement I just stated to Jack: "If I wasn't me, I would love me. But since I am me, I hate me."

Today Jack and I went to the mall. Weird, right? Yeah. Well, it was actually "hella" fun. Until it was just hell, which was towards the end of our shopping excursion when we found ourselves trapped in the closet with R. Kelly. Kidding. We found ourselves trapped in Hot Topic surrounded by Robert Pattinson's mug on shirts and 13-year-old kids going through multiple identity crises. But overall the mall was all it's cracked up to be-- aWeSoMe! And full of shit! And we actually bought some of that shit! Here is something that I purchased today with my hardly hard earned money:

My new hat doesn't look exactly like this, but close. I did not pull an Ashton. It is not a trucker hat. I love my new hat. I am going to create a Facebook page dedicated to my hat. I am also going to post a Myspace bulletin proclaiming my love for the hat (and my indifference towards the Chicago Cubs). I won't actually post a Myspace bulletin. That was just a casual joke, not really meant for laughs, but meant more for nostalgia's sake. I sincerely miss the old Myspace.

I also miss my mind. It's been gone for awhile now. It's disappearance might make me fail a class. And I might be okay with that. We'll see. But as for now, I will forget all of that and fall into the blissful abyss of sleep.

GO CUBS!!!

hungry hungry hippo and stimulated stimulated meg; also, hungry meg

Best song to listen to when mad and/or need empowerment: Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Black Tongue"

Best book to wallow in for awhile: duh, The Bell Jar

Best worst reaction to troubling news: screaming into a pillow and throwing my cell phone and emailing terrible words put together to form terrible sentences

Best idea: pudding snacks

Best worst idea: Rockstar energy drink

Best way to forgive and forget: you tell me

pleased as punch (punch stab stab)

Here's how the majority of my posts sound: "The weight of the world is pressing down on me. I am going to beat around the bush for a paragraph. I will sound like a cheap imitation of Sylvia Plath now. Here is a picture of a cat wearing a sailor hat. I love you guys."

Yeah. So here's another one of those posts. When you've found your niche, you stick with it.

I grew up with "no guile." Or so my mom says. I always secretly liked that about me. I am truly a nice person. I promise. But lately I have just felt hatred towards a particular person. For those of you "in the know," you probably have a pretty good idea as to whom I am talking about. Whom? Who? Whom cares. Anyway, I know there are meditations out there that could help me get over this hatred and into some kind of a compassionate mindset. But I don't care. I can't "go there" yet. I don't want to wallow in this hatred... Right? I shouldn't give this person the satisfaction of knowing how much they affect me. (I've been using a lot of contractions in this post. Oh god. I hate the word "contractions" for reasons not mentioned, but related to this person. Forget it.)

Okay, so forget it already, Meghan. But the funny thing is, I haven't even begun to know it yet. Sure, my mind thinks I know (note: most confusing sentence so far), but I probably don't. Does it want to know? Does it want to know that her eyes are his eyes? Does it want to know how often and when? Does it want to know the crummy details? Does it want to tell itself it's all okay and that it should be an adult and that it should be and should not be and should always be? I can't remember a time when I have called her a "she" and not an "it." It never happened. What if?

So I will smile for you. I will wear goofy glasses and press my nose to your ear and talk about the things that make you laugh. I will do everything I normally do, even more normally than usual. Normal normal normal. It's me, I'm happy I'm agreeable I'm tickled pink I can't complain.

My blog would prove otherwise, you might say.

But these aren't complaints. They are pleas. They are dead ends. They are masks waiting for some kind of expression.

Help me forget.

the anniversary of black holes

I took a two hour test today. It wasn't that bad. I think. Who knows. Nobody, not even God knows. In the entire universe, no one knows how I did on the test. I think my test just fell into a black hole.

Something poetic must be written about the significance of yesterday. I will title this poetic piece "The Anniversary" and I will write it upon a bathroom wall with blood, draw a bath, and relax. Just kidding. But I probably should write something about the one year anniversary of the highest high and the lowest low. Why does low seem to outweigh high? I don't know. Not even a black hole knows.

Hey, rain. Today you are okay. You are even welcomed.

Here is a picture of God walking into a black hole, otherwise known as "God's garage" or "God's garage of the future."

Could Terry be the next Dalai Lama? Or the next Dalai Wizard?

I was so nervous about my Buddhism midterm today. To be honest, I only started studying for it last night (and the studying wasn't very much), so I had every reason to be nervous. I thought to myself, "If you don't do well on this, you can never return to Buddhism because Buddhism doesn't want a failure." I know. Nutso. But (surprisingly) I did well on the final. It might have just been luck, though. I got "easy" questions, such as "What is karma?" and something about artificial insemination. I could tell you what the "answers" are, but I am really anxious to start reading...

...Terry Pratchett. I am 24 pages into The Color of Magic and, uh, I'm actually really enjoying it. Who would have guessed I would like a cheesy humorous fantasy novel? Not that I need to justify it, but I will just say that it is a total escape and, well, despite my Buddhist inclination towards seeing reality, escapism is refreshing sometimes. Besides, even fantasy is reality in Buddhism. Or at least according to my questionable scribbled class notes.

Baking banana bread right now and it feels so good.

Oh, and smells good, too. And will hopefully taste num num as well.

I'll save a slice or two for you.

moderation no more

I make muffins at 1:08am just so I can lick out the bowl.

I should be celebrating 12 months, but instead I am mourning 7 and fearing 5.

Did you know I don't like the number 5 for some reason? When I was younger and more of a "savant," I used to associate the number 5 with Hawkeye Pierce from MASH. I don't hate Hawkeye, though. In fact, I find him kind of sexy.

Although I currently own at least four copies of The Bell Jar, I bought yet another copy tonight. One of those days/years, you know? The new copy's font is a little bothersome. It looks like it belongs in a chick lit, not in a novel about a depressive chick.

My html skills go only so far.

I lack compassion lately. For everything and everyone, especially myself. I am apathetic. For example, I used to care about saving the planet or whatevs, but right now I have about three unnecessary lights on and tonight I threw away cardboard that could have totally been recycled. Oh, and trash? I rarely pick it up anymore. Sorry, Iron Eyes Cody.

this is probably a bit... i dunno-- MUCH-- but i want these kids

boner city

An idea for a poem is brewing in my head. It has to do with plums and cauterization.

But not boners. At least I don't think so.

sitting in an elephant tree

The past few days:

*Thank you, Diane di Prima.
*I just got a coffee for a refill price and it TOTALLY WASN'T A REFILL. I should have been honest. But do honest people ever get coffee refill prices? Not a chance in hell!
*Speaking of chances in hell, to many people, this wouldn't have lasted-- not a chance in hell. But it has. So far. Does it continue? Heaven only knows.
*But I think I know.
*I just don't want to admit it.
*"You say I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me. Maybe you're right."
*I'm scared.
*It's an emotion I feel often.
*Such a pretty day.
*Not a sentence.