Monday, August 30, 2010

yo, bitches

Plane Crash in C.

Saturday, August 28, 2010


I sure went all wonky in my last post. I felt like I was 19 again or something. SoOoO dramatic. Loony bin.

(But then again, I shouldn't ignore those strong, fleeting feelings. I am sure they are trying to tell me something, I just need to listen.)

Friday, August 27, 2010

From now on I am not opening up to anyone. I am hiding away inside of myself and will smile whenever anyone says anything, no matter what.


But serious. I am so frustrated.

Monday, August 23, 2010

this book is vegan and also really good

This recommendation may be getting old to a lot of you, but I don't care.

READ David James Duncan's The Brothers K.

Okay, so I don't want to build it up too much. I don't want to claim that it's my most favorite book of all effing time, because it's not. But it is still pretty damn amazing. Duncan is a writer's writer. He's like some crazy love child of David Foster Wallace, Thomas Pynchon, and J.D. Salinger. He is basically a literate hipster's wet dream.

The book is big. Almost 700 pages. And now you are thinking to yourself (or saying out loud if you are into saying things out loud), "Geez, BuddhaOremMeg, where will I find the time and/or attention span to read such a thick novel?" And I will say back to you (either in my head or out loud or through carrier pigeon), "Hey, man, listen: it ain't War and Peace. This moves quickly. It is actually fairly addictive. You will read this book the same way you would shoot heroin into your tired veins. The characters are superb!" And you will thank me.

Happy reading, loves!

Friday, August 13, 2010

written not today, but on aug. 7; however, typed today

Maybe this can be my refuge? This writing business, this busy-ness (no hyphen, I suppose), this journal, this pen, this exact moment of writing. I am currently experiencing full body chills. Dizzy spells. Dry spells in my attempts to read. The focus is there, but it's off doing something else and I must track it down. Does the hunt (less treasure, more point-and-shoot) begin with the pen? Am I, right now, in the process of hide and seek? I am, and I am simultaneously hiding and seeking. So I will search the corners, rummage through the drawers, peek into the freezer with a slight, ridiculous hope (it's always the last place looked, last because it is found and anytime it is found it becomes the last). I will claim that what I am looking for is solid, but you already know my claim is false-- and because of this, I am bashfully blushing-- I have been caught. But you can't see any of that because-- remember-- it's dark in here.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

remembering to forget

And how do you recover?

Begin by not revisiting that day. Do not, under any circumstances, remember how that was the day you purchased a white bra, a black bra, and contemplated buying really ugly discount panties as a joke ha ha. He'll get a real kick out of that ha ha. If at all possible, push out of your mind the pleasant dress you were wearing and how your new white bra made the dress less pleasant and more va-voom. He told you you were "too good" for him. You laughed, you straddled, you caught him off guard. When you recall the smell of the library you went to with him that night, try to think of any other smell in the world, any other. Burnt popcorn, cheap cologne, your locker from junior high. Any scent is better than the last place the two of you were together, the place that smells like musty books and freshly vacuumed carpet. You were a little on edge that night, but try to forget that detail. Forget that you told the librarian, in your edgy way, that you still had eleven minutes until the library closed and that you planned on using at least ten of those minutes to continue reading your book. Which book? Don't ask.

You slip out of the library, you say your goodbyes, you go home.

Good evening, for the most part, but you can't wait to take off this irritating bra.

And now you are in your living room watching some late night junky show about nothing in particular. Or are you brainlessly and shamelessly Googling classmates from high school? Maybe you are just reading and waiting in your bed, alone, waiting for morning so you can wake up and continue sleeping through all that has transpired during the night. He acts differently in the morning. He doesn't kiss you right away. You make some jokes you think are pretty funny. He looks tired. You need to wash your hair. You say your goodbyes again. You can't stop saying them for the next 365 days. And so you try to forget.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

tonight i like words


Thursday, August 5, 2010


Looking at old pictures the other night reminded me (not that I needed reminding, though) of when I, to put this bluntly, ate less and less, exercised more and more, and got damn skinny. This was mostly during 2007 and a little bit into 2008. At the time I had no idea how thin I actually was, despite the fact that all of my clothes fit baggy and the veins in my arms were incredibly noticeable and enviable by needle users. Even after getting better (better as in healthier, heavier, and a little less obsessive), I still couldn't see what so many other people saw during that time-- that I was sick. I thought I looked great in those pictures and would get depressed that I couldn't fit into those teeny jeans anymore. Ah who cares if I now had a calmer, more peaceful mind that could actually think and be rational? Who cares if my skin regained color and my ass became an ass again (asses are good things, by the way)? But now I am beginning to see my bag-of-bones self as a separate entity. I don't know who that girl is and oh she looks so sad. Her head is too big for her body and her cheeks look sunken in. I want to simultaneously slap and hug her. But that doesn't mean I don't catch myself feeling jealous. Jealous of her concave stomach, her jutting hip bones, her knobby knees. Her lightness, her purity. Because she seems so ethereal. And she is. She is not quite touching the ground, she disappears silently, she has the "supernal happiness of a quiet death." It's these moments of awe and fascination that are more dangerous than anything else.

Look at these knees and these twig legs! But please overlook the outfit.

Monday, August 2, 2010

pretty incoherent, yes

Fillin' up time. Empty time! No, fill it up! Cut cut paste paste. Ten pages read here and there. Another cup of coffee, not for the road, but for the pages to be turned and the time to be turned into past time and my pastimes are not, sadly, baseball games and flag football, but refreshing pages on the screen and screening the calls I don't get and not getting called by this elusive inspiration. Come on, second cup, let the inspiration begin! Gun shot and they're off. Racing around my head, but only in circles. Going somewhere, even if that somewhere has already been gone. Gone? Is it gone? So fickle, inspiration. Fickle rhymes with pickle and that makes me mad that that's the only thing I can think of. I like when Cs and Ks are together. Unnecessary, sure, but they seem to like one another's company. The other day I made what one might call a "gaffe" and referred to Brave New World as Brave New Company. Who does that? And why? Why would I do such a thing? Huh. At least I did not call it Brave New Fickle Pickle. I sure do miss my brainchildren. Fill it up!

Sunday, August 1, 2010

coffee ain't cuttin' it

Due to turning the ripe old age of 26, I no longer have insurance. The antidepressants I have been taking (Wellbutrin) cost me a mere $7.00 a month when comfortably insured; without that comfort, Wellbutrin costs $78.00. That's right, sugar plums-- a simple $71.00 more. What a bunch of crazy bull shiiiiii... I don't have any pills left, so I have had to stop cold tofurkey. Not pleasant in the slightest. Mostly I have felt suuuuper sluggish and a bit out-of-my-body-- like my soul is one step behind my body. Weird? Yeah. Oh, and I have also chewed my fingernails down to the quick. Neat! Here is a list of symptoms of Wellbutrin withdrawals. I suspect thou shalt not read the entire list, so I have made bold some of the symptoms I thought were the wackiest. You may just read the wacky ones if you wish. IF YOU WISH!!!

Wellbutrin Withdrawal Symptom List:
Muscle and joint pain
Jolting electric "zaps”
Tingling sensations
Gait disturbances
Visual hallucinations

Blurred vision
Abdominal discomfort
Sleep disturbance and insomnia
Vivid dreams
Flu symptoms and general malaise
Anorexia, agitation
Memory and concentration difficulties
Chills and hot flashes
Crying spells
Suicidal thoughts