Friday, December 23, 2011


Well, my my. It's been quite some time since I've bared it all on this little blog, now hasn't it? I'm feeling confessional. I'm feeling surprisingly not vulnerable. I am not brave, but in some foreign land between vulnerability and bravery. So what now? Do I "confess" this and that? Do I complain? Vent? Keep asking questions? Uh, apparently the last one. Right? See what I did there? Anyway.


I eat. I eat sporadically and privately. I nibble. I have rituals and routines and odd compulsions. I feel terrible pangs of guilt after every "meal." Often I feel terrible stomach pangs in the form of "Oh shit I just stuffed myself." Ten times out of ten I wish I felt hunger pangs instead. And so I go after that desired empty feeling. I run off and away from the fullness. What I'm left with after three plus hours is definitely emptiness paired with aching, tremendously aching, joints and muscles.

Sometimes I fantasize about the scene I will cause in the future when my most important muscle gives out after lap eleven. What then? Who will be called?

And there's more empty space around me. I've lost mass, I've lost friends. I found my "sick" jeans the other day, the only jeans that didn't sag on me back when I was the skinniest (and sickest) I've ever been. I found them purposely "hidden" in a box in the basement. They fit once again. I was pleased, even pretty damn excited.

This is pretty damn scary.

But I still don't completely believe it. I might know it, but I don't believe it.

Shall I get super confessional/personal? I haven't had my period in almost six months.

I feel like an alien in my own body. I am very disconnected, I am lost.

I am dramatic! I am tired. I am ready to sink my body/empty shell into bed.

I am embarrassed. I am fine.

Monday, December 19, 2011

you learn

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.

— Jorge Luis Borges, “You Learn”, trans. Veronica A. Shoffstall

Friday, November 25, 2011


I fully intended to write this yesterday, but other things came up (mostly in the form of muppets and mashed potatoes). So here we go - a post about thanks.

Hello, 2011. Remember me? I'm that girl on which you consistently played practical jokes. Was that correct grammar, 2011? Doesn't matter. What matters is that despite all of the wacky twists and turns and downright befuddling moments you threw my way, I am still, somehow, grateful for you and your bipolar nature.

You tossed me out into the world in January without the security of a relationship I had known for so long. I was broken hearted, yet there is wisdom in what's broken. In the words of my beloved meditation instructor and friend Susan Piver, "When you embrace what you now call sorrow, you will actually find an immeasurable authenticity and personal power, the kind you've been searching for all your life." I'm still searching, still learning to embrace, but at least I have begun this journey. And I began that journey in January. Thank you.

Speaking of love, February is dripping with it. Eww, gross sentence. "Dripping"? Anyway, Valentine's Day blah blah blah. I am grateful that I knew you and spent time with you during this, uh, drippy month. You taught me a lot about myself, which is what any relationship "should" do, right? We may have not been what each other was looking for exactly (whoever is?), but that's okay. You helped me get back on my feet. I hope I made some kind of positive difference in your life/drippy month as well.

Springtime was all like, "HEY! Don't forget your hipster roots!" I was thrown into the local music scene, a scene I thought I'd had enough of - apparently not. I joined and eventually quit three bands. Why I quit might be another post for another time, but there are no hard feelings about my time spent pretending to be a musician. I love the people I played with and I love the music and I even love (some of) the venues. Thank you to those who assisted me in my musical quest and had faith in me. I'm humbled.

Oh shit, summer. You sure were a mindfuck, weren't you? Yet for some damn reason, I'm really happy you happened. You are most definitely another post for another time, so for now I'll just repeat what I said above - We may have not been what each other was looking for exactly, but that's okay. That's okay. Thank you anyway.

September and October, you made sure I was never indoors. I almost lost who I was, but you were there to remind me over and over and over again. Thank you for the rare opportunity I had to be in your desert Eden twice.

So much more to write, but this is starting to feel like some bizarre acceptance speech. I really have an abundance of blessings. I am grateful for my family and friends, of course. They are patient, generous, and don't give up on me even when I'm horrendous. I made new friends this year that I am in love with and resurrected some old friendships that remind me of how delicate we are. I am grateful for my health, that I am able to do the things I want to do. My body is so precious and I'm starting to listen to its wisdom. I am grateful for words and the power they have to bring people together. I have love for you. I have love for myself. I am thankful.

Sunday, November 20, 2011


Every relationship I've had involved a ménage à trois.

Settle down. This is not as sexy as it sounds.

The third party has always been a location.

With this one, it was Tokyo. With that one, it was Vermont. And with him it was the desert.

But we never went to these places. Our love affair with location was imaginary at best and avoidance at worst. Who or what were we avoiding? Were these places substitutes for parts of us that went missing? And we missed these places, despite having never been.

The decadence of Tokyo, the cozy hideaway of Vermont, the starkness and isolation of the desert.

The landscapes that escape, the places we bury, the boundaries we set.

I can't even look at a map without mourning.

desert day

"Desert Day" by Richard Schiffman

This sky is too severe, you say:
nothing but blue pretending to be blue,
nothing but the unbroken forgetfulness
of clouds.
You've heard about snow blind?
You can also go sky blind
on a day like this
when nothing calls to nothing
all day long, and nothing
hears it clear as a bell.

It is true, I live on the edge
of a desert. I chose this place
myself. And there are days
when the world can't reach me,
even my bones don't speak.

They say the desert is hot.
I say it's cool--like a blue lozenge,
like the Sirens that lulled
Odysseus and crew
into a blue indifference,
bordering on plenitude.

That is why I chose this place
where nothing much happens
to nobody in particular. Sometimes
I swallow the lozenge of the horizon.
Sometimes it swallows me whole.
It feels good to slip down the gullet
of something interminable.

Though there are also times
when a little rain doesn't sound
like such a bad idea.

Monday, November 14, 2011


No one cares about my quest to give up caffeine, but this is a blog, so it's the place I go when I want to write all sorts of uninteresting things. Internet!

Anyway, caffeine. Yes, so for over a week I've been drinking nothing but tea (one cup of black in the morning, one cup of green in the afternoon). No coffee, no energy drinks, no Excedrin-solely-for-the-130mg-of-caffeine. And I've felt super! Really, really great. Definition of great: not anxious. But oh woe is me I caved in today. Why? Gloomy gus. Definition of gloomy gus: me. And caffeine gives me that quick mood boost (followed by a long decline into ohhhh noooo).

Why so gloomy, Gus/Meg? Ya got me. I've got no clue. But for the past day or two I've been on edge, feet draggin' sad, antsy, and uninspired. These could very well be caffeine withdrawal symptoms, but I think that only plays a (small) part. There is something bothering me that I haven't been able to pinpoint yet. Help?

But I'll be okay. I think something important to do is to sit. Sit with the edgy antsy gloomy blues. Don't try sweeping any of it under a metaphorical or literal rug because it'll just come creepin' back out, bigger and badder. I also don't need to try and "solve" anything, at least not right away. I believe what needs to happen is a sort of a "Hello, Melancholy. Who are you? Tell me about yourself." Let it unravel. I'll soon be naked. Lying on the floor. HOLD ON A SECOND... WEEZER! Damnit, I've done it again.

So, yeah. I should examine my gloom glooms, but first I'm going to waste a shit load of time on Tumblr. WISH ME LUCK!!! LIVIN' LARGE!!!

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

a poem for you (and you and you and me)

by Grace Schulman

Life's gains are losses: water leaches rock,
rivers erode and deltas restore the land;
the sun melts ice, turns rain to clouds of mist.
Wind that spins palms in circles like propellers
squanders its force; the fire that feeds destroys.

Each morning burns what night had bound together,
waking us, amazed, staring in wonder,
broken apart. So for all things refused,
I turn, as ships spill wind to change their course:
just as the sea recedes, I grow with loss.

Monday, November 7, 2011


Fine. I caved. I had an energy drink. BUT this was at least one of those "natural" energy drinks one buys for waaay too much at Sunflower. (The high price also pays for the smug self-righteous feeling one gets from purchasing a drink that is "fair trade" and "vegan" and "organic" and "good for the mind, body and soul" and "good at downward dog." How can a canned drink be good at downward dog, you ask? Don't ask. I don't have answers.)

So it's WINTER, you guys! Right? When does winter officially begin? And by "officially," I simply mean when is the day that we labeled with language as "the beginning of winter"? Is it today? No, it's not today. No way can it be today. No way in HELL.

Sometimes I wish I could be 20 again so I could redo a whole hell of a lot of things... Or not do them at all. There sure are a lot of things and people I wish I hadn't done, knowwhatimsayin'? I know you know. So what would I do differently if I could do 20-27 over again? Well, for starters I would be a much more involved student. I would graduate in less than eight years and have a minor in something college-y, like women's studies or art history or fuggin' philosophy. But probably sociology. Then I would never cut my hair and I would never date certain boys and I would probably date certain girls and I would never be fooled by professors and I would write waaay more poetry and do waaay less illegal things and I might even hold down a job for longer than a month or two. I would be nicer to others, but mostly I would be nicer to myself. I would speak up and stop shaving and okay, maybe once shave my head (but then let it grow! grow! grow!). I would start a Buddhist club on campus and donate my time and money to good causes. Oh, and by the way, I was lying about doing waaay less illegal things.

But what's the point of wishing for things to be different? THERE IS NO POINT. Well, there's got to be SOME kind of point. But I digress. Let me, oh Lord Buddha Santa Goddess, begin to make peace with the past and start living now for Now. I can in no way change what has happened (and what didn't happen) because time machines do not exist (yet). Instead, let me channel this remorse into some really all organic fair trade natural vegan downward yoga dog enlightened waasssup caffeinated writing and post it on my blog. Deal? You got it, babe.

Monday, October 31, 2011


"This law firm is looking for a 'melancholy assistant.'"

"It actually says that? What?"

"'Hiring a part-time melancholy assistant. Must work Saturdays. Previous experience preferred.'"

"Well, lucky you."

"Previous experience?"

"Yeah. You've been known to be a bit mel-an-choly at times, now wouldn't you say so?"
He grinned his trademark half grin and winked his trademark wink; I imagined him getting caught in a blizzard and then subsequently attacked by a hungry (and invisible) polar bear.

"Sure. Melancholy."

"Like, remember last Halloween when you dressed up as Tinkerbell and everyone thought you were the grim reaper? Ha. You were so sullen."

"I was goth Tinkerbell."

The polar bear has been waiting in the woods for almost three months, just waiting for this storm. No, that's not true. A bear is just a bear, not a patient, psychic weatherman. Just a very hungry, murderous bear.

"Well, you were sure a bitchy goth fairy that night."

The half grin. The bear watching. The snow picks up.

"So this job," I say with what can only be described as melancholic undertones, "I think I'll apply tomorrow."

"You sure you can hold down a job, doll? I know you've got commitment issues."

And the attack. The bear is really fucking hungry.

"Hey, I got this, okay?" I reply quietly, suddenly interested in straightening a stack of yesterday's junk mail.

The polar bear starts by ripping out his heart, staining the white fur with the feast. The rib cage makes for a fine pick, loosening lodged tissue from teeth.

"Okay. My li'l melancholy assistant."

The limbs, gone.

"I think I'm going to take a walk. Want to maybe start dinner while I'm gone?" Piles of mail still in need of attention.

"Maybe we'll have some melancholy 'n' cheese tonight? Or a bowl full of melancauliflower? Hahaha!"

The snow buried the bear tracks and what little flesh remained. And the winter months stretched on and on. And papers needed to be filed, copies needed to be made, cases needed to be closed.

Sunday, October 30, 2011


What I Love About Fall

*drinking cinnamon spice tea out of a cat mug
*wearing free beanies (free? found it on a table at UVU last year!)
*catching what I like to call "cabin fever" (symptoms of cabin fever: uncontrollable urge to murder, depression, sudden interest in reality television, daydreams about dating a man with actual cat whiskers)
*curling up with a cozy read (cozy read: french existentialism!!!)
*pumpkin flavored everything (i.e. pumpkin beer, pumpkin bread, pumpkin nog, pumpkin tuna, pumpkin mcrib, pickled pumpkin fingers, vienna sausages in new and improved artificial pumpkin flavor, spam with chunks of pumpkin, pumpkin spiced pumpkin spice)
*knowing that each time a leaf falls, something really fucked up and insane is happening in the Middle East (shit! that's not what I love about fall! wrong list. but the leaves falling are pleasant)
*punctuation becomes inconsistent and eventually non-existent
*did I mention cat mugs?

Thursday, October 27, 2011


"You're so thin. Skin and bones." He glanced down at the floor.

"And you're apparently fond of internal rhymes." Heehaw. I've always been awkward.

The invisible thing (or person or place?) on the floor sure held him captive. He remained silent, I remained as blank as a piece of dry white toast.

And finally an inhale that cut through the quiet like a butter knife.


"So!" I replied a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

"I think you need to see somebody."

I am fairly certain he meant a therapist, but I felt compelled to joke.

"See somebody? I see a lot of people. People need to start seeing me because--" Oh shit. Nothing clever is coming to mind. Come on, think think think-- do I go for shock value, sarcasm, or perhaps something high brow and punny?

I give up.

"Deeny, I'm serious."

Deeny, Deeny, quite so teeny, how does your appetite grow?

"Yeah, I know."

"I just think you need to treat yourself better."

Treat, trick or treat, costumes, what to wear, do I go for Sexy Skeleton or Zombie Karen Carpenter? Maybe I'll fake sick this year and skip the parties and slip on spooky flannel pajama pants and pass the time dining on sugar free mints and late night punchlines.

"...And you need to be mindful."

Somewhere out there, let's say on an island inhabited by turtles and ghosts, lies an active volcano full of everything everyone has ever tried to hide away under beds, feet, rugs, drugs, and holy behavior. And it's waiting and waiting and waiting and sometimes the earth just needs to bleed.



We are the driving ones.
Ah, but the step of time:
think of it as a dream
in what forever remains.

All that is hurrying
soon will be over with;
only what lasts can bring
us to the truth.

Young men, don't put your trust
into the trials of flight,
into the hot and quick.

All things already rest:
darkness and morning light,
flower and book.

from Rainer Maria Rilke's The Sonnets to Orpheus

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

to pay attention

This is joy. (I am done with blank stares and uneasy personas.) I like this. I feel happy. (Thanks to my dear friend Megan for taking this photo.)

busted block

God, I miss you, Blogger.

I have what might be described as an "uncontrollable urge" to write these days. THIS IS BIG NEWS. I've had one major case of writer's block for, oh, I'd say two years now. Three years? Let's say four.

So what shall I write about? Not that I have to have a subject or a plan. Plans shmlans. My GOAL is to just write. Write write write write type type type type write type knit sew. Okay, no knitting or sewing. I WISH. I really wish I could knit/sew, but it's as though Buddha gave me all thumbs when he created me.

Okay, but here is what I DO eventually want to explore through writing:


Summertime romances.

New Mexico.

Color and lack of color.

And some other cool shit. COOOOOL!!! Man oh man, life as a writer is so super incredibly non-lucrative and usually ends with a head in an oven, but so be it. I wouldn't choose any other path.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Pool Enipla Forever

I was going to take my mom on a drive up the canyon today. The Alpine Loop. We will probably do it tomorrow, though. That is not what's important. What's important and fascinating is that "Alpine Loop" backwards is "Pool Enipla." Pool Enipla. Say it out loud right now. Wherever you find yourself reading this, speak the words POOL ENIPLA. It does something to you, doesn't it? It sounds like the title of an artsy film that doesn't win any awards but should. You know those films - they get lost in between the couch cushions that we, as a society, sit on and zone out and turn off and tune in and this just in - breaking news! Pool Enipla takes the cinema world by storm! A perfect storm! "Perfect Storm" backwards is "Mrots Tcefrep," which is highly imperfect. I hate it. :( I hate is SOOO hard. :( :( ;-( :~(

Mrots Tcefrep will never, ever, ever be Pool Enipla.

In the name of boogedy boo, a(wo)men.

Friday, October 14, 2011

freeeeaky flaaaag

This blog should be retitled to "Her Waaaaaa Waaaaaa and Complain About Exes." Yeah, not that catchy and also not Dylan lyrics (yet). So. I'll stick with "her fog and pearls." For now.

So. I don't waaaaaanna complain! I really don't! I don't wannnnnna be that girl! That girl that is always like, "Hey, guys (and girls and animals and creatures and gods and goddesses). It's me here. Meg. You know what that means. I'm going to say some really depressing things about a) body image, b) boys, and c) overall failure to succeed in life. Hey."

Don't wanna do it.

But I'm gonna.

Just for a sec.

Come on.

You don't have to read this.

You can go back to Facebook, I won't be offended.

Sometimes I fall into this head space that is messy, but blank, fuzzy, but cold. There is an anxiety and apprehension that buzzes below the surface. Skittish, antsy, irritable.

Oh lord, I just figured out what's wrong. Caffeine + the mall (earlier today!!! shit balls!!!) + lack of sleep. Duuuuuh.

Well, ride this one out, Meg.

It's okay if you don't "capture" every moment of nature today. Who/what wants to be captured anyway? Instead, just be. Yep. It's as simple, idealistic, and hippie-certified as that.

Neat, huh?

Sunday, October 9, 2011

infinite/stuff/infinitely stuffed


I am overwhelmed with stuff.

Shopping, buying, consuming, acquiring, dying.

What about giving? Living? Forgiving?

I see others always rushing to the next best thing/place/person, not realizing that the chase is all there is. The destination is a delusion, the future fiction.

So I see this, I acknowledge it in others and I think I understand it on an "intellectual" level, yet I still fully participate in this chaos.

I get hung up, strung out, and I suffer. I anticipate all things good and all things bad without seeing all things around me right then, right at that (THIS) moment.

But maybe the realization that I don't realize is actually a significant realization? Maybe it's a start?

Then again, maybe there is no start, no finish line, just the infinite path that we slip and slide on an infinite amount of times.


"The driest brush burns the fastest," he told me, sipping on scotch.
"Okay," I said, blankly.
Everything but the broken freezer motor paused in the kitchen, as if holding a massive, collective breath.
His eyes broke the silence like a gun. They shot through me and exited out the right side of my skull.
You're such a prick, I thought.
"You're so zen," I said, dumbly.
"I've been left with the crippling task of taking care of you, sugar peanut. Gotta speak your language if you're ever gonna listen."
And then his smirk disguised as concern. The goddamn zen prick.
"So we should probably fix the freezer at some goddamn point," I muttered.
"Such delicate language, sweetie."
He stood up, ruffled my hair, and the distance between us swelled.

Saturday, October 8, 2011


"People who live alone generally lead a simpler life. There is only one stomach to fill, they have fewer responsibilities and are free to do what they want. If they are looking for a spiritual path or if they follow one already, they are free to go wherever their quest takes them. All they need is a suitcase and they can stay where they like for as long as they need. Celibacy can be a useful option in the sense that it allows us more freedom and efficiency to devote ourselves to whatever we wish to do." -the Dalai Lama

Amen, Dalai. Amen.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

boobs and hoes

In my last post, I mention how much of a "boob" I am at night... So as a Buddhist Boob, I am going to explore my mind. Right now. See why I'm so ho-hum. (Fun fact: I have said "boob" and "ho" in this post.)

On Meg's Mind: A List. Lists: Organizes Things. Things: Do We Have Too Many Things? Questions: We All Ask Them, Right? Right: Or Wrong?

*it's sad when a place you once loved changes - and it's usually the people in the place that change and that makes me think of how we've all lost touch and how I should've/could've been a better friend and how a lot of people could have been better friends to me and how a lot of people that have now taken over this place are really depressed/depressing and how we are all just struggling to be happy, day in and day out

*I feel like I can't say half of what I want to say on this blog because I don't want certain people to worry. Guess that's what journals are for... AND SECRET BLOGS wink wink.

*I pretend that I have been developing loads of self-compassion lately, but I don't think I have. I suppose I am working on it here and there, but for the most part I still fall into my old traps and habits and people and behaviors and obsessions and it makes me downright miserable.

*I miss you. And you. And you you you and you. But I don't miss you, and that makes me sad.


I'm gonna listen to music from 2005 and take a bad trip down Memory Lane. Maybe I'll listen to the rain instead. (I'll just end up watching late night TV while sucking on sugar free mints and feeling guilty about it.)

night fright

Why is it that my nights are oh-so-blue? My days lately have been nearly magical - I feel at peace, I am mindful, I eat wonderful food, I am full of hope and motivation for the future - and then night comes and I am suddenly a lethargic boob. What's up with nighttime being such a sucky time lately? Do you experience anxiety/sadness at night, too?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


Here is something I say publicly on my blog every four months or so (and in my head multiple times a week): I am a bad friend.

But that's not true. I am actually a fiercely loyal friend when it comes down to it. I have had the same best friend for well over a decade and I am on good terms with all of my childhood friends. Even the friend I had a ginormous falling out with a few years back is now my Facebook pal and we will on occasion message each other nice words.

So I guess I'm not as atrocious of a friend as I think I am in my head. I still feel like I could "be better," though. Isn't that just like me (and probably you and probably everyone else on the watery planet) - always striving to be better be happier be kinder be this be that be more more more.

How about something radical? How about being perfect as is?

I like that. It's not as passive as it may seem. In fact, self-acceptance is quite the opposite of "taking the easy way out." It's a constant struggle. It is facing ugly, vicious, embarrassing sides of yourself and showing those sides - which make up YOU - tenderness. Warmth. A quiet understanding that you are simply trying. And then once you have done that very-not-easy task, perhaps then you can find a friend within yourself.

Yes, I have been a terrible friend - to myself. The love I show to myself is directly linked to the love I show to others. I cannot be attentive and present for anyone at all if I haven't given myself the kind of attention and care I deserve.

My point is that I want to be a better friend to you (and there are many "yous" out there). Desperately. And I know there have been some failings on my part - missed meetings, quick cancellations, forgetful moments - but I assure you that I love each of you. I am going to be working on me for some time, okay? I need to. I need to get to a place where I respect myself again. "I am large, I contain multitudes." May I remember that. May you remember that. May we have patience with one another and with ourselves. We are loved.

Monday, October 3, 2011


At the Museum of Natural History
by Bushra Rehman

As we both look up at the Tyrannosaurus Rex
its bones painted black, its danger extinct
I can hear the sounds of children echo
throughout the museum

And we are not afraid this way
to stand a few inches away from each other

We are not afraid because it's over
The Tyrannosaurus Rex does not scare us
We don't scare each other

It's over, the bones are beginning to fade
and bleach in our failure

But if one day someone finds our remains
and decides to lay them right next to each other
will they lay them in their proper ways
will they mix up my hip with yours
will they place the fingers of my hands
on someone else's palms

Will they ever know
this flesh answered the other
that my fingers traveled all over
the empty space around your bones

Friday, September 30, 2011


My beautiful (inside and out) friend Megan and I met up yesterday for coffee/tea. I always feel much better after being around her. She calms me down, helps me to remember what's important, and inspires me. She is a gorgeous soul. She reminded me of how much I wish to focus on myself - how I want/need to take a break from the expectations of my environment. I want to shift my perspective. I want to embrace the feminine. I want to be soft, tough, fearless, and unapologetic all at once. I'm going to actually start living my life for me and daaaaamn it feels so good.

I love you, Megan.


I love you, Meghan.


I am sitting here crying. Crying while reading Pema Chödrön. Her words touch something soft in me that I try over and over to harden with various obsessions, compulsions, patterns, and harsh words. I'm told to not be soft. I'm told to not be raw, vulnerable, or a complete beginner. But through this freshness comes compassion and freedom.

I feel free to love again.

And I'm not really talking about the love you might think. But then again, I don't know what you think. I don't know what I think from one moment to the next, either, and I love that. I love who I am - and I guess that is the kind of love I am starting to feel again. Was this love not "free" before? Was it held hostage somewhere inside of my slowly shrinking bones? Maybe. It sure felt like it. I've been trying for some time now to excavate self-compassion and I think I may have just about found it.


It takes work.

I have the scars, both physically and emotionally, to prove how bad things got. Some days I don't give a shit. Some days I'd rather be a million miles away from myself than to actually face that person I suddenly don't know in the mirror. But there are moments where I catch a glimpse of the warrior I am, neuroses and all. In fact... Here's a quote from Pema that explains this better than I can:

"The problem is that the desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself. The other problem is that our hang-ups, unfortunately or fortunately, contain our wealth. Our neurosis and our wisdom are made out of the same material. If you throw out your neurosis, you also throw out your wisdom." -Pema Chödrön

Monday, September 19, 2011

drug yacht

How in the holy world that is the Celestial Kingdom do so many Mormon Mommy Blogs have so many damn (er, dang) followers?! And I would bet my tithing that 99-100% of the blogs are poorly written and have ugly pictures. So why so many followers?

So why the sour mood, Meg?

I dunno. Just that general anxiety that I struggle with on a daily basis. Just coming to the realization that I avoid and ignore way too much. Just metaphorically kicking myself for choices I did (and did not) make. Just, you know, life.

Buuut I am reading a book about poverty in America right now and I now feel like a real jerk for complainin' 'bout what is most likely middle class white girl problems. I mean, even clinical depression is a middle class white girl problem to some extent, right? Drug companies label sadness as "depression" and then supply us with drugs (too much! too soon!) and then we take them and then we get all zombie-like and clock in/clock out and they get to dock the yacht and why not? They are wealthy assholes who have drugged us up for their own benefit. True story. SCARY story. And one that I actually kind of disagree with. I am actually okay with antidepressants in some cases; I am also okay with ending sentences in prepositional phrases. I could care less about being a Grammar Nazi, okay?


Saturday, September 17, 2011

zoning out and birthdays and chillin'

Do you ever get slightly sad when it is incredibly beautiful outside? I do. All the time. I'd rather it be horrible weather so I am "forced" to stay inside and zone out in front of the TV while watching Celebrity Rehab and killing my insides slowly with soda pop and sugar free mints. (It's been a rough couple of weeks for me for some reason. Hence the reality television and poor diet and general disinterest in beauty.)

Happy Birthday.

The phrase "That which you are seeking is causing you to seek" is stuck in my head. Better than a Bieber song, but just as frustrating. (Actually, great phrase. It's only confusing because it makes me think and I would rather be zoning out in front of the TV and sucking on lemon drops.)

Happy Constitution Day!

Today I did loving-kindness meditation for 15 minutes for myself. I plan on doing it everyday (at least once a day) for me and only me until my self-love muscle develops nice and strong (what a dumb way to say that - whoops! inner critic!).

Wow, that caffeine buzz was sure short. Sure short. Sure short. Say it! Say it really fast. "Sure short." It will piss you off so much! You'll be like, "AAAAGGGGHHHH!" And I'll be like, "Take a chill pill!" And you'll be like, "Do you seriously have some chill pills I can have? 'Cause that would be sweet, dude." And I'll pause for, like, ten seconds and say, "Well, no, I don't have any chill pills." And you'll say, "See ya later." And I'll say...

See ya.

Friday, September 16, 2011

puns and plunges and lunges, oh my

What I need to do:

1. be kind to myself
2. eat more mindfully (which means no computer allowed while eating! plus, it makes my computer all crumby, which is crummy...)
3. don't make any more terrible puns - they are so rePUNgnant! (ohhh whooops)
4. probably stop taking adderall
5. but it's fun/helpful to take adderall sometimes
6. so i'm conflicted
7. maybe cut out the caffeine? yeah. cut out the caffeine.
8. either USE punctuation or DON'T USE punctuation - no in between
9. but what's wrong with the in between?
10. have we really asked that question to ourselves?
11. do we not ask it because we are afraid of the answer?
12. stop exercising so much (yeah... i'm one of those obnoxious people - but my exercising isn't "cool" and worthy of praise in, like, a jillian michaels kind of way (i googled her name to find out who exactly she was! she's on a tv show!), it's a compulsion and it sucks most of the time and it leaves me really physically sore and not in a "cool" way, in a i-can't-sit-or-walk-easily-and-i'm-gonna-really-regret-this-but-i-have-to-keep-exercising-because-it's-the-one-thing-i-can-control kind of way)
13. wow. maybe i should start a new post. this one is giving me a headache.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

litter hurts

Long before we retired the idea of being saviors for each other, we anticipated fireworks.

He met me at a booth. I was warning the general public about the dangers of litter, about a woman who swerved to miss debris and ended up crashing and perishing. Looking back, I must have been somewhat of a clairvoyant. But who was the litter? He or I? I may be a clairvoyant, but I'm not much of an interpreter.

After clocking out, we walked into the crowd. We searched for a man without a face. With no luck, we left. Everyone had a face, or at the very least a mask.

My foot hurt. My foot really hurt. But I was determined to keep up with him. Truth is, I needed a crutch. I would never let him know, though (although I suppose I'm letting him know now).

And now here's where it would be nice to be a great poet - Here's where I would describe the fireworks that we both almost saw together, but departed moments before the first crash of color. Here's where I would show the color. Here's where I would relate this to the time when I saw the traffic lights, frozen fireworks, through blurry eyes while driving home in his truck, silent. Here's where I would make a point, some kind of point that would break your heart and leave you deeply affected by my poetic explanation of fragile love lost. Oh, but I would never use the word "love." But you would know. You would feel it.

Instead I imagine him smoking his cigarette. He's forming an internal monologue. I am not very well liked in this monologue of his. I am silly. I am shallow. I am young. I will never change.

I still need a crutch.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Growing up in a state of Jell-O molds and chronic unrest, I fell in love with men who knew about shoes and guitar strings, but nothing about caves and mines.

We were always a disaster.

We always left places and each other in a state of disrepair, airing our dirty laundry, giving up fast.

Being an outsider in a state of big business religion and organized family time leaves little to no mess, just unheard confessions and positive vibes.

I said I'd still love them. I said I'm a hopeless cliche, but that it would be worth it in the end.

I wore nice white sandals to a dirty shore by a lake no one likes. I thought I'd look for shells they could use as picks while they write songs denying their origin.

So heavy. Too heavy. They'll never write those songs, I'll never find shells because I'll never go to that lake.

Staying in a state with high altitude and dry summers leaves me with nose bleeds and cracked skin. Falling in love does the same.


Why do I have such deep self-loathing going on lately? It's tiring me the fuck out.

Okay, let me blame a couple of different things/situations that are causing my low self-esteem:

*caffeine abuse
*stress of moving
*stress of not having a job/income
*modern society
*ancient society (kidding)
*my short hair
*my shallowness
*bad relationships
*abuse in its various forms

Okay, now let me take an honest look and realize that the blame game is all wrong. There is no one/thing/event to blame. By blaming, I keep covering what's there. By blaming, I avoid looking at the situation head on. By blaming, I need not feel whatever it is that I think I don't want to feel. How do I know I don't want to feel it if I don't, well, feel it? What is this feeling, anyway? Can I describe it and see what happens? Sit with it? Investigate? Because maybe then I wouldn't be so afraid. Maybe I would realize that underneath my fragmented, shattered self lies a whole person. My neuroses don't define me, they just control me. I'm the one that allows them to control my thoughts and actions by numbing myself, zoning out, seeking outside reassurance.

I don't want to imply that I am the one to blame. Again, no blaming allowed. Just recognition. Recognition is allowed. I'll be honest, though - a part of me is terrified to find out that I have been perfect all along.

i was on, like, way too happy pills yesterday when i wrote this in my notebook. still, it's nice.

I need to start believing in my basic goodness - and on a gut level, not just intellectually. I need to start seeing myself as a person worthy of respect, kindness, and love. I need to realize that everything I ever need is right here, right now.

We are not damaged. We are not lacking.

We are hope, we are beauty, we are miracles. Each moment is a wonder waiting to be discovered. You are loved. You are love. Believe it and then live it.

coffee fueled post

Me in 2009: BLIND

Me in 2007: thought I was invincible

Me in 2005: healthy

Me in 2003: lonely

Me in 2001: utterly naive

Me in 1999: I seriously can't remember that far back

Me right now: coming to the realization that this post is severely lacking, so I'll make up for it by including a picture of a cat with human eyes

Friday, September 9, 2011


This may just be the various substances talking, but I am fairly hopeful about the future. And I know, I know, Pema Chodron (Wikipedia her if you don't know who she is, folks), you tell me to abandon hope. And I get what you are saying and I agree with you and so forth. But right now I like this hopeful feeling. I like that I am in a better spot. I like that certain people exist - it evens things out, you know? Like, awful people can exist in this world, but so can terribly terrific people. And those good eggs make my day. Thank you, eggs.

Monday, September 5, 2011


Last night I dreamt I was in a beautifully well-adjusted lesbian relationship. Or rather, a relationship with a woman, with another person. There was excitement, butterflies were present, we were aware of and kind to one another. It was a simple, storybook love. That is what I have been searching for. I long for that kind of peaceful connection, that utter contentment.

I thought I had found this ideal relationship with a few men, but no. There was ______. I've been struggling lately with the unraveling of us. I mourn for what could have been. But I have a sneaking suspicion that what I really miss is that security of having someone there to constantly validate me and remind me of my existence. And yes, I do miss ______ as a person. He and I did have a unique and tender connection, yet I find myself romanticizing too much about our relationship.

Isn't that what always happens? People break up for specific reasons, forget those reasons, begin missing the other person, become unreasonable and get back together and then remember all of the reasons they broke up in the first place - and then break up again. Silly cycle.

I believe this is what I am doing with ______. This is probably what I am doing with a lot of past lovers. So yes, I realize this, but I still become highly irrational at times, especially late at night and while tipsy. We're all slightly dramatic at those times, no?


So what do I do?

Perhaps I make a conscious effort throughout the day to pause. Simply pause. Pause to remind myself to breathe. Pause to remind myself that I am here, not there, then, there, or somewhere way over there. Pause to slow down. Maybe I should write down all of the reasons why ______ and I don't work - you know, as a reminder.

Let's see... I could also learn to be alone.

I could learn to (warning: cliche up ahead) love myself. I could accept myself and the fact of my existence without the help of another soul, which isn't to say I should shut myself off to the help of others or to the idea/possibility of falling in love again, but I should be able to confidently stand on my own two feet without the crutch of validation from others.

Now is the time to improve my life and all of my relationships - my relationships with lovers, past events, family, friends, my body, and myself.

Friday, September 2, 2011


Repeat Repeat Repeat.

Repeat what?

Mistakes? Scenarios? Words? Obsessions? Thoughts? Moods? Decisions? People? Places? Moments? Sounds? Smells? Feelings? Operations, executions, dialogue, discoveries, remarks, criticisms, sex, despair, longings, desires, disgust, fears, hopes, dreams, nightmares, anxiety, nerves, fashion, art, music, lists, questions, answers, tones, meltdowns, breakdowns, downs, ups, hungers, illness, kindness, ologies, trash, treasure, recoveries, deaths, births?

It feels all repeated, but always new, unaware of what's to come next - but what comes next came before and what is now is never now, only a cocktail of past and future. There's nothing to untangle - the knot is not imperfect. The knot is it. It is all the knot.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011


I've been spending the past few days alone alone alone. I've done nothing of importance. I've taken one photo of me every day at 3:33pm for no reason. I've decided to post the pics here on this foggy bloggy for no reason. Enjoy, for no reason other than enjoyment. Drink in the bliss.

28 August 2011, 3:33pm

29 August 2011, 3:33pm

30 August 2011, 3:33pm

31 August 2011, 3:33pm

Monday, August 29, 2011

fragmented walk

Mourning the loss of Borders (but celebrating my Carver and Kerouac finds at 66% off the cover price), I head out on a walk. More of a stroll, actually. I classify it as a stroll because it was through a city park and I had my hands in my pockets, which seem to be two key factors in strolling. Parks and pockets. So anyway, here is my stream of consciousness while on my stroll. Streams and strolls.

The men I've loved (men? guys? people? I never know quite what to call them) have all loved sneakers. Big sneakers. Clunky, bright hi-tops. And I've loved them regardless. I've also loved them guard-less, my walls non-existent. But those walls, that guard, can go up in an instant over the seemingly smallest thing. Walls and guards. Sneakers and sneaks.

The house I love appears to have installation art in their side yard. A white door, on its side, next to a child's mattress decorated with hot air balloons, on its side, next to six tires and an aluminum trash can inside of a rusty wheelbarrow. Art and trash. Trash and art. Art is trash. We are trash. We are the most delicate trash, purity through the disguise of disgust.

I love all of the houses I pass. Mid-20th century homes. I never want to know what they look like on the inside or who lives there. It and they will just disappoint. Keep the walls alive in my mind. Walls and minds.

Is 27 too late of an age to develop really bad habits? Shouldn't I be cleaning up my life right now instead of welcoming vices with open arms? Most of the time my arms are closed, folded tightly around my chest, avoiding eye contact, creating museum masterpieces from the patterns on the sidewalk.

Walks and walls and parks and strolls.

It's a beautiful evening, a cathedral in the sky.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

duh mmm

dumb dumb dum dum ho hum what's done is done.

do you think the universe is trying to tell me not to do certain things? to do other things? do you think it is dumb when people speak of the universe as this massive entity that has a role to play in our lives? aren't we just a dumb speck in space? do i fall back into nihilism or do i fall back into bed? perhaps once i'd like to fall back into a room full of gold coins and swim around in it like scrooge mcduck. too bad i swim like a dumb rock. (note: the earth is a rock - the earth is also mostly water - does this mean i swim like the earth in its own water? take note - i've always been a dumb note taker.)

point taken.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

saturday diary entry xoxo

Why am I in a semi-chipper mood today? Is this "real" or am I artificially happy because I currently have a "new identity"? Sometimes I feel like I am walking a fine line between bliss and complete despair. Teetering. Then I pick up a new hobby, a new obsession, a new distraction - and suddenly I am in a good mood, suddenly I have a hopeful outlook. But it inevitably shatters, this glass facade I construct around myself, and I am left to pick up sharp pieces that will cut me and scar over, reminder of who and what I failed to be.

So who what where whey why how am I? How am I? Well, constantly evolving, that's how. Building and believing and destroying and abandoning and masking and revealing and hiding and finding. I am nothing if not ever-fluid, ever-fading - and it's time I stop seeing my indecision as a flaw. It's not a flaw - and it might not necessarily be a strength - but it's not a flaw.

It's Meg. It's a desire to never be too comfortable, too settled, too ordinary, too content, too accepting of what others (including my past and future selves) have prescribed and labeled as yes yes yes and truth and no way and false. Good, bad, dreams, and desires - they change. They morph and adapt and sometimes disappear. So whomever - and whatever - I am is eternally unfinished and grateful because of it.

Friday, August 19, 2011


Some people might say I avoid things.

Okay, a lot of people might (and do) say I avoid things (and people and places).

I might even say I avoid things.

I avoid things.

What is it exactly that I am avoiding, though? It's too easy just to say that I have social anxiety. It's too easy to say that I am simply a homebody. It's too easy to make up excuses.

In a second I might get a bit romantic in a melodramatic way. I warned you.

I believe I avoid broken hearts.

I went on a short walk tonight. It was the time of night when everything in the sky feels like it is on pause and is just about to be fast forwarded. You can't tell whether or not you should turn your headlights on in your car. You can see the sun and the moon. Kids are still playing outside; or at least the older ones. And it's so beautiful, it's so breathtakingly beautiful with the orange clouds and silhouetted mountains and the acceptance that another day, good or bad, has passed. So you let it pass and suddenly - so suddenly that you may not even notice it has happened - it is dark. The stars take over once the sun slips under her covers, coyly. The sky is still alive, but it's undoubtedly (and predictably) different. Shapes form from the shadows (sometimes within the shadows), temperatures drop significantly, and the hum of insects not seen fills the space we left behind. We are inside now, wrapped up in our controlled environment, hiding away from the now-alien world outside. If there's no light on, why look?

And so yes, I believe I avoid broken hearts. And what we avoid will inevitably come looking for us in the middle of the night. I've got my flashlight, I'm ready.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

this summer

I have to constantly remind myself that my posts should be more than Velvet Underground lyrics and Lorrie Moore quotes. But it's hard. It's really hard. They sing/write what I think and so much better!

But oh well. I'll do what I can with the words that I have. And now for a list:

What I Have Learned So Far This Summer

1. To properly cut cabbage, I must not allow the knife to stab me in the stomach.
2. Smoothies cost waaay too much money.
3. Most people are bad tippers; a few people are incredibly generous tippers.
4. Opening up to and trusting people doesn't stop them from saying and doing cruel things to me.
5. Opening up to and trusting me won't stop me (but it should) from saying and doing cruel thing, mostly unintentional and almost always when my heart has been broken in some way.
6. Moe's is an awful bar.
7. I will always change my mind when it comes to location.
8. Best friends will remain best friends even when (temporarily) deserted.
9. I probably shouldn't ever, ever, ever cut my hair again.
10. Doing what I want to do is actually a really great way to live.

Sunday, August 14, 2011


within me(g) is a strong desire to be uprooted and replanted, haphazardly, into new soil (fresh or stale). also within me(g) is an equally strong desire to pour cement passionately (and rather impulsively) on the ground so that i (she) stay(s) firmly in place, never moving, but spreading. (will this (the future, the past) be a vertical climb or a horizontal move? cast your ballots now.)

_ vertical

_ horizontal

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


She loves him the way plains love to confuse travelers from the west. Mountain ranges provide direction, a place of origin, protection. The plains displace, disorient, blow right through bare bones. People get lost in open spaces, but people also lose their way in the canyons and dense forests of mountains. To get lost means one has the potential to be found. To find something increases the risk of losing something. And so she continues to love him while simultaneously searching for what isn't there, the map of her life thrown out the window countless miles back.


the sun is just a star, a fine-tuned eye destined to burn out, leaving us with empty pockets. we think we dominate the cosmic scene. forgetting our origins, we settle down.

journal entry from 7/13/11

Between 2pm and 4pm I don't blink as often as I do the rest of the hours I am awake (assuming I am awake between 2pm and 4pm, because sometimes, as luck/fate/habit would have it, I am asleep during that time). "Awake" and "asleep" -- a-why do they include an "A" at the beginning? It's as if we are hesitating -- as if we haven't quite decided yet to wake or to sleep. Alright. Again. Annihilate.


There are many paths and lives and loves calling to me, reaching out to me, and in some cases strangling me with their beauty and potential. So where do I go? How do I accept the fact that not all paths can be taken, not all lives can be led, not all loves can last? I will have to learn to quiet certain options and to eventually let them fade away, evaporate. I grasp. Despite all of the Buddhist (and life) teachings I have heard and with which I agree, I still desperately grasp. I cling on to what I know will one day, sooner or later (usually sooner) disappear and no longer be. Or perhaps it continues to Be, just in a different form? Life leads to decay just as decay leads to life.

aaaaand now for some clarification

Okay, to clarify some things: In my last blog post, I was hurt. I said things that may have not been completely true. Maybe a part of me was trying to hurt someone else, to shift the blame, to make things more dramatic than they needed to be to... Get sympathy? Reassurance? Some kind of validation? A simple response? Basically, this person meant a lot to me and still does and I have nothing but love and respect for them. This person and I just found each other at an unfortunate time in our lives - when we have to be completely selfish and take care of our own issues before we can give ourselves to one another and have a healthy relationship. At least this is how I see it from over here. I could be completely wrong, though (it wouldn't be the first time).

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

words! on your screen! for you to read!

I don't know how to approach this situation that has been on my mind for some time now. I want to be tactful, I want to be vague, I don't want to complain too much, I don't want to be hurtful, I want to open up, I want to leave something to the imagination, I want to understand, I don't want to let this person get away with anything, I want to be compassionate, I want to be assertive. I want to express a lot of things that are almost too secret to express.

So I won't say a word.

I will leave everyone hanging until just the right time, until I decide what it is that I even want to decide.

Huh? I'm confusing myself, something I do quite well, something that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Here's the thing: This is probably the worst blog entry I have ever written. It's just a bunch of letters thrown together to make words to make something sound more important than it actually is/was. I wish we could have meant more to each other. It sounded nice.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Sunday, July 31, 2011


“We can never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain.” -Henry David Thoreau

Thursday, July 21, 2011


I am so discouraged. I am so tired that I use the word "so" so much. Funny thing is, you can't spell discouraged without rage, but you also can't spell discouraged without courage... Or age. Rage, courage, age. We are all intertwined and devastating to one another, now aren't we?

Sunday, July 17, 2011

abcdefg abg

There was a half hour window when I felt whatever it is that is called the "muse," but that is starting to fade quickly and actually - I think it is now gone. Well, damn.

I'm still going to write, though.

I don't have to give you a "because" for why I am still going to write. There does not need to be a because for everything we do, say, or write... Right?

There is a lot of second guessing in my life, if you haven't guessed that by now. Some call it charming, some call it frustrating, I call it familiar. I call it all I know. I call it one thing one minute and then another thing another minute.

Speaking of minutes, why is it that so many of my past (and perhaps future?) lovers and I have had a fixation on a particular time? Whether it's 3:33, 12:34, or 11:34, we have all placed some kind of mysterious significance on this time. But neither of us could explain or even try to explain the significance. And I don't think we ever will.

I am worn down. I give up for tonight. I have never been more familiar with and more distant than I am from myself. And I don't know why I bother to tell you such things. Confession? Reassurance? Boredom? Later.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

i am sure no one really wants to read the lyrics, but it's okay. this song saved my soul and this is my blog! i will do what i want! #freedom #america

"Lisa Says" by Velvet Underground (I love you, Lou.)

Lisa says, on a night like this
it'd be so nice, if you gave me a great big kiss
And Lisa says, honey, for just one little smile
I'll sing and play for you for the longest while

Lisa says
Lisa says
Lisa says, oh, no
Lisa says

Lisa says, honey, you must think -
- I'm some kind of California fool
the way you treat me just like some kind of tool
Lisa says, hey baby, if you stick your tongue in my ear
then the scene around here will become very clear

Lisa says, oh no
Lisa says, hey, don't you be a little baby
Lisa says, oh, no
Lisa says

Hey, if you're looking for a good time Charlie
well, that's not really what I am
You know, some good time Charlie
always out, having his fun

But if you're looking for some good, good lovin'
then sit yourself right over here
You know that those good, those good times
they just seem to pass me by, just like pie in the sky

And Lisa says, on a night like this
it'd be so nice if you gave me a great big kiss
And Lisa says, hey baby, for just one little smile
I'll sing and play for you for the longest while
let me hear you now

Lisa says, oh, no, no
Lisa says, hey, don't you be a little baby
Lisa says, oh, no
Lisa says

Why am I so shy
Why am I so shy, Gee, you know those
good good times, they just seem to pass me by
Why am I so shy

First time I saw you I was talking to myself
I said, hey, you got such pretty, pretty eyes
(that pretty eyes)

Now that you're next to me I just get so upset
And Lisa, will you tell me, why am I so shy

Why am I so shy
Why am I so shy, well, you know that those
good, good times, they just seem to pass me by
Why am I so shy

And Lisa says, on a night like this
it'd be so nice if you gave me a great big kiss
And Lisa says, honey, for just one little smile
I'll sing and play for you for the longest while

Lisa says, oh, no, now
Lisa says, hey don't you be a little baby
Lisa says, oh, no
Lisa says

Sunday, July 3, 2011


Nothing, not even the thought of nuclear holocaust, makes me more depressed than thinking of all of the books I will never get around to reading.

My ability to write is subject to mood swings. One minute it's like, "Yeah! You CAN write! And you should! Here is a shit ton of inspiration!" And the next minute it's all, "alkdlkjxcvoew dk asdk kvjlkzdfo pgpob.lkao." Well, goodness.

So how do I let others take care of me? If you have any ideas, suggestions, or warnings, throw them my way. And by "throw" I mean "gently toss." I have never been the best at catching things.

Everything has been and always will be delicate. Everything is resting on a breath, on a branch.

Me, currently.

Sunday, June 26, 2011


My miiuiind - excuse me, my typing fingers got carried away and went psycho on me for just a brief second - my MIND is buzz buzz buzz and "buzz" reminds me of that dead companion insect I had for about 16 hours last week (or was it two weeks ago?) and week reminds me of weak which reminds me of how the arthritis medication I took for my tendinitis made me feel which makes me think of Phil and all of the many Phils I have known in my life (2) which makes me think of Life cereal and how fuuuu**ing good it is but how I would rather eat a cereal called Mesa Sunrise instead which makes me think of how I prefer the sunrise over the sunset maybe 7 out of 10 times which makes me think of time and how time doesn't exist which makes me think of existing in the desert with no water which makes me think of a book by Craig Childs called The Secret Knowledge of Water. "There are two easy ways to die in the desert: thirst and drowning." Oh shit.

Friday, June 24, 2011

ordinary moments

There is a lot I want to write right now and a lot I don't want to write right now. Oh boy. I just reminded myself of that line from Best in Show when the busty character Sherri Ann Cabot says, "We have so much in common, we both love soup and snow peas, we love the outdoors, and talking and not talking. We could not talk or talk forever and still find things to not talk about." Quotes, man.

What happens when the masks come off and people reveal their true identity? It was a wolf this whole time! A wolf in sheep's clothing. But this wolf is also sometimes truly a sheep. I'm a wolf sometime, right? We can all be wolves sometimes and we can all sometimes wear wolf t-shirts. I can't even begin to know how to approach this subject, so maybe I won't right now. That last sentence reminded me of yet another movie quote, but this time the quote comes from a little film I (and everyone else) like to call The Royal Tenenbaums. Raleigh asks my soul sister Margot, "Have you met someone else?" And dearheart Margot replies, "I couldn't even begin to think about knowing how to answer that question." Quotes, woman.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

i love you, joan

“To free us from the expectations of others, to give us back to ourselves--there lies the great, singular power of self-respect.” -Joan Didion

Sunday, June 19, 2011

hormones and the multiverse

*One of my joys in life is to sit one-on-one with another human (or non-human, too, I suppose) and talk. In a group I get distant, bored, distracted. With just one other person, I am present, intrigued, focused. I'd like to think I am a good listener, too, but it's something I can always improve.

*Remember Home Improvement? Remember how I had dozens of Teen Beat posters of Jonathan Taylor Thomas up on my wall? Remember how having crushes when you were in junior high was so fun because of your raging hormones? Sometimes I miss those raging hormones; sometimes living in a fantasy world is incredibly satisfying, but obviously not for long. To quote some bad bumper sticker somewhere, "Reality is a bitch!" But reality can also be our best friend. And ultimately reality is just reality.

*I'll admit it; I am proud of my #multiverse tweets. Oh god, did I just admit that? Am I really caught up in the Twitter Universe? Yes, but somewhere in another universe, I am totally not seduced by such a world. #multiverse

*You can call this a life goal if you must, but a life goal of mine is to live in Southern Utah and/or New Mexico. I could explain why, but if you have ever been to either of these places, read Edward Abbey, seen a Georgia O'Keeffe painting, and are similar to me in any way, you will understand.

More later. Time for me to browse Amazon and REI online. Thanks, coffee!

Saturday, June 18, 2011

current; always

"It was like the classic scene in the movies where one lover is on the train and one is on the platform and the train starts to pull away, and the lover on the platform begins to trot along and then jog and then sprint and then gives up altogether as the train speeds irrevocably off. Except in this case I was all the parts: I was the lover on the platform, I was the lover on the train. And I was also the train."
— Lorrie Moore (A Gate at the Stairs)

better run better run

I think I am addicted.

Last night I was anxious over ________ and caffeinated and incredibly full (which, unfortunately, but honestly, equals guilt in my warped mind), so I went running. I went running for an hour, which isn't an incredibly long time for me, but it is definitely an incredibly long time for someone (aka ME) with a sore (aka VERY SORE) foot. Dumb. Dumb dumb dumb dumb. Today I can hardly walk without wincing in pain. I refuse to let my body breakdown, yet I'm the one causing it to breakdown. Oh, all you people with your healthy feet - how I envy thee.

I miss running without pain. What's the solution? Just stay off of my feet for awhile? But I have no patience these days. I am so antsy pantsy because of ________ and ____________ and ______________________. Yes. Yes, I am addicted to running and endorphins and maybe even a little bit of self-inflicted pain. Maybe there are bigger things to worry about and cooler addictions to have. Right?

Sunday, June 12, 2011


This is the 333rd post on this little blog of mine. I should make it something spectacular. I should make everything spectacular, but I end up making everything ordinary, which in and of itself is spectacular. The ordinary is extraordinary and so forth. So, let's go forth with this post.

Alone. I know how to be alone. I like being alone. I prefer to be alone. But I also like having the constant reassurance that I don't have to be alone if I don't want to be. Call it selfish - because it is. I keep people in my back pocket, so to speak, and convince myself that they will always be there in a moment's notice when being alone gets a little too lonely. Well, lately I have noticed that this system of mine is imperfect. People have their own lives, too, you know. They aren't frozen in time just waiting for me to press a button telling them to come alive and validate me. They have their own messes. They have their own places to be, they have their own places to leave. They have their own longings and fears and phobias and desires. They don't owe me a thing; they don't owe me their undivided love and attention.

But that's still what I crave - love and attention. It is cliche, almost, to say such a thing. It is so obvious. We all crave these things, right? We all want to be reminded, over and over and over again, that we exist, that we are permanent, that we will never go away. We don't want others to go away, either. Stay! I beg silently. Stay. They never will; we never will. And that's the way it's always been (the only thing that is permanent is impermanence, after all) and that's the way it should be. 333.

carnies and feet

Oh, this post is just one shy of 333. I could explain, but I won't. But it has something to do with the suprachiasmatic nucleus.

*My foot hurts. I mean, my foot hurts like a bitch/bastard/asshole. My foot hurts much worse than my toe ever did (if you'll remember, I totally ripped that pretty necessary toenail clean off). It is just a constant soreness that doesn't go away with medication, sitting, elevating, etc. I don't know much about feet and I know you all aren't that interested in the subject of feet (unless I have some podiatrist followers out there... or some feet fetish followers?), so I will stop here and in a vain attempt at alleviating some of the pain go pop some ibuprofen.

*For five hours yesterday I sat at a booth at Orem's Summer Fest. If you know anything about me or have ever even interacted with me for one minute, you will know that groups of people (and just people in general) are not my thing. Summer Fest especially is not my thing. But it went alright, actually. Sure, I felt really old (teenagers calling me "lady") and sure, I felt unattractive (stupid story I won't tell here) and sure, I felt really young (complicated story I won't tell here), but all in all it was fine. I was visited by a friend and we walked around the carnival looking for a very specific and infamous carnie (no, not Rob Carney), but with no luck. And then, alone, I watched the fireworks from my back deck. I didn't watch all of the fireworks because, well, you've seen one firework, you've seen 'em all.

*There's more to say, but our attention spans won't allow me to write more. Later.

Friday, June 10, 2011


So a few days ago I wrote a blog that mentioned best buddies and I of course did not include all of my BFFs. For this I regret. For this I will go to hell. Kidding. But I really do feel bad about it. I don't want anyone to think that they aren't (very) important to me. One of those people being Jack Waters. He really has been a vital person in my life. He has been through thick 'n thin with me and for that, among other things, I will always love him.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

above all

We all hate things and people, we all love things and people, we all run away and run to places. We are all humans, that's all.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


I do want to post more often, but the trouble I run into is that I believe every post should be really well written, insightful, full of cleverness, and maybe a pretty picture or two. Well, frankly I will probably not write anything for quite some time if I wait for a post to be all of the above. So here is a post that is none of the above!

*I love breakfast. I love breakfast so much that I fall asleep excited to wake up for breakfast and I literally wake up with a smile on my face because it is BREAKFAST TIME. I would skip lunch and/or dinner before skipping breakfast. I don't know what it is about breakfast that I enjoy so much, but the enjoyment is there and it's not going away anytime soon. Oh no! I hate breakfast! That was quick! Psych. I still love breakfast hardcore. Breakfast.

*Speaking of loving things, I kinda love my new job. Of course, a job is a job and it's always nice to have a day off and/or get off early, but for the most part my job rocks. Sure, I am sometimes (well, all of the time) really, really slow at chopping vegetables and get super nervous when the customer is standing right there watching me make their sandwich/smoothie/vegan nachos, but again, my job overall rocks. Oh yeah, I work at Ginger's Garden Cafe, by the way. I love my coworkers, I love the food, I love some of the customers, and I love free yoga classes. #superlucky

*Okay, let me keep up this whole love high by saying I absolutely love and adore and admire and miss and love my friends. I have been thinking a lot about my best friends lately and how in awe of them I am. They are brilliant - incredible writers, hilarious (pretty much the only people that can make me genuinely laugh on a regular basis), and more talented than 99% of the people I know. You people know Laura Eastin Hymes? She is one my best buddies. And same goes with Mr. Christopher Allman. Beautiful souls.

I just got sweepy. Time for sleep. SO HOT AND BOTHERED FOR BREAKFAST!!!

Friday, June 3, 2011


Dear Mr. Simon has been an incredible person in my life and I can see some kind of tattoo of him on my body in the future. Possibly over my heart because damn he is the love of my life. Speaking of love and hearts and Mr. Paul Simon, I was listening to him today and he summed up everything I have been feeling for the past couple of years (rough years, folks!) when he sang...

Romance is a heartbreaker
I’m not meant to be a homemaker

It was a female speaking in his song (the song being "Darlin Lorraine"), just in case that matters for whatever reason. But anyway, cheers.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011


If there's one thing I get incredibly frustrated with it is guilt (and getting incredibly frustrated... Would getting frustrated over frustration just cancel out said frustration?).

Everybody close to me has a serious case of the guilt... uh... bug. Yeah. The "guilt bug." In other less cutesy words, everyone I know seems to feel a lot of guilt a lot of the time. AAAND it is frustrating. It is frustrating because they need not feel guilty for about 98% of the things for which they feel guilty.

But maybe I should stop talking (well, blogging) about other people's guilt issues and start talking about myself and my own guilt issues instead.

I never, ever feel guilty. It's not an issue for me at all. In fact, I could murder a man in Memphis and not feel one iota of guilt. PSSSSYYYYCH you all so hard. So hard. So so so so so hard. If the World gave out an award for the Person Who Feels The Most Unnecessary Guilt, that award would go to me. And I would accept my award, making sure I thank all the little people (such as those weird third world countries that no one knows of/cares about, but voted for me anyway), but inevitably I would forget to thank this country or that country and then I would end up feeling guilty, thus proving the validity of my award.

Did I mention I also get carried away with odd jokes and can be confusing? But this post isn't about confusion. I don't think. Maybe it's about second-guessing oneself? Who knows. Not me! Or do I? Anyway, something about guilt. Oh yes.

If only I felt a sense of shame/guilt for the things that genuinely deserve those feelings and considerably less guilt for the shiz (that is Mormon talk for "shit") that just plain does not matter (see: eating a dessert every once in awhile or, gasp, missing a day or two of working out DUE TO A LOST TOENAIL). Gee whiz good golly holy fucking shiz. I sure don't give myself a break, now do I?

PS: My next post may include ways in which you and I and everyone in the world (including those weirdo third worlders) can feel less and less guilty and more and more super damn awesome.

Monday, May 30, 2011


I sat down in front of the computer with the best intentions. I WILL write a deeply poetic blog post! I WILL write profound and possibly prophetic prose! I WILL continue to use alliteration! I drew a blank, though. And then I sorta kinda totally popped a zit on my chin and it started bleeding. Pretty! Smart. Pretty smart! (Not to be confused with "pretty Elizabeth Smart," whom I think is less pretty and more vacant-eyed... Will typing that get me into trouble? So be it!)

And so anyway, here I sit on Memorial Day night (confusing!) looking my absolute best. Here is a picture of me with a teeny piece of tissue covering my irritated blemish:

And here is a picture of me pretending that it is awesome that I have a teeny piece of tissue covering up a popped pimple:

Hey, fake it 'till ya make it.

Saturday, May 28, 2011


And here's what happens when you want to beat an old woman into the optometrist's: You open the door quickly, the heavy metal (ha!) door stubs your toe, and RIPS YOUR BIG TOENAIL RIGHT OFF OF YOUR TOE. Then, while your shoe is slowly filling with blood, you politely ask the front desk lady if she happens to have any bandages. "Oh no, sorry. We just ran out." Okay, thanks. Then you ask if you can skip your eye exam and just reorder a year's supply of contacts. "Sure! $89.93." You give her your debit card while your entire foot is on fire screaming at you, "AAAGGGHHH! GOOD LORD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!" She asks you if your phone number is still 785-5183. No, no it's not. Here is the current phone number. "Okay, we'll call you when they come in." "Thank you, have a good day," you say. Oh, what a polite lass you are, even while your shoe is full of blood and a detached toenail and an intense throbbing. Choose your own adventure! And today's adventure is a trip to InstaCare.

You cry in the lobby. Mostly because you feel soooo stuuuupid. So stupid. SO stupid. Really? A door did this? Not very rock and/or roll of you, Meg, is it? No, no it's not. And an older gent sitting across from you frequently looks up from his Bowhunting magazine to look at you. You are guessing it is because you look absolutely divine with drippy mascara tears, a bright red nose with shiny snot, and OH! don't forget about your blood-caked foot with your meaty, nailless toe. Correction: It is not nailless quite yet. Hangin' on for dear life, that toenail of yours! You've had some fun adventures together, this one being the funnest. I suppose it is "most fun," but funnest is funner. Choose your own adventure! And today's adventure is two big needles in the toe muscle(?) followed by a clip here and a clip there and a see ya in hell, toenail!

You cry again. Duh. You are Meg. Cryin' is your thing (followed by being polite while in crisis mode). You cry because suddenly your ability to walk, run, jump rope, and roundhouse kick is in serious jeopardy. I mean, you could look at this as an opportunity to be completely lazy and babied like the lazy baby you secretly are, but you don't look at it that way. You look at it as a complete catastrophe. Egads! You can't go to the gym compulsively and run obsessively! Shit! Balls! Shit balls! Gawddang, girl. You gonna get all Bonnie Grape on everyone's ass now (translation: you are going to get chubby wubby). Damn. Damn damn damn damn. You know you are ignoring science. You know how irrational you are being. You know a few days of inactivity aren't going to add 400 pounds onto your frame. You know this, man. So why so panicky? Why so devastated? Because you are addicted! You are 100,000,000% addicted to being active. You don't slow down ever. Not slowing down is what got you into this mess in the first place, remember? So now you are forced to slow down. Deep down you knew this was gonna happen. You knew you were going to be somehow set back so that you would have to sit back and see what is what. It is time for you to face everything. Look at what terrifies you. Make friends with it. Invite it over for dinner. And have a feast.

Food is the friend, not the foe. You have been your foe, too, for far too long. Thank god for the toe. It saved you from more than you will every know. Now stop rhyming.

Monday, May 23, 2011

disguise/the sky

So my pretty li'l computer (which is actually kind of messy and clunky (clunky by 2011 standards)) has a nasy li'l/big virus. I can't even do anything with it at all (currently on my sister's computer) except use it as an unnecessarily large paperweight.

So here's the thing: This not-in-the-slightest-irritating virus can be a blessing in disguise. It has forced me to not, you know, check those black holes otherwise known as social networking sites. It has allowed me to have more "free time" to read books. Actual books. Not websites that tell me which celebrities have cellulite and which look horrendous without makeup. (Note: I really try to stay away from sites like these nowadays, but I have known to stumble upon them from time to time. Also, all celebrities have cellulite and only Madonna looks like Death without makeup. And yes, "Death" is a person. And that person is Madonna.)

So now I just need to actually read those actual books and not lament the death/Death of my online persona. Because good riddance, ya know? I mean, Pepsi had her fun and all, but it's time for me to remember who I am. And I am nobody! And isn't that wonderful news? And I don't mean any of this in a sarcastic way. You know, me the Buddhist with all my outwardly appearing negativity. But no! I need to be reminded of the no-me and taking a Facebook/Twitter hiatus is maybe a first step. First step forward or two steps back? Thanks, Paula and MC Scat Cat. Anyway, I will keep the blogs. Why not. Gotta live in my generation, after all.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

catch 'em all

Oh yes, you should probably know about these if you don't know already:

My gratitude blog.

My vegan blog.

My poetry blog.

My tumblr.

I will hopefully update more often. And pictures! I plan to include pictures more often as well. Because everyone loves them some pretty pictures.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

should i hide?

You know what's probably not entirely healthy or very Buddhisty of me? Hiding an ex on Facebook and all of his current friends. I am not on bad terms with this ex. I just feel as if I get too irrational and upset when I see certain pictures/comments from him/his friends. Long, whiney story. I should probably face things head on. Hell, I should probably just get rid of Facebook. What I should REALLY do is get rid of "shoulds."

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

adapted for flight

It could be the weather.

Yet I like the quietness that comes with gray. I like the muted tones that are cast onto houses, faces, feet.

So maybe it's not the weather.

It could be the scene.

Yet I like so many people involved in the "scene." They are some of the most brilliant, troubled, electrifying people I know.

So. Perhaps it's not that, either.

Is it possible that it's lack of sleep and certain nutrients?

I guess.

More more likely it is just me.

It is my view, my perspective, my unwillingness to let certain things go. It is my inner critic, my self-loathing, my death grip on the ego. It is me forgetting the earth. It is me forgetting the way birds meticulously build their nests, not just for themselves, but for those they will love and eventually grieve. It is me forgetting the striking solitude of the mountain peak. It is me forgetting the sunrise, the sky, the way the Osprey flies, like a messenger, but the only message is his hollow boned flight.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

a hillllarrrrious post. kidding. kinda depressing, actually.


This is a word I have been using to describe myself for most of my 27 years. Why is that? Really - I want to know why. What happened to me to make me constantly be very, very, very hard on myself? I actually "succeed" quite a bit. I never once skipped school growing up (or, for us Utahns - "sluffed"). I got excellent grades. I won awards here and there, got leading roles in plays, finished papers and projects, and, you know, graduated from college. Yet still. Yet still.

I still feel like a failure in almost everything I have ever done or tried to do. There is the voice that stays with me like a bad disease reminding me that I could've done better I should've done better you let people down you are selfish you are worthless you are fat you are too awkward to function you are ugly you will never be this or this or this.

And so it has led to this. It has led to me not feeling worthy of any kind of praise or recognition. It has led me to stay in the background, in the shadows, to not even try. I don't know what I am trying to say or prove right now. I sincerely don't want anyone to excessively worry. I am most likely just being a bit dramatic right now (see! there I go again! denying myself the right to feel shitty! making excuses!).

I have just wandered around for almost a decade trying to find myself, waiting for my life to begin. Have I not realized yet that the path is the goal?

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

walks, idiots, and Muse


*I write the word "musing" and I think of Muse (the venue, not the band) and I think of my first concert with 90s and I think about me not knowing what in the world I was doing and I think about how I still don't know what in the world I am doing with 90s or Glowing Heads and I think, "Well, damnit." And I think I need to start thinking more about these things and decide once and for all what I really wanna do, not what everyone else really wants me to do.

*There are some idiots on Facebook. Is this the most obvious thing I could possibly say/type? Yes. But really, come on, you guys. Yes, specifically guys. Males. One in particular whom I do not know very well. I know of. And I know only bad things about you, man. Of course, I should not judge... But when you act like a smart alec dick to me, well, I guess I should thank you. You are probably just trying to teach me patience, right? I thought so. Sneaky teacher!

*The past two days have been a bit rough. I feel off. I am slightly grumpy and tired and ho-hum. I am not sure what it is, but I know there is something bothering me. I intend to get to the bottom of this - or at least not avoid my feelings. I am trying to tell myself something (whoa - trippy), but what is it? What needs are not being met?

*I went on a long ass walk tonight to try to figure out the "answers" to many questions (put in quotation marks because I am not sure if I believe in one single answer or answers at all). It was a good walk, not because I figured everything out and am now fully enlightened. No. Mostly it was because the weather was divine and I chose a different walking route today. Well, I didn't even choose a route. I wandered. And wandering was what I needed, apparently. I found myself in the "poorer" neighborhoods, which I much preferred to the Ivory Homes 'hoods I frequent. I mean, duh. Of course the non-Ivory Homes 'hoods are better. There's character and life and tragedy and joy and lawn flamingos. No ticky-tacky.

There was something else I was going to say... Oh my oh my what was it... Oh well. This post is probably too long anyway for our ever-decreasing attention spans. Oh woe.

*OH! I remember. PETA liked a comment of mine. Thought that was funny. OHHH... Eff Facebook. It doesn't matter.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

a flake and a phoney with a college degree (whoopie)

Here we go! Get ready!

Things that make me feel bad/sad/mad/not glad/uh... shoulder pad:

*Losing an entire group of friends due to a breakup.

*Losing a best friend due to a breakup.

*The fact that I may very well be the Worst Friend Ever.

*Feeling like a big time flake and phoney.

*Gettin' no recognition/ceremony for my graduation last year. Hey guys, I graduated. Remember? Remember how I graduated cum laude? Remember how I have no pictures, had no congrats grad from relatives, no cap 'n gown, no celebratory dinner? Remember how I worked really, really, really hard for 8 years and now my diploma is still sitting in the envelope on top of a shoebox? Remember how I kinda cry a little bit every time I think of these things? They may seem petty - and perhaps they are - but, I don't know, all of these things would have/do mean a lot to me. Oh well.



Friday, April 29, 2011

and also

I guess when it comes down to it, I just don't believe I deserve good things. I don't inherently deserve them. I have to work really, really hard to earn anything - but even if I do work hard, I don't deserve any praise or recognition. I am suuuuch a hermit. Gooood 4 me. No, wait, terrible for me. I can be terrible.


Dudes have been such duds lately. My wall has been up up up for the past few weeks and it feel good sitting here behind it, isolated. Now if only I could find a full suit of armor...

I know this is the opposite of the warrior I strive to be. I know this is the opposite of me opening up, full of compassion and a desire for understanding. I know I am not listening.

But I am at a loss for words. I don't know what to do except hastily post this drab entry and hope you read it and hope you understand that it is both about you and absolutely not about you. And I hope you know that you are multiple people - spies, perhaps, maybe savages, maybe royalty - and I hope you can just pass through without feeling the need to look behind this poorly constructed wall.

Because shhhhh - I am just trying to rest and forget and be forgotten.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


I am tired.

I am tired of the drivers in gas guzzling trucks who cut me off while they are texting the ever important "LOL" to a BFF. I am tired of being ignored by my neighbors because I am not a member. I am tired of the disapproving looks I get because of my tattoos. Hey, I don't hate you because of your CTR rings and garments, okay? I am tired of being interrupted. I am tired of the mute button not being utilized. I am tired of the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, friends, and lovers who come in second after the iPods, iTouches, iPads, and iPhones. I am tired of our lack of respect in nature and sacred spaces. I am tired of apathy.

But I am also inspired.

I am inspired by those who walk and notice. I am inspired by those studying in India and later joining the Peace Corps. I am inspired by those who get lost in music/books/art and subsequently find themselves. I am inspired by bravery in the face of conformity. I am inspired by those with broken hearts who let their hearts stay raw. I am inspired by a blank screen (or rather, no screen at all). I am inspired by those who stay nervous, aware, alert, awake. I am inspired by the soil. I am inspired by those who touch the earth and weep.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

the highway is for gamblers better use your sense

Today a child I tutor told me I smell like her old school.

"Crying like a banana in the sun."

I have been watching rock documentaries these past few nights and it has almost decided for me that I don't want to end up a drug addled rock star. In other words, I'd rather end up rolling around in mud for the rest of my life with some flowers stuck in my dreads while tripping on the beauty that is the sky than passed out in some motel bathtub.

Tonight we were bandits, on a walk, sketching the sunset.

And here is me, in the future. (My future shall be the past, with more cats and a couple of good souled dogs.)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

an elephant in the room, but not really

Okay, a list:

Because I can't think clearly:

So I will not post anything deep and meaningful:

But rather, a list:

1. Do I spend my refund money on yoga classes or a tattoo? Or both? Or neither? I have a feeling many of you will say NO NO NO on the tattoo. But some of you out there in Internet Land like tattoos, right?

2. My head, heart, and stomach all hurt. Like, I actually feel pain in them right now. This is probably not a great thing, considering my head, heart, and stomach are all pretty important parts of my body.

3. I'm a slob lately. No more getting out of bed for me! No more makeup for me! No more socializing for me! No more shaving, showering, or smelling good for me!

4. Too tired and achy to finish this list. I have been drained of any and all creativity I used to have in the past. I am a good for nothin' loser. J/KKKKK. But really, I am kinda a dumby. Gumby. No, just a dumbie. Dumbey. Dumbo.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


My poor body, my poor mind. I won't elaborate (yet), but just trust me on this one.

I remember buying a messenger bag at the House of Blues in Downtown Disney when I was 15 years old. The print on the bag was of the Tibetan Wheel of Life. Weird. I thought the bag was so "edgy" and felt rebellious each time I used it (I had no idea what it was/meant, mind you). Good Mormon girl with a bag that depicted something from some "exotic religion." Yeah. Right on. I wish I knew where that waaay overpriced bag was now.

I think I should have this printed on a picture of some stock photo of a rock climber scaling a rock face: "Decisions: You Make Some That Hurt Those You Love And You Make Some That Don't Hurt Those You Love And Sometimes You Can't Even Make Them." I would hang that poster up on my freaking wall and look at it all the freaking time because it is so freaking true.

I really can't please everyone and it tears me up inside.

So... Meg (me) moving to the Land of Ports (Portland). Your thoughts, please.

I want to write more, but something is stopping me. I don't know what it is. This writer's block needs to go away now.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

unplugged and loopy

He told me to write something tonight.

So here it is.

I only write blog posts and tweets these days. Oh, and sometimes lyrics about bones and leather and matchbooks and Carl Sagan and cosmic waves. Hey, I just now, this very second, realized my lyrics are actually pretty cool. #prettycool

My vocabulary is lacking. I read quite a bit. I am a college grad (WITH A DEGREE IN ENGLISH). I am overall a smart cookie. But I have neglected words. I have forgotten how crisp and delicious language can be. I bought a book yesterday titled Rhyme Your Way to a Powerful Vocabulary. I don't even know what that means. I also bought some architecture books that I will undoubtedly end up giving as gifts to my many, uh, architect friends. (Note to Self: Find some architect friends.)

I performed in a show last night. And today. And by "performed" I mean "talked my way through some songs." I know I am the weakest link in the Glowing Heads. There used to be a show where that British woman with short red hair would say, "You are the weakest link. Goodbye." What the Boyd K. Fudgepacker was that called? Was it called Weakest Link? Who the Boyd K. Fudgeypantspacker even cares? Apparently I do. But not anymore.

I am currently abstaining from Facebook and Twitter. For the most part. It is difficult, but not TOO difficult. For the most part. I feel very out of the loop and I have hardly been gone for 24 hours. We live in a very plugged in world, people. I am so ready to go Gary Snyder on all y'all's asses.

Oh, language.