guilt

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.

pop

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.

toe

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

a hillllarrrrious post. kidding. kinda depressing, actually.

Failure.

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?

walks, idiots, and Muse

Musings:

*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.