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.