a non-floofy survey

I am filling this out at gunpoint. I swear.

26. idol(s)
Writers. Poets. Lovers of language, (wo)man! Is it a sin to have an idol? Or is it a sin to be afraid to let go and idolize away? (Those were not deep questions. Please do not think of or try to answer them.)

27. things i hate
I very much dislike being trapped inside on nice days. I also do not care for the clumps of hair in my shower drain.

28. i'll love you if...
you listen to me.

29. favourite film(s)
Lost in Translation, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Graduate, Annie Hall

30. favourite tv show(s)
Breaking Bad, British comedies, Girls

31. 3 random facts
In 4th grade I got into trouble for purposely kicking over a bucket of paste. In 3rd grade I pulled out the chair of a crush right before he sat down, making him fall on the floor and making everyone else laugh at his expense. In 2nd grade I must have done something and learned a few things, but I have no memory of any of it. I honestly can't remember a lick of 2nd grade. BUT! But in 1st grade I had a boyfriend named Trent and we played cars during recess, which just means that he pretended to be a car and I pretended to drive him and fill him up with petrol. Mind out of the gutter, folks.

32. are your friends mainly girls or guys?
They are mainly gender neutral, K?

33. something you want to learn
French, assertiveness, calculus.

34. most embarrassing moment
Probably something to do with farting in front of a crush. I dunno.

35. favourite subject
Cute! Okay, let's pretend like I'm in grade school again. Okay, so. SO. FavoUrite subject. English. English because all of my teachers were failed poets and I probably related to them or something. And books are pretty okay. And science! I like science. Science makes sense!

36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill?
I want to live simply along a coast, perhaps in a yurt. I want to allow my writing to develop and take me somewhere. Maybe having a PhD would be shit rad.

37. favourite actor/actress
I will watch anything with the divine Tilda Swinton. Oh, and is that John john Malkovich? And could that be Bill Murray? What a flick! I'll pay for a ticket!

38. favourite comedian(s)
Looooooouis Cccccc K. And am I Maria Bamford? In my dreams.

39. favourite sport(s)
It will always be women's softball.

40. favourite memory
I block out every memory, even the favoUrite ones, because memories are vicious. They are the key ingredient to misery. But if I had to choose, I'd say I really dig the memory of writing this post. Such a great survey. Such a great time. Such remarkable memories.

41. relationship status
Single and ready to Munch-n-Mingle at the local singles ward!

42. favourite book(s
Let's get fuggin' serious, okay? Okay. So. Frannie and Zooey. The Brothers K. Something by Alan Watts. Anything by Lorrie Moore. And I'm sure there are more that I have yet to discover. Let me discover them, okay? Stop asking me to hang out! Let me read instead!

43. favourite song ever
Ugh. Probably "Two Step" by Mr. Dave Matthews and his band. Celebrate we will. Because life is short but sweet for certain.

44. age you get mistaken for
17. All of the time. (But what if it was 44? That would be super spooky because this is question number 44 and I forget what else I was going to say and I think it's for the best that I stop this super spooky survey.)

residual

I wonder sometimes if the little things I mindlessly do are somehow impacting the life of someone on the other side of the planet. Like, will this discarded plastic cup lead to the imminent demise of a kind shopkeeper in Kyoto? Maybe stepping on these cracks will throw a Chinese man onto the tracks just in time to get slammed by the 5 o'clock train. Simple actions could lead to devastating consequences, and often they do. It's the cancerous nature of existence.

But where is our sensitivity? Did it die out with the Dodo or fade away with the phonograph? If I knew the weight that this plastic cup holds, would I still choose to toss it due to convenience? I do everyday. I empty out what doesn't directly serve me in search of pure pleasure. A syrup. We have evolved into waffles, waiting to be suffocated under the warmth of thick sap. (Your mouth can't even say those words without getting momentarily stuck. Try it.)

So maybe our homemade wings which we think are so delicate desecrate the land that is lost on the map. But it's not our loss. So pass the butter, please. I'm polite and hungry and blind.

wander

Do I want to come home or do I want to wander? These two conflicting desires occupy most of the space in my brain. It has been a full-time job just trying to figure out which general direction I wish to walk. Or jog. Or run, except I run for the wrong reasons. I run to get away from things/people/places. I don't run to things. I never have and I doubt I ever will.

So walk. So walking it is. I will walk towards and on a path that I alone choose. So choice. It's my choice. That means the mistakes are on my already heavy shoulders. Should I even care? Wouldn't it be better to be reckless and daring? The moment I shy away from the spontaneous is the moment I shy away from the gunshot that signifies the race has begun.

But then again, I won't run. I will walk. I will dip my toes in and test the waters. I'll watch what others do before I decide to dive. This is simply the who and what I am and I don't think I need to change. Of course, the only thing one can count on is change. So will I change my mind on change? Or will I just ask for more spare change so I can continue my life of meandering through the thoughts that fill my head?

I figure both my dreams and nightmares serve a purpose. I figure I may not figure it out. I figure I'll get a decent night's sleep tonight. Let us give thanks for that.

unlearn

I've been trapped in a slow cooker for the past two and a half years. But am I really trapped? Or am I actually free to marinate, enhancing my eventual flavor for when the taste buds finally show up at the door?

I might be constantly cold and roasting in my own ruins at the same time. There is a pleasant balance to be found in there, I think. A perverted pleasant balance, but a balance nonetheless.

A large chunk of my life has been spent in school. That chunk was tied together with string, keeping my stuffing inside. Nothing is terribly rare about this background. In fact, it's just another traditional flavor and color added to life, like milestone birthdays and baptisms.

Now my challenge is to avoid evaporation. How do I retain what I gained for nearly three decades? It has become impossible for me to have hope in the possibility of overcoming the impossible.

I want to lay down my pens and plans and books and potential and just become. I want to become whatever I would have become without the string, without the low temperature learning. I want to unlearn. I want to dispose and start empty and whole. I want to look at a tree and see it as a thing struggling to reach the sky, no matter how twisted the branches.

I don't want it to have a name. I don't want it to be claimed.

lead

"Myself imprisons me. The lead shield of my habits, that heavy, soft bluish-grey dead defence." -Jeanette Winterson, Art & Lies

coco-nuts

Maybe I'm saner than I realize. Maybe I feel insane because everyone else in the world is insane and being the only sane person in an insane world will occasionally make one believe that they are insane. Know what I'm sayin'?

Belief. So what do I believe? I guess I believe in binges. I go on binges with different beliefs, be they religious or secular. I go on binges with people, be they dreamboats or dipshits. I binge on what I am denied and I also binge on denial. Only the sane binge, I promise.

Something's going to happen soon, I think. I fear. I hope. I am! I am everything I think, fear, and hope. And I am determined to abandon it all. I am determined to wake up on my own deserted island after being knocked out by a coconut of my own creation. Where there's a will, there's a way. Where there's a tropical tree, there is hanging fruit. (And he swore coconuts were nuts, not fruit. After some diligent research, it turns out coconuts are indeed a part of the fruit family. See? I'm not as insane as I claim.)

only

I'm living an invisible existence. I have been for almost a decade now. I don't know how to reappear. I don't know how to stop starting every sentence with "I." Are we deceiving ourselves? Are we blocking our departures from the Self? Maybe we are more fantastic than we realize and the "I" driven sentences are more than justified. I tried. I keep on trying.

People take holidays. They TAKE them and enjoy them and pay extra for extra and come home with some pretty pictures. How can I be that person? That seems so orderly and nice. Here, here is your vacation and here, here is your pill of relief and moment of escape. There! Now you are refreshed and ready to clock in again. When is your lunch break? Would you like to talk about the stock market with me for 30 minutes over a barbecue chicken sub? Then we can begin all over again tomorrow.

I don't know. I don't know if I am destined for anything other than a yurt in the Northwest. I'll place all my bets on that and hope for the best.

You are looking really good tonight. You are looking remarkable, in fact. Let me take you home. Let me plant you in the soil I have yet to buy. (And why do we have to buy the earth where we will retire to? Is this a sick joke or just a vacation from the norm? I want my bones to fade away for free. I want to leave no trace except for an escape.) But it's true. It's true that you look good tonight.

timber

I don't know how else to put this. We are so fragile, but we're as tough as nails. We soak in baths and listen to Icelandic music, but we drink our whiskey straight and like our coffee black. Here's to hoping when our hair gets pulled our scalp will tough it out. In the privacy of your own mind is where I want to spend some time. Not too much time. Just a few seconds, enough to glimpse the expanse of what you hope for, what you are willing to give up, what you can't let go. I want to see you as the geological wonder that I know you are. Or are you an onion?

From which part of the earth do you rise? And where will you plant your roots? I'd travel to find you if I could just find the door. Maybe you are the door. Maybe I need to walk through you instead of with you. They say that in an earthquake the safest place to stand is under a door frame. The house may collapse, but you'll be left as tall as a naked tree in the middle of the loneliest winter. (Do your hinges comply with fire codes? I have a match and I'm ready to strike.)

And the whole forest existed just to create your frame.

So do the roots even matter? What's the matter? Here. Let me hold you.

ursa minor

There is a beauty in the hunger, I said to myself at 9:09 at night. I thought I was being deep, but I was just lazy from lack of sleep and food. To fill up your insides leaves you with the patience to pause and look up when you are outside. There are stars and constellations and spaces between my fingers where I let the juice from the peach slip through. Where are you tonight? Are you looking at the Big Dipper through blurry eyes like I am? Leave the Little Dipper alone. We'll find him together.

Still I can't see. Still I can't see what I've stolen for myself. I thought I could trap the entire northern sky in a Mason jar. If it can preserve food, it can contain and save what we almost lost. Right? But then I'm still left with the leftovers of an entire galaxy. Does it save? Can we count on it for when the winter months hit us with a sheet of starvation? Let's wrap up in a stream of stars, dead but white hot.

We know no limit. We walk until we collapse. The oxen will carry us now. A home hides behind the shower of meteors tonight.

And you are a myth. And I am a handle. And we grasp on to each other in order to empty ourselves over and over.

vacant

Maybe the appropriate way to describe us would be "a lukewarm vacuum." We stay shy, we pick up what others have left behind. We sometimes suck. And we're teetering on the edge of drinkable and dumpable. Not too hot, not too cold, but we ain't just right, not yet.

We can't contain space because we are empty. But maybe emptiness takes up space. In fact, it takes up days and weeks and lifetimes. I've found a temperature in this room of mine that's just right. Not too hot, not too cold. Close the door when you leave.

abstain

It's strange to think of a 13-year-old me who a keychain that read "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." dangling off her purple Jansport backpack. I had no idea that I was about to fall into a dark abyss of depression, obsessive compulsiveness, and super wacky body image issues. Get ready, 13-year-old, Meg! Life is about to get a lot tougher.

I was put on medication when I was 17 and I was on and off various antidepressants for the next decade. Being an idiot (or at least careless), I didn't take my medicine regularly. I would get it in my head that the pills were making me dull or fat or both, so I'd quit cold turkey and wonder why a day later I was bawling alone in my car at school.

It's hard to say if it was the medication or the misuse of the medication that has left me feeling like that entire decade was a blur. So much happened in the world during that time and I don't even feel like I was alive to experience it. At most I was watching a movie, never participating, only observing -- and falling asleep in the middle of it. This disturbs me.

I desire, at times, to be hyperaware of what is going on. I have moments where I want to read every section of every newspaper, confidently debate those with whom I disagree, attend protests and demonstrations and rallies, and donate all of my time and money to really patching up this little planet. But these moments are fleeting.

More often than not I am still stranded in my head, consumed by an inner world. I fixate on thoughts that I either forget to share or hesitate to because I feel they might be too loony. I'm starting to make it sound like I've lost my grip on reality, but I don't believe that's the case. Maybe I've just gotten too comfortable turning away and not paying attention. This is devastating. I don't have the excuse of insanity on my side; I just have deliberate ignorance.

A fearful life sprinkled with apathy isn't exactly what I ordered, but that's what's been placed in front of me. Do I build up the courage to ask the waiter to take it back? And if he takes it back, will it just come back to me? Because I am the chef in this situation. I cook my own meal, minute by minute, day after day. It's time I learn to digest my own creation, even if it's simply empty calories, full of preservatives.

But I want sustenance. I want my ingredients fresh and my knives sharp. I want to tip generously and lick the plate when no one's looking. To have a satisfying feast, the senses must cooperate. I want my appetite to come back.

home

I now have two homes.

Well, two and a half.

On almost every "to do" list that I write for myself, I include "find a home." I think I can finally cross it off the list, or at least add a little check mark (two and half check marks) next to it. I don't think I can ever completely eliminate this task. I believe searching for a home will be my lifelong journey. A home and an identity. Same thing?

The two homes are Orem, bizarrely enough, and Salt Lake City. Hey, Orem, I don't dig your culture, but I like the quiet and the family and the mountains I can see so strikingly on my walks around your arboretum and empty baseball fields. And Salt Lake. Hey. It's a little awkward between us right now, isn't it? I feel like we just had a messy breakup. But we both still care about each other and know that it's no one's fault. We are most likely just taking a temporary break anyway. It simply wasn't the right time for me to be in a long-term relationship with your skyscrapers and nightlife. But you are still familiar, like an old jacket.

And then there's the half. My half home is Pleasant Grove. It's the town where I grew up, but it's such a foggy thing of the past that I can only claim it as a home through nostalgia. In reality, I go back there and I am displaced and confused. Memory is stagnant; places change. I no longer belong there physically, and that's okay. A home does not need to be defined as a physical location.

Okay, so maybe I have another half-home. That would be the Teton Range. The area is so quietly powerful that a mere seven days a year are all it takes for my heart to become greedy and claim it as a refuge.

Two and a half and another half (do the math: that's three) homes are a luxurious amount of homes. I am ready whenever the Universe is ready to add another home. I'll let you in on a secret: I'm hoping the next home has flesh and bones.

set on you

Hey, you! Do you read my blog? I think you might, sometimes. I wonder if you do because I wonder about you. I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if you wonder what it would be like if we met up again and started all over again and tried to hold hands this time and maybe make it a point to pack up and head up to the woods where you will cut down the necessary tree so we can stay warm while we fry our fish and watch the stars dance across an open sky. I wonder if you'll find a feather for me. Didn't we promise each other feathers? Didn't we figure we'd figure into each other's lives somehow? I want it to somehow happen so suddenly, but naturally. I am going to scare you away again. You've left.

And what's left is almost nothing that is right. We can't begin to explain why the horizon looks that way except to say it is flat and will return. Each night we hold our breaths as the death of the sun leaves us mourning. And then we awake, and then we wonder at the stretch of time before us, where we fill in what we can't kill.

You feel, you fill. I am here empty waiting for an eclipse.

EM EFF A and friends and lockets

It's been a few soul-searching hours. Here are a few things I'd most like to do:

1. I want to go to grad school. I'll go anywhere I am accepted. I will begin by researching schools/programs and working up the courage to ask old professors if a) they remember me and b) they are willing to write a letter of recommendation for me. I will also indulge in poets and poems and poetry terms and poetry readings and practically anything to do with poetry, except perhaps really sad open mic nights at local coffee shops. Okay, maybe I'll give them a shot. Oh yeeeeeah. And I also want/need to write my own poetry. You know, because if that's what I intend to do as a profession, then I might as well start practicing.

2. I want to strengthen my relationships with my family and female friends. Both groups are overwhelmingly supportive and nurturing to me. I want to be a better daughter/sister/friend. I am going to smother them with so much love that they will become overwhelmed and leave me! Perfect!

3. I want and desperately need to be kinder to myself. I am still figuring out how to do this. This might mean easing up on my "rules" and rituals. This might mean practicing loving-kindness meditation towards myself. This might mean wearing a sweet little locket around my neck that holds two Little Meggie pictures inside. When I am tempted to beat myself up in any way, all I have to do is look inside my locket. But will that work?! There's only 47 ways to find out. Or one. Yeah, there is only one way to find out. Unless you believe in prayer and/or fortune tellers. So there are about two and a half ways to find out. Well, I guess I could have a vision, too. There are ways to find this out. I think I'll go with the tried and true "try it and find out for yourself" method. Science! Experiments! Lockets!

That's it for now. Basically, in no particular order, I want to focus on grad school and poetry, family and female friends, and self-compassion and lockets. And maybe some science experiments on the side.

moods and tonys and diapers

I've been a tad moody in my recent posts. I am not going to apologize for having emotions, though! Nope. But I will apologize for not being as tactful as I could have been. I am still trying to figure out the fine line between being assertive and being an asshole. People just wanna be loved and accepted, (wo)man. Still, I don't "owe" anyone my attention. I do, however, owe them an explanation, even if it is brief. It's too tempting for me to ignore and run away from anything and anyone that makes me even remotely uncomfortable. It's a bad habit I should break. Breaking bad habits. Breaking bad. Breaking Bad: The Musical. Starring Meghan Wiemer as Heisenberg and Pinkman and Tuco and Badger and the blonde chick and the boy with the crutches. A one-woman show! Tony Award winning play! Suddenly closed due to Meghan being a tactless asshole to the audience.

Anyway, Sundays are awesome, huh?

I am going to work on a list of my goals/dreams/aspirations today. What is really important to me? What five things do I value the most? Where do I want to channel my energy and what can I discard? This is a vital thing for me to do/figure out. I feel swamped with demands and desires and diapers. Kidding about the diapers. But maybe one day when I am the mother to five beautiful adopted children from Africa and Asia, I will be swamped in diapers and delusions that I am Angelina Jolie. Until then I will just focus on finding which demands and desires to tackle and wrestle to the ground until we are making sweet love.

There is no way to end this post except for with a picture of two sickos eating a banana.

weeding

I wish I would have more faith in myself.

I wish I would quit letting narcissistic men into my life. No, we can't meet up while your girlfriend is on vacation. No, I am not charmed by your short, borderline offensive texts. No, I am not that girl that will run off to Paris with you and steal cars. Maybe you can ask me how my day was? Or what kind of books I like to read? Maybe I don't have to be a cutesy, compulsive character in your coming-of-age tale. I'm probably going to ignore you from now on. Besides, who said that I was ever interested? Being polite does not equal let's date.

I wish I was brave enough to live my truth.

I wish I knew what I meant by "truth." I wish I didn't have to start almost all of these sentences with "I wish." I wish I spent less time wishing and more time doing.

So maybe I will. I will drop off the face of the online planet for a bit and maybe never answer your texts and definitely not answer your calls. I will immerse myself into the reading and writing of poetry and essays and plays that will save. The amount of energy I've given up to peripheral people and activities that do not serve my personal truth is disheartening, but that doesn't mean it can't change. I'll start tonight.

Not everyone has to be a soulmate.

actualize

The thing that prevents me from writing blog posts (and poems and stories and plays and essays) is that I never know how to start. The beginning is the worst. The end is fine because you can just fall back on, "And then the alarm clock went off and it was all a dream!" But seriously, the first sentence and the first paragraph and the first page and the first chapter are painstaking. Don't ever become a writer. Don't ever subject yourself to such constant self-doubt and dissatisfaction.

Phew! Now that I've officially (not necessarily successfully) gotten the beginning of this post out of the way, I can dive into the MEAT of my post. I come to you today with no real agenda except to write whatever appears in my mind so that I can prove my existence by having you read my words. Funny thing is, though, is that I am the one that creates myself, which creates you, which means that I am creating everything surrounding me constantly. I am about to go disprove physics and walk on some water, okay? See you in a minute.

I'm back from my failed attempt at walking on water! And now for my brain vomit.

Mean/shock humor is never funny and never will be. I see too much of it online and for whatever reason, some of it has been aimed at me by crappy dudes I barely know. I pretty much have zero tolerance for that kind of "humor." I have no regrets ridding you from my life if you feel it necessary to constantly put people down. May you find a less boring way to fill your day.

Women. All of the time. You are wonderful in myriad ways.

I am becoming more and more "sure" of who I am. I mean, as I said earlier, I am constantly creating myself, so maybe there is no surety because it's all fluidity. As of this moment, I am a curious secular absurdist who likes the idea of top hats and the taste of cotton. Seriously, chewing on a washcloth that is straight out of the dryer is divine.

I'd rather be a candle than a match.

eight cold hard facts

I keep trying to get lost in a maze of my own words, so for this post I am just going to tell you some Meg Facts. Just gonna lay it all out there! This ain't no maze, darling. This is a disco. A disco of boring facts.

*When I was young I wanted to live in a trailer park with all of my friends and relatives. We'd each have our own trailer, but we'd get together each evening to have a large barbecue and play kick the can. We might even ride our bikes around the park, wearing funny hats made out of the pages from the morning's newspaper.

*I bite the inside of my mouth raw. Last week when I was driving on the freeway in a SNOW STORM, I was biting my cheeks so hard that they are still sore. I did not even realize I was doing it! My mouth is a disaster.

*When I do not know how to pronounce words, I almost want to cry out of embarrassment.

*I always always always wanted poofy bangs growing up, but my desire was never fulfilled. I did, however, have those thick megabangs that start from the middle of the head. And on the first day of 5th grade I thought it would be a great idea to have NO bangs, so I used almost an entire bottle of gel to slick back my hair. I went to school looking like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, but a John Travolta in a CAT t-shirt, so it somehow all worked out. Cat shirts fix everything.

*I can't stand lined paper. Okay, I can stand it. I just don't prefer it. Huh. Well, that was boring.

*Pink has always been my least favorite color. Green has always been my most favorite color. Some shade of orange is right there in the middle.

Two more facts. Okay. I can do this.

*I said "two more facts" because I wanted to end this post with EIGHT facts. Why eight? Because I might be slightly superstitious/obsessive/autistic. Eight in my mind is GOOD. Everyone in a group of eight people has a partner. And there can be teams! Four against four. Two against two (or one against one) is too much pressure. There is security and comfort and a bit of cushioning in eight. Eight is great!

*I've never really liked donuts, but I LOVE ice cream cake.

name

I went from wanting to see my name in lights to wanting to see it tucked away in a shelf.

I am always searching for a home. Maybe it's my curiosity that guarantees I'll never have a home.

For now, though, I am home. And home to me means a lady that is always excited to see me, clean towels, and enough space to hear the nameless birds.

Lights may never spell out my name and shelves may never house my name, but I hope they do. Oh, I do so hope they do.

these are the best, right?

So you may know that I am addicted to two things: Tumblr and PCP. Kidding, I am not addicted to PCP (yet), but I am hooked on Tumblr. I found this dumb/cool/pointless/full-of-points survey on that little tiny stupid site and was, like, "COPY/PASTE!" So now I am going to pretend like I am 14 and fill this out and believe that you are so excited to read this because who doesn't want to know about the last time I was hugged by someone of the opposite sex? This is worth reading. Ignore world news. Read this.

1. selfie



2. what would you name your future kids?
They will all be girls (cuz who wants to deal with penises) and they will all be named after my favorite characters in hip movies that will surely annoy some people who hate hipster and who the effity eff cares. Anyway, the names are: Clementine, Charlotte, and Margot. I also like Dorothy because she can be called "Dottie" for short.

3. do you miss anyone?
Everyone! Good lord who art in heaven, I miss every single person I've ever encountered. No, really. Also, I miss a few boys. YOU MIGHT BE ONE OF THEM. The thing is, I miss them in my warped mind, but then when I see them in person I'm, like, "Ohhhh... I remember why we didn't work out." That's harsh.

4. what are you looking forward to?
I am looking forward to sloooowing down and getting healthy (whatever that means). I am also looking forward to going to Disneyland (this may take some work). I am looking forward to Thanksgiving, truthfully. I am looking forward to when I will marry a super handsome black preacher and/or Tilda Swinton and have 3-4 girls with super hipster movie names. I am looking forward to when I can adopt a dog.


5. is there anyone who can always make you smile?
YOUR MOM. And also my mom. And also people like Louis CK and Sarah Silverman and the writers at The Onion and Laura.

6. is it hard for you to get over someone?
Depends on the person, yo. It also depends on how many defense mechanisms I'm putting up.

7. what was your life like last year?
Confusing. I believe I was unemployed (strange how history repeats itself) and wandering and wondering. I may have been on the verge of a total meltdown, but when am I not? I was drinking a lot of coffee at Harmons and writing and reading and wearing beanies. That's about it.

8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed?
At this question? Yes.

9. who did you last see in person?
My mother! And right before that I saw every single obnoxious person at Smith's. Okay okay okay, so they aren't obnoxious. So they are all Buddhas and whatnot. But who says Buddha isn't obnoxious (aside from Buddha)? See.

10. are you good at hiding your feelings?
You bet your fucking sweet motherfucking ass I am.

11. are you listening to music right now?
No. Should I? I should, huh. Uggggghhhhhh, just tell me what to do.

12. what is something you want right now?
I want someone to tell me what to do. I also want to be inspired, but currently my brain is fried and I think it might stay that way.

13. how do you feel right now?
Dull and restless, but that's just RIGHT now. Earlier I was so so so so great! So happy and hopeful and productive! See, that's the thing with everything ever: It's fluid. Don't worry. Don't grasp. Just go.

14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you?
This! THIS is the question you've all been waiting for!!!!!!!!! And I'm going to make you wait for it........ NO MORE!!! I guess the last person I side-hugged (because I rarely, for some reason, give a full body hug) was my papa this morning. The last person of the opposite sex that I awkwardly side-hugged who is not related to me was Michael at Juice 'n Java and then before him was Whit at Village Inn and then before him I had never come in contact with another human in my life. True story.

15. personality description
WELLLLLL, let's see hmmm okay well I like to have fun and I like fun things and I like to have fun with fun things and fun people in fun places. Also, I am the poster child for introvertism. It's a word. I have also perfected the art of avoidance. Some people find introverts who avoid everything and everyone fun, okay?!

16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn't?
These questions are frying my already fried brain, which I didn't think was possible, but totally is.

17. opinion on insecurities.
I'm too insecure to tell you my opinion.

18. do you miss how thing were a year ago?
No way, Jose.

19. have you ever been to New York?
No way, Jose. This answer would have been a "Yes way, Jose" if I had never gotten a tattoo in Austin on Halloween. Tattoos apparently equal NO NYC NEWSPAPER TRIP FOR YOU, LADY. Oh! I'm a lady wink wink.

20. what is your favourite song at the moment?
Oh, so you're British? That's fun. My favorite (ahem -- favourite) song (ahem -- soung) at the moment is probably "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" by The Band solely because it is 3:33 long and I am spiritually connected to the number "333."

21. age and birthday?
Forever 21 and I was born on the night when the lights went out in Georgia. Trust me on this one.

22. description of crush.
I can't give you a description because by the time I finish this sentence I will have discarded that crush and will have found a new one. He/she has probably been married before, though. I tend to get lured into that trap.

23. fear(s)
Just my li'l old self. I have also come to hate balloons.

24. height
5'6" and not a foot too soon. Wait. 5'6" closer to god. Wait. I'm 5'6". That's it. Nothing to it except DNA and diet.

25. role model
I'm sad that I'm just sitting here trying to think of one role model. Family members, duh, but aside from them... Sigh. I'll get back to you.

And I will also get back to you with the answers to 35 more questions. THIRTY-FIVE. Gross.

path

Maybe I rush into things because I know that they will be over soon. I want to experience everything I can before everything disappears. Maybe I am just continuously ripping off the band-aid, so to speak. Let's get this over with.

There is an underlying discomfort I've felt for most of my life. I can't place it. I physically feel uncomfortable in my clothing. I feel like I am being strangled and suffocated. And my hair has never felt like an accurate reflection of who I am. What would an "accurate reflection" even be? A mohawk? Dreads? An out-of-control fuzz ball? Perhaps I place too much importance on outward appearance. Huh. THAT'S a thought.

People project instead of connect. I know I do. I can't wait to get over myself so I can start to get into someone else. I've decided that I will always be a dead end (in the best possible way), so I might as well discover other paths. You might be my path; I might walk all over you.

We imprison ourselves. It's time we introduce ourselves to the key.

space

The clarity I've needed is slowly starting to return. It feels incredible. The silence is what I have been missing. And the open spaces. Yes, Orem is "open spaces" to me. Of course, a fire lookout in the Washington woods would be terribly wonderful at fulfilling my open spaces need, but for now this is heaven. Or at least a huge effing sigh of relief. Heaven is a sigh.

I am happy.

shell

I live deficient when I should be living defiant. Instead of being definite, I am stuck in denial. Are you admiring my alliteration yet? Would it help if I sold seashells by the seashore?

And now I want to talk about drought. I want to write a screenplay for a new wave flick dealing with drought and cigarettes. I want to extrapolate your bones. No, wait. Wrong word. I want to excavate your bones. Maybe later I can extend the application of this method, but for now I want to systematically find you. The bones being bare share with me what you kept protected lest I find out you were a fraud. I was a fraud, too. A fake at best. We can't do anything about this anymore, honey, except polish our masks and caskets.

And we can hold the seashell we sold at the seashore up to our ears and hear whatever we failed to hear when we were swimming. And now we sink. And now we grasp onto our breath like it's the world's most prized possession. I want to encapsulate you. I want to find some way for you to insulate me from the inside out.

We are nothing but shells.

bridge

We build bridges out of doubt. We build bridges because we don't believe for a second we can walk on water. We aren't going to save one another, but we can connect.

I have to delicately distribute this tension or else I will collapse. I have to move from one place to another without looking down. It's too easy for me to be tempted to jump. The suspended self is stuck in eternity. The water is a hell that cleanses. I can get swept away unless I look ahead.

Moving breaks my heart. I want everything to stand still. But it has to sway, it has to sway or else it will break.