Thursday, December 31, 2015

solve

For as much as I read, you'd think coming up with my own words would be much easier than it actually is. Their words mix with my thoughts to produce something worth noticing, something which demands (and receives) attention. But it's not like that. And it doesn't matter to me. I write because I am told to write. I write because that's what I've been told I do. Everything else is temporary. Everything else is just a way to pass the time until I am embraced by a large, pleased, and paying audience. Everything else doesn't matter.

But it matters to me. These walks I take, the time spent alone. It matters because it is how I function. It matters because it is where I find a peace I've never known in fulfilling the expectations of others. It matters because it is still a mystery to me and I am nothing if not a collector of clues.

I didn't come here to write about not writing, though. I came here in hopes of unwrapping pieces of my past which have recently reappeared. Why he is on my mind. Why I've never left that place even though it no longer exists. Why I still hide my eyes when there is nothing to see. They will all remain wrapped for the time being, however, as I struggle to untie other, less important knots. I have to keep my hands busy with something.

The excitement of tonight will pass while the past remains unresolved. Happy new year.

31,536,000 seconds, the second part

Am I ready to begin the second part of my examination of 2015? I better be because my last post left me rapidly trying to swim out of a pool of despair. NOT REALLY. But a little. I can't help it! I'm prone to getting caught up in pools of despair!

For all of its shortcomings and freakout moments, this year had more than a handful of pleasant surprises, smiles, and triumphs. "Pleasant Surprises, Smiles, and Triumphs: One Girl's Noble Attempt at Optimism."

Golden 2015:

*I recovered. Well, I began to recover. I am still recovering and probably always will be -- I, of course, mean this in an optimistic way. Or rather, a realistic way. I do not know if one can ever fully 100% recover from any mental illness, but they find ways to cope. They find mechanisms that work. They find a support system, hobbies, tools, mantras, words, different perspectives, spirituality, and, ultimately, peace. I am still working on finding these things, on using them to combat darkness, on avoiding what is self-destructive. I struggle, daily, but the important thing is that I am trying. As trite as that sounds, it is the truth. I am proud of my progress. I am proud of my resiliency.

*Speaking of resiliency, I recovered quickly from various disappointments this year and in mostly healthy ways. I won't go into too much detail, but many of the disappointments had to do with vacations and failed plans and sleeping in a motel next to a strip club.

*Not to get too Hallmark card-ish (or would that just be "Hallmark-ish"?), but I believe I "touched the lives" of at least a few children. Sure, they may not remember me as they get older (they won't), but they remembered me this year. And they loved me! Mostly because I listened to them. I'm naturally drawn to the outcasts and the weirdos and the nerds, so they probably appreciated somebody paying them a little bit of attention and not being judgmental. At least this is my hope. A really big hope.

*I moved to Salt Lake and lived on my own for kind of the first time and it wasn't a total disaster. It was a little disastrous here and there, but duh. That's to be expected with any move and any big change. Plus, I'm not wonderful with handling changes, so I give myself a big pat on the back for handling this significant change with a tiny bit of grace and a lot of courage.

*Along with moving to Salt Lake, I found a job. Two, in fact. I came to SLC with no job, just an outdated resume and some iffy "professional" references. With persistence and a hint of desperation, I became employed within the month. And they were (and still are, at least one of them) fairly decent jobs! That I don't 100% hate! Most importantly, they pay the rent and prove that I can actually "make it" on my own. Cue The Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song. Quick, hand me a beret.

Fortunately enough, there are more pleasant surprises, smiles, and triumphs that I had in this the year of our Lord and Savior. But I am done discussing them for now. The elusive sun is calling my name. Will a beret be warm enough for my venture outside? There's only one way to find out.

31,536,000 seconds

Is this the post where I am supposed to reflect back on 2015 with tinges of nostalgia, regret, perhaps even remorse, joy, fondness, embarrassment, the inevitable anxiety, and the required gratitude? And then maybe in this same post I am to proclaim all of hopes and promises for the future, the future that is less than 24 hours away? THOSE LAST NINE WORDS WERE THE MOST ABSURD WORDS I HAVE EVER WRITTEN -- and I used to write a lot of absurdist one-act plays in college! Anyway, I guess I can crap out a post like that right now. If not now, soon. If not soon, when? If not when, why not? If not not, why not knot? And so forth. And. And. And.

The first two "news" headlines I saw this morning had to do with Kylie Jenner and her dog, and Guy Fieri being a dog. I am glad I know more about these two saviors of society and can't even locate Syria on a map. Okay, I can locate Syria on a map, but only kinda.

Oh yeah. 2015. How the freak do I sum up the year and control all of the emotions that come with it in roughly 20 minutes? Because I'm only gonna allow myself 20 minutes to write this post, not that time really matters <--- BUT GUESS WHAT time really does matter, at least in our culture. I am nothing if not a bitch to our culture. Speaking of bitch, let me first bitch about 2015, emotionally bury those bitchings, and then end on a more optimistic, cheery note. Because I am nothing if not an optimistic, cheery bitch who buries emotions with the shovel of avoidance. 2015: The Big Bitch *Turns out having anemia sucks. Actually, in small ways it was indulgent. I received attention. That sounds bad, but the truth doesn't always sound like a church choir. I received sympathy and well wishes and words of concern. And when I went into the hospital once a week for my iron infusions ($$$$$$$), I received hellos and smiles and free crackers. I'm assuming they were free. They very well could have charged me triple digits for the individually wrapped saltines. In fact, they totally did because I am just now remembering that they were brand name crackers. Premium. Premium Saltines at a premium price. And all because I don't produce enough red blood cells. *I sure did a shitty job at my job. I'm specifically talking about the job I had at the beginning of the year. I started out motivated! So motivated! And excited! Quite excited! And then once I realized I was the lowest of the low on the totem pole who didn't even get to interact with the children that much ("Here! Correct these multiplication tests in the dimly lit backroom five days a week while I do a terrible job at teaching because I've secretly given up on my job, too."). I should have either talked to someone about my disappointment, tried to find the positive/try harder, or walked away. Instead I stayed, did a piss poor job, and was all-around miserable. *Fast forward a couple of months to my other job, which I walked away from too soon. I think. I gave up on it in a moment of desperation. I think. I should have thought about it a little bit longer. I think. I don't know what to think quite yet about that job. It pains me to think about it, so for now I'll do what I do best and avoid anything which causes me even the slightest discomfort. *This one is a toss-up. I moved to Salt Lake, which felt like an impulsive decision, but I had actually been weighing it in my mind for a long time. Part of me wishes I would have given it some more time, but I know that if I don't just go and do whatever it is I am considering right away, I'll never budge. I have to force myself to do things, I have to metaphorically jump in that cold water and learn how to swim (while simultaneously avoiding hypothermia of the soul).

*Related to my move to Salt Lake, I should have found a place that wasn't in a basement with loud upstairs residents. They might not even be loud, the house just might be old. Still. We have different lifestyles and mine does not include techno music and having a furniture moving parties at three in the morning. At least I learned just how vital natural lighting and solitude are to my delicate (yet so effing strong!!!) soul.

I did and said a lot of other things I regret. There were many unfortunate events outside of my control as well. I wish I would have been more social. I wish I would have gone camping more. I wish I would have learned how to swim and to speak French. I wish I would have explored my spiritual side more. I wish I would have been kinder. I wish I would have been kinder. I wish I would have been kinder. It always comes back to kindness.

That bitching took up way more than the allotted 20 minutes. I guess I'll just leave on this bittersweet note and return with my sugary sweet and hopeful side. This year had it's groovy moments, I promise. I can't wait to remember them.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

fraggled

An incomplete list of healthy, or at least not entirely self-destructive, things I do when I am feeling blue:

*watch Fraggle Rock
*eat a sandwich with wasabi
*go on a walk which lasts a 1,000,002 hours
*browse a bookstore and maybe -- MAYBE-- even buy myself a book
*drink coffee and lots of it
*write, but not nearly as often as I used to (might need to drink more caffeine to jump start this)

An incomplete list of unhealthy, but kind of funny, things I do when I am feeling blue:

*drink more caffeine, ride that high for a few glorious hours, and then proceed to have a total meltdown
*text old crushes and loves, promising that we'll soon catch up (and never keeping that promise)
*look at Instagram photos of people I don't quite like
*chew on either 1,000,002 ice cubes or 1,000,002 pieces of gum
*buy a lot of obscure Kindle books, usually on metaphysical things or Catholic saints (is this unhealthy?)
*do something drastic and regrettable with my hair

Will write more. Must go to ShopKo right now to buy tennis shoes and a National Geographic and wasabi if they have it. I am not sad. This is not a healthy/unhealthy thing I do. This is just a thing I do. While I am away, please enjoy this photo of a baby turtle.

Sunday, December 27, 2015

link

Answer as truthfully as possible and, if possible, in riddles: Would you rather be locked out of your house or inside of your house?

Virginia Woolf said something similar and in a much better way. That's the thing with superb writers -- they'll always say it better and make us want to give up, but strangely enough we'll try harder.

Do we try harder to open the door from the outside or the inside?

And Virginia also said, "You cannot find peace by avoiding life."

And Meghan said in response, "Bingo, you bitch. Bingo."

Avoidance has been a theme of mine for quite some time, has it not? It has. It is a constant in my life, maybe the only constant. I can't rely on jobs, on paychecks, on lovers, on some friends, on neighbors, on community, or even on words. But I can, no doubt, rely on avoidance. I can avoid until I forget, or at least avoid enough for my little heart to stop beating and in order to sit down and stop pacing.

What I avoid, however, has a funny way of coming back. And it comes back stronger and more determined to teach me what I must learn.

So start learning.

Be a student again. An observer, a scholar, a skeptic. Be receptive. Be a sponge and a mirror at the same time. Magnify, miniaturize. Contradict yourself. Include yourself. Include yourself. You have important, fearless ideas and words to contribute. Be a student again. Contribute.

I'd rather be locked out of my house.

continue

Read my last post. It's gonna be a lot better than this one.

A therapist would tell you that a journal is a place where you write down your thoughts and feelings. I guess, despite my best efforts, this has become my journal. Of course, I don't tell you everything on this blog, because it is not an actual journal. It is a blog. A blog which acts like a journal, but is not actually a journal. I have confused myself, I have defined myself, I have lost myself like a pair of car keys. I've run out of gas. What's the point of having keys if you can't even get the car started? Exactly.

Christmas is over, no breaking news there. I did have a good Christmas, but it's more than a relief to be finished with the holiday season... EXCEPT THE HOLIDAY SEASON ISN'T QUITE OVER!!! WE STILL HAVE NEW YEARS!!! NOOOOOOO. New Years isn't entirely awful. It's just that the self-reflection done on this day can quickly spiral into a self-loathing session, where you remember all of the mistakes you made and the promises you broke and the people you hurt and the places you abandoned. There are the failed goals, the overgrown habits, the car which is still desperately sitting in the garage, out of gas and in need of deep cleaning. And probably new tires. And a new steering wheel because wouldn't you know it -- it has no steering wheel. Where did it go? How does one just misplace a vital part of a car? You rule out the possibility of the steering wheel being stolen because who in their right mind would steal a wheel that's not there? Again, you've lost your keys.

Back to the new year. Why is it so much easier to remember and dwell on all of the failures? What about all of those mornings you woke up and got out of bed despite your best efforts? What about all of those nights where you allowed yourself to sleep, to use a pillow for a head that tries so hard to keep you up agonizing over what just needs to be put to rest? What about all of those long afternoons where the sun is placed at just the wrong point in the sky and the light keeps reminding you of all you aren't and all you still have left to do? But even though the sun mocks you, you continue to walk and you continue to continue. What about all of these moments? You did it. You survived.

So bring it on, day of self-reflection. Bring it on, 2016. Bring it on, another day. I still have lungs. I can still breathe.

shell

I've been so indulgent during my holiday break. I have slept in until 8:00 most mornings, sometimes even 8:15. Of course, I'm not really getting extra sleep because I am also staying up much later than normal watching more television than normal. Actually, I never watch television at my apartment partially due to the fact that I do not have a television. That is not true. I have a television. My father found one next to a dumpster, dragged it back to his place, tried it out, and, although no picture came up, assumes that it probably still works. So. I have a television. It sits in the corner, facing away from me, contemplating its existence. I, too, do the same. In my case, however, replace "contemplating its existence" with "eating plain oatmeal while listening to white noise to block out the techno beats coming from upstairs." Upstairs is so foreign to me. Upstairs might as well be a mythical Nordic island inhabited by elves and goblins.

Let me stand up for one g_ddamn second, walk around, and come back to the computer to see if I have anything at all left within this shell of a human to write.

I could write about my exes! But some of you might like that a little too much, in all its painful glory. I will not give you that satisfaction! Plus, if you can't say something nice...

Yesterday afternoon I took two long (long considering the well-below freezing temperatures) walks through the park and almost slipped on the ice twice. Or three times. I can't remember, but I do remember I didn't fall. I kept walking and saw what I think was supposed to be a snowman or maybe a modern art sculpture inspired by a modern artist whose name I do not know because one of my biggest regrets in life is that I didn't study art history. Oh, but then where would I be if I had studied art history? I'd probably be even colder and poorer and hungrier than I am today. But only by a little bit.

My walk was nice. Nice is the best word I can use to describe it. Language is limited. Language can't describe the virginal blue sky, only touched by a lone bird who worried me, who turned me maternal, who made me wish I had a nest just big and welcoming enough for the now absent sparrow. Language doesn't reveal to you the shock of the snow capped peaks sticking their head out of the restless clouds, clouds which were as absent as the sparrow within seconds. Language is a crutch at best, dangerous at worst. The danger is that it tricks you into thinking you've experienced what it tells you. But it will always just be the finger pointing at the moon. Our legs aren't painted on with words. They are flesh and blood and bones and desirous to walk, to wander, to not slip and fall.

Saturday, December 26, 2015

student

I feel like my last couple of posts have been a little... odd. All over the place. Then again, "all over the place" is pretty much my signature style. Today I do not feel as scattered. Or at least I feel calmer. The past week was a bit of a blur. It's not as though I was extremely busy, but the days leading up to Christmas tend to blend together to form one giant candy cane of anxiety. Why? A myriad of reasons, I'm sure. Nostalgia, mainly. Forgotten family and friends. Unmet expectations, mostly of oneself. Drowning in advertisements screaming at you to purchase their product so you can be happy and satisfied in life. And beautiful. Buy the beauty, consume the crap, kill your soul. MAYBE I'm being somewhat dramatic. Christmas was actually, overall, fairly decent this year. I don't have much to complain about except for how distant I was. I know my distance was due to restlessness which was due to anxiety which has been a serious issue of mine for I don't know how many years. A lot. I can give myself a break here and there -- some things are outside of my control. But the things that aren't outside of my control? It's time I start taking responsibility for the decisions I make. That's all.

It's getting old going to sleep each night trying my hardest to distract myself from my thoughts. I realize that's kind of a normal human thing to do -- that's why we read, take pills, watch television. But there comes a point when my distractions pile up and topple over, leaving everything so bare and brutal. That's the point when I can no longer ignore whatever it was I was ignoring for so long. And, as you can imagine (and have probably experienced, my sweetheart), it's entirely overwhelming. When you haven't practiced facing what is, the moment when you are forced to face it becomes a foreign and empty feeling, a feeling that is damn hard to get rid of.

So I won't even try to get rid of it. These feelings are going to appear over and over again, I fear, especially in the next couple of months when I begin to really take a closer look at my life, to examine my weak spots and touch what hasn't quite yet healed. The weak spots contain wisdom, however, because they are so raw. When the wounds don't heal, that means there is more left to be learned. It's up to us to become the star student or the dunce. I am tired of sitting in the corner.

Friday, December 25, 2015

blunt

There's a dullness to each day that I can't shake. I can't get it off my skin. It sticks to me like sap. But you can't bottle this stuff up, sell it, and pour it on some pancakes. That would be too easy. That would make the dullness delicious and worth it.

It's not delicious. And I haven't figured out whether or not it's worth it. It doesn't seem like it should be. But maybe the future will thank me. Maybe the vivid future will know itself largely due to the dreary present days. My, that's an optimistic outlook.

Meanwhile, the sky outside this room remains. The only thing that could cover those impressive peaks are the unassuming clouds. They go wherever they're told to go, not bothering enough to care about likes or dislikes. They just are. Pick up on the clues, Meg, and become what you've always been. Nothing separates you from the world above.

Not everything or everyone needs to shine all of the time. A lack or a loss is simply the sign that one is about to gain an entire vibrant sky. Just wait, just wait.

unwrap

Merry Christmas to all you Christians out there! To everyone else? GET LOST. (And then get found, found in a stable smokin' some myrrh with wise men and donkeys -- in other words, a bunch of asses.)

As much as holidays stress me out, I am determined to enjoy today. Today will be the day I make my mind happy and my body even happier. Today I will rest. I am allowed one day out of 365 days to rest, right? No obsessively walking or running, Meg. Or jumping rope. Yeah, you heard me. I jump rope when no other options are available to me. Don't even think about pumping iron! Just consume iron. Eat a spinach salad out of a cast iron dutch oven or something. Just make sure that you do it sitting down, savoring whatever is happening in the moment, paying attention for once.

I preach these words. I believe in them as well. So why is it such a struggle for me to live them? Why do I find myself over and over again falling back into the same destructive patterns, the same obsessive thoughts and compulsive actions? The outcome is always the same: dead end. If I paid more attention, I would realize these well-trodden paths never lead to where I want to go. Maybe my whole journey is to simply figure out where it is I want to go. It's clear, however, that the current roads I'm taking only serve to show me what I don't want.

I guess I'll only be resting my body today. My mind is wrestling with crucial questions and wandering around a labyrinth of options, of possibilities to consider, possibilities that demand I begin paying attention.

Why didn't Santa just leave the answers neatly wrapped under the tree? Maybe he did. He's just good at hiding presents and it's up to me to find these gifts. Challenge accepted, big guy.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

artisanal

Family is out there doing family things! And I am in here! Doing solo things! Because all I seem to be able to do is solo things these days. Well, what if I fake it 'till I make it? What if I pretend to be a social butterfly, afraid of nothing but cocoons?

I'll do it. I'll find a cheap place downtown and attend cultural events and author readings and eat at trendy restaurants with dim lighting and gooey cheese and craft beer. I'll run into my ex with his long hair, painted nails, progressive and semi-famous girlfriend. I'll run into the grocery store wearing my city shoes (sneakers, but really cool ones) and grab something local and artisanal. I'll watch the lights in the high-rises turn on high above my cold head. I forgot my hat. I forgot my hat in the basket of my bike, the bike I use to get around the city and to my cultural events and author readings and dinner reservations and uncomfortable run-ins with my past. I'll do it. Soon.

I need to leave my bedroom first. And that starts with me ending this post prematurely and interacting with other humans, humans who happen to be family. But are they local and artisanal? Let me found out.

psssh

Confession: I just googled "how to write a blog."

Apparently I am supposed to find a focus, be relatable, be myself, use links within your post (HOW DO I DO THAT?!), include images, respond to blog comments (whoops), and some other things, but I stopped reading.

I am not supposed to set unrealistic goals (psssh), limit your word count, make grammar mistakes (suck it), write long paragraphs (uhhhh...), litter your post with parenthetical statements (HEY!) (I made up that last one -- sometimes I need to follow my own advice).

I should stop blogging and do something better with my time. Like wrap Christmas presents. Like feed and clothe the homeless. Like litter the world outside of my computer with parenthetical exclamations! Like pick up litter. Like cut out unnecessary words like "like."

Like take a break.

I took a break, a short one, but I am back and feel muuuuch calmer. The calmness came after a quick cry in an empty garage, a slightly too warm shower, a slow meandering through the park with the damn elusive sun in my face, and reading a few passages from Joseph Campbell's The Power of Myth.

I need to remember what brings me calmness and to seek after these things at all times.

SIMPLE AS THAT LOL!!!!!!!!!

But Meghan, the next time you are crying in a lonely garage, just step outside of it. For one minute is all. That's all. It's all there, out there, waiting for you to return home.

zzzzzz. Oh, sorry, just fell asleep rereading this post.

break

My eyes are not focusing today. I guess that's what I get for being too rebellious for my own good. Staying up until midnight watching television and browsing Tumblr! With my contacts still in! My eyes don't need oxygen! Except for that they do. They really, really do. And maybe my eyes also need a break from reading, although that would break my heart.

In what ways do I break my own heart? I break my own heart by shutting myself off. I isolate myself from others. I refuse new experiences, stay home, play it safe. Not all the time. It hasn't always been like this, although my temperament tends to veer more towards the scaredy cat side. Scared of what exactly? Why do I seek isolation and deny myself the unknown?

Probably because it's unknown.

But isn't most, if not all, of life unknown? I guess the only known is that there is no known. Okay, so that's probably not true. There are a lot of knowns in mathematics and science and whatever. I'm getting off track. HEY! That's good! Get off track more, Meg.

I'll get off track right now by not writing anymore about breaking my own heart. That might be a topic I will save for my future therapist.

BUT HEY GUYS!!! AND GIRLS!!! AND CREATURES OF THE WORLD!!! IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE!!! To me it's just Wednesday (is it Wednesday?), but it'll be a good Wednesday. I'm determined to make it so.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

peak

I am having an astronomically hard time sitting still. It's not that I have an abundance of energy, it's just that my little soul is restless for whatever reason. It could be the weather, the season, the lack of sunshine, the four walls and a roof. It could be something to do with the moon. Doesn't it always have something to do with the moon? The moon, the sun, the stars. They all rule us so powerfully in their subtle ways that we don't even notice it. It might be time for us to notice more.

My brain just hit a wall at full force.

Okay, my brain bounced back. It's not producing anything terribly insightful, but it is reminding me of how bad I am at Christmas presents. It would be a lot easier to be good at gift giving if one had, you know, money. I just need to be creative! I just need to get all crafty and make reindeer out of toilet paper rolls or something! That's what people do, right? Make things and feel satisfied and productive and accomplished and happy and so happy and never ever sad or overwhelmed or crushed beneath the weight of past regrets? Okay, that's what I thought. That's cool.

But I haven't been "creative" in what feels like close to ten years. TEN years. I used to make zines. I used to create collages. I used to stitch and paint and sketch and paste. I could and would do so much. Now I just feel dull and a little lost; or rather, I feel like I've lost something. I have a fear I don't often think about (because, well, it's kind of scary to think about what scares you) that the height of my creativity was in my 20s. The height of everything was in my 20s. In other words, I've peaked. Or so I think. Or not think about, but still sorta think about. So am I now resigned to a vacuous existence? I guess there could be a few positives to such a life. I guess I'll be able to enjoy nuggets and nachos a lot more or whatever.

Okay.

Okay.

Maybe a walk with the sun in my face will quiet my fears. Worth a try.

solar

I was going to blame the Universe for not wanting me to write, but did I ever stop to consider that the Universe is inside of me? Inside of a single atom? So the atoms that make up me do not want me to write. Why? Because they have put little obstacles in my way each time I sit down at this soulless computer. 1) My hands were suddenly and mysteriously sticky! Like I had eaten cotton candy in my sleep. (Just to make me more human, I want to let you know that it took me no less than four times to correctly spell "cotton." Yeah. No Mensa card in my future.) 2) There was a disgusting, disgusting, totally disgusting hairball on my chair. WHERE AND HOW DID IT GET THERE. No other explanation than my atoms put it there.

Funny that I think I can claim atoms as my own. They own me.

My blog is exhausting. I get it. But I am too unfocused and unmotivated to come up with some compelling theme for my blog other than "brain vomit." This is where I go to unload a bunch of uninteresting and ultimately unimportant thoughts that have been stewing around in this little head of mine. (Actually, quite a large head in more ways than one.) Observation: There have been a lot of "un" words in this paragraph. Unbelievable.

So here we go. A quick morning dump. You know, a dump of the mind. Sure, most humans take another kind of dump in the morning, but unfortunately I am not one of those people today.

I am currently reading A Tale of Two Cities mostly because I've always liked the title. I judge books on their titles, okay? Also, I've never read Dickens, so I thought, "Okay, I"ll give it a shot." I'm giving it a shot, but I'll tell ya -- he's just not really my style. It's too boring to explain why, so I won't.

My ex is dating a local celebrity! And that's totally cool and fine and everything, but what's REALLY totally cool and fine is that someone on his Facebook commented that it's nice he's finally dating someone smart. It was worded differently, but that's basically what he said. OH YEAH HEY THANKS SO MUCH and screw you. Screw you and the atoms that own you. My atoms and I may not be Mensa material, but we sure as heck are goshdamn smart. Like, so smart that I am so sad most of the time. Smart people are sad! Often!

I am not sad right now, though. Because I'm choosing not to be. Did you know you can choose? I realize it's super hard to choose sometimes, but it can be done. Hang in there! Winter solstice just passed, which means the days are getting longer! There will be more sun for your face and your heart and your toes and your soul. And the sun never went away in the first place. It's still up there in the Universe, the Universe inside of you. You've had the happiness of the sun inside you this whole time. Who knew?

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

slack

This is the time of the day when I feel the worst. So I will distract myself with yet another blog post. You can tell I have quite the social life, huh? HUH? Answer me!

As you may have gathered from previous posts, I have been having a bit of a struggle with where I am currently in life. I just feel... Stuck. A little unsatisfied, hungry for something more substantial. What is it that I need? Well, for starters it might be wise of me to not always desire to be someone else, somewhere else. Accepting myself and my current situation instead of always running away from me/it will allow me to have the compassion and patience that is needed to make any changes I may need to make. Does that make sense or am I just riding this caffeine high a little too high? ANSWER ME!

I apologize for all the demands. I am not a demanding person. Except towards myself. Gracious! I demand of myself so much that it's no wonder I am riddled with anxiety and guilt. Knock it off, sweet Meggie.

So it starts with cutting myself some slack.

And then after that it means getting down to business. I have to first ease up before I get down. Makes sense in its own confusing way.

The business which I must get down to (?) is figuring out what is most important to me. What do I, ultimately, want from my life? It's just dawning on me that I actually possess the ability to -- gasp -- make my own decisions. I can, for the most part, choose who I want to be and what I want out of life. That being said, I must also take responsibility for whatever happens. I'm willing to do that. It's about time I started taking responsibility for something.

What do I want? What do I want?

I want to be close to nature. I want to live a simple existence with blank canvases all around me. I want to be socially aware and ethically responsible. I want to be a creator forever and a listener always. I want to cook, share, eat, and enjoy good meals. I want to exercise for enjoyment, not punishment or insurance. I want to hold myself to higher standards in work and relationships. I want to have relationships, to give others -- and myself -- a chance. I want to garden. I want to hike and backpack and camp under the moon several times a year. I want to give up on the beauty myth and put my energy into my mind, my heart. I want to be gentle, to be strong, to touch the earth and its creatures with love.

UGH WHAT A HIPPIE.

Yeah, so what? I will carry and wave my freak flag wherever I may go. And may I carry and wave it with a full, compassionate heart.

shovel

Maybe I will just blog away my anxiety.

This post will resemble a page out of a diary. Or journal. I'll call it a journal. Journal sounds more mature for some reason. Diary sounds like it is littered with hearts and hidden under my mattress, my mattress which is occupied by no less than two dozen bears and horses and unicorns and dolls who pee in little plastic potties. Journal is for the sophisticated members of society. And I am nothing if not sophisticated.

Where to start. Exactly. I never know where to start in/with anything/anyone. I paralyze myself with fear, sometimes, but most of the time my stagnation is due to indecision. It's not that I lack interest; it's quite the opposite. I am too interested in too many things (and places) (and people) (and ideas) (and hairstyles) (and so on forever and ever) that I become overwhelmed with the amount of things to do (and places to visit) (and people to meet) (and ideas to realize) (and hairstyles to regret) (and you get the point). I end up distracted, easily seduced by the next brilliant plan that pops into my head and then... And then a decade goes by and I'm left with not a lot to show for it.

So what do I do? How do I stick with something to completion? And how do I define "completion"? I have a hunch that it begins with clearing out the clutter. Once I have at least a corner of necessary space, the thoughts will stop buzzing and I'll be able to zero in on something -- and let me remind myself that that "something" does not need to be the most important thing in the world. It just needs to be something. It's like having a driveway packed with snow -- you don't analyze each corner and area of the driveway for hours, taking notes and consulting a myriad of people before picking up the shovel. You just pick up the shovel and get started. As fathers all over the world might say, "The driveway ain't gonna shovel itself." BUT WHAT IF IT DID. Should I invest my time and energy into creating a self-shoveling driveway? Does a driveway even have a Self? And why is it called a driveway and not a parkway? See. You knew I was going to say that.

But anyway. Where oh where do I begin? I don't really care where I begin at this point. I am just going to pick something to do and do it. So... Looks like I'll be farming this summer? Yes, that is one option. Organic farming for at least two weeks on some farm somewhere. Okay, great. Another option is to write my little heart out. Devote each spare moment to poetry, whether that's reading poetry or writing poetry (preferably the later). Oh, and there are about half a million other options, but what's the point in going through them over and over again? I'll still be where I am if I never pick up that shovel.

But first, a banana. Need to have the energy to clear that driveway, you know? You know.

braid

Here's how I wanted to start this post: Life is scary! Love is impossible! Snow is falling! Where's the sun! Do I prefer pleasure or pain! Why don't more animals have thumbs!

I am sure you could answer at least one of those questions (although they were panicked exclamations, not questions), but don't bother. I don't need any answers or reassurance. What I do need is the courage to leave the house and go to the grocery store. Snow produces both wonder and anxiety in me, which is pretty much my reaction to everything. I need to learn to tone it down. I need to learn to do a lot of things.

Things to learn:

*Spanish
*how to do this whole adult thing, like paying taxes, getting the oil changed, checking the furnace
*how to not be afraid of commitment
*wilderness survival skills
*how to swim
*to not multitask while trying to write
*yoga, I guess
*the scriptures of the world's religions
*how to french braid
*how to knit, sure sure, would be cool

I also want to learn how to sit down for an extended period of time without getting restless or feeling guilty. Yes, I feel guilty for sitting! Yes, I have a monumental problem with guilt and I'm not even a Jew! Sometimes I wish I was, though. A Jew. Not necessarily a guilty Jew, but a Jew.

I think I have a pizza hangover this morning. I am struggling to say what I want to say, but then again I didn't really come in here with anything to say. I just like the sound of typing.

I will write something way better way later, like sometime in 2018. I just need a few years to learn a few things. Stay tuned.

Monday, December 21, 2015

challenge

The post settings on Blogger are daunting. Labels. Schedule. Permalink. Location. Options. All of these indicate I must make decisions, I must be alert, I must follow through, I must be at some specific place at some specific time. It's all mapped out and I am already exhausted.

But what if I throw away the maps? What if I refuse to let maps set the stage of my life? What if I refuse to even walk on the stage? It's not like I have any lines anyway. I could skip the play and indulge in some play instead. The worst that could happen is the show doesn't go on and we all miss out on an encore. Encores only serve the ego anyway. The "I" with which I identify will miss the accolades, but everything else that makes up me will finally be free.

Sometimes I think I just say these things to make myself feel better. Funny, isn't it? I nod along with the idea of destroying the ego simply because being a person who nods along with such things gives me an identity, makes me -- the I -- feel important and included. It's a game and I want to be a key player, even if I say I won't participate. It's as if I am reciting lines I memorized in another lifetime.

It's dark outside now. I spent the day exposing myself to as much sunlight as possible. It wasn't an easy challenge, seeing as today is the shortest day of the year. What will I do when I have no more challenges, no more games to win? What will I do when I can't see the I outside? I, or whatever makes up the I, will be forced to explore inside.

Challenge accepted.

maverik

A few weeks ago I was making painful small talk (all small talk is painful, PS) with a coworker (who is no longer my coworker because I, well, you know the story) about a certain college course. I was, like, "Yeah! Great class! I took that almost 14 years ago." WHAT THE HELL. I started college almost 14 years ago? If all had gone right and I had been a teen mom, I could have a child with a driver's license right now. My child could drive me to work. My child, in five years, can buy his mama a six-pack at the Maverik. It bugs me that it's spelled without a C. But if it bugs me so much, why did I name my son Maverik?

So it turns out I don't have a 16-year-old. I don't have a lot of things people around my age have. No children, no spouse, no house, no salary, no fence, no sensible work shoes, no slacks, no briefcase or favorite football team or wine cabinet or dog named Spotty or minivan with stick figure decals. None of that. Do I care? Sometimes, but only about some of those things. I mostly just wish I had a house and a salary to pay for said house. A fence would be nice for Spotty to have, although I wouldn't name a dog Spotty. I'd probably name him Jimmy or Woofus Wainwright. And for the love of Christ, let me soon be the proud owner of a pair of sensible shoes with incredible arch support. Other than those five things, I don't miss much of what I'm "supposed to have" at the almost-rotten age of 31. Thirty-one and a half.

I am still waiting for my Flirty Thirties to begin. I figure it is a rough transition from the 20s to the 30s, so I will give myself a year or two to adjust. Perhaps the flirtatiousness and over-abundance of confidence is right around the corner? Gleich um die ecke. That means "just around the corner" in German. I think. It's the only thing I remember about my German classes in high school. You know, the classes I took over 16 years ago. RIGHT around the time I was being impregnated with Maverik. Ach mein Gott!

There is a very small part of me that believes 2016 will be the year I metaphorically release my hair from a conservative bun, strip off my coke-bottle glasses, unbutton a few of the top buttons on my form-fitting dress shirt, and become the sexy, self-assured 30something I was born to be. Keep your fingers cross while I uncross my legs WINK WINK. In the meantime, I'll be over here shopping online for a pair of classic leather loafers.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

edges

If we take off a few edges, what do we put in their place? You can't very well take off an edge without replacing it with something, right? I ask too many questions. From the very beginning, I ask a question and then another one and then nobody wants to answer any of them when they feel harassed. I apologize I have harassed you with questions, questions that don't really need an answer.

It has been difficult for me to write. For the past five years, almost six. I blame college. I am upfront with you about who I am blaming because apparently I have to blame someone or something for each of my difficulties. But to be honest, college isn't to blame. In fact, I'm not sure there is even a need for blame. I just haven't wanted to write, simple as that. If I had truly wanted to write, don't you think I would have found a way? There I go again with the questions.

When I feel bad (or anxious or sad or mad or lost) I go outside. I don't write, I don't create, I don't meditate. I step outside, with urgency, and walk. I don't have a destination. Or maybe I do? I only want to end up getting a little lost. Lost enough to where I'm forced out of my own thoughts and into what's around me. Notice the sky. Notice where the sun is. Notice the homes occupied by strangers who are somebody's lovers. Notice the way the sidewalk doesn't let you dive into a distraction. It cracks and lifts and dips in places that beg for attention. So you pay attention. You place your feet where they are supposed to go in that moment and you move forward. And I move forward. And I wander until I end up where I started, but it's a different place now. It's a blank canvas and I am bare. I have shed my skin and here I am.

So maybe I don't write that often. So maybe it doesn't matter. So maybe what matters are the ways in which I get lost and what I notice along the way to being found. I always let myself be found, but first I must let myself give up. Give up what blocks your view and you will see the moon for what it is -- perfectly round, without edges, claiming its place in the universe of things.

arch

Looks like I lost a follower! Not that I'm keeping track. I just casually noticed, okay? But that's okay! The fewer readers, the safer I'll be in the long run! Who knows what kind of crap I've admitted on here that will one day shoot me in the foot. Is that the right phrase to use? "Shoot me in the foot"? Speaking of feet, mine have hurt for decades. As it turns out, I will forever be in sneakers with excellent arch support from now on. Stilletos were for my 20s, specifically when I was 20 and I was in Vegas and I thought I'd look cute in my Ramones t-shirt, jean mini-skirt, and plaid "punk" stilletos. Turns out it was the mistake of the century! That and going to war with Iraq. Iraq? No, YOUraq. Ugh. Never mind.

Sneakers. Sneaker? But I hardly know her. Wow, it's becoming blindingly apparent why I have recently lost a follower. Oh well. I yam who I yam.

I've made one stupid resolution for 2016. I came up with this one about an hour ago. Here it is. The suspense is building.

Resolution: I will go on one road trip a month. I have weekends off, I am done with work by 12:45pm every day, so... So why not save up some pennies to go somewhere with someone for a weekend? Okay, so there may be a lot of reasons to not do such a thing, but pish posh. I miss going on road trips. It's odd -- I am terrible at meeting someone for lunch, but I am terribly excellent at sitting in a car for hours with another human. And there's the strong possibility that we'll get into a lot of wacky adventures! And we can take some rad Instagram photos at abandoned gas stations and lonely motels! And we'll probably have to pee in a bottle in the backseat at some point when traffic's too bad and there isn't a reststop for another 100 miles. It all sounds like a dream.

If there are a lot of typos in this post, don't shoot. I am typing this on a computer older than I am. AND I AM OLD.

Well, I have drained my entire mind, body, and soul writing this post and have nothing left to offer. Just know that I still love you, even if you are all on the verge of unfollowing me. Don't follow me in the first place! Stand beside me. Walk with me. Carry me, maybe, if my feet ache. But definitely -- definitely -- drive with me to the border.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

done

In the most surprising and welcome news of 2015, I have started to cut back on my time on the treadmill to come home and meditate. Except for today. I still cut back on my running, but instead of meditating, I am doing this. You know, blogging like I am some 17 year old who is so proud she has a blog. Sometimes I think this dopey blog is the only thing I have going for me. That and maybe my Twitter feed. I may be giving myself a bit of a hard time (I've been known to do that occasionally), but lately I've become aware of some of my personality traits of which I am not so fond.

Like quitting. Wanna know a secret that cannot remain a secret for much longer? I quit my second job. Like, two days ago. I swear there was something about that snow storm on Monday that caused its own blizzard in my personal life. Everything fell apart on Monday, in small but significant ways, and by Tuesday I hit a brick wall -- luckily not literally. But emotionally I was stuck. It's difficult to explain because I'm still trying to figure out what it was. Whatever it was, it caused me to somewhat impulsively and frantically quit my job. Immediately after I felt the brick wall dissipate. There was still dust and rubble, however. No decision can ever be spotless.

So now what? Now I wrestle with my self doubts. Now I try to hold myself to higher standards so that I don't keep ending up in positions that deaden me with people who drain me. Now I attempt to take more responsibility for my decisions, to avoid avoiding things and people and situations that are uncomfortable. Now I get comfortable with the uncomfortable. Now I forgive myself.

When I have more time, I want to go over the reasons why I quit and do a little self-reflection. Maybe that should be kept in a private journal. Maybe I should first have a private journal. But the one thing I don't want is to remain quiet and afraid and isolated. I want to let people in, to give them a chance, to give myself a chance. I may quit a job here and there, but I hope I never quit myself.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

iris

You look up and see an unblinking fluorescent light. It doesn't see you. You remain frozen, unable to turn away from the strain being placed on your eyes. Your eyes are your one prize. They are good eyes. No, you do not have perfect vision, but the pigmentation of your iris is often the cause of praise. It's a hazel so rich it needs a new name. You and your deep eyes remain nameless, however, as you allow the fluorescent light to maintain power, to have the upper hand.

Then it falls apart. In an instant. In an instant the lights shut off and you miss it. You miss the control, the struggle, the insecurity. Then the question of who shut off the lights comes into your head. I guess the insecurity is still there. It never really goes away. But now there is no control, no way to know how to overpower or submit. You were decent at that game, even when you were the loser. How do you absorb a light that no longer exists?

This is where I'm at right now. I am in the middle of a room I do not know because I paid no attention to it when I entered. I let the light blind me, or at least transfix me, and then I let go. I let go of knowing what it was I wanted, what it was I needed, what it was I was. What I was. Past tense. It's in the past. So there's that. I can let go of that and go on to whatever is next, which at the moment is me stumbling around in the dark, arms outstretched, cautious. I do not know what's lurking. I do not know if there's even anything lurking. I know I have thoughts. I know thoughts have the power to control the light switch. I know this, but I do not admit it. Maybe one day. Maybe when I'm tired of my prize-winning eyes being hidden in an inky void.

What do I avoid? From what do I shield my eyes? And how do I begin to open, open, open?

Monday, December 14, 2015

oy vey

Blogger is just my diary, to be honest. Or rather, my journal. Why is it "diary" for a female and "journal" for a male? Because society is EFFED UP. Kidding. But it is.

So I've had a few good cries today. They weren't good. I take that back. The first one resulted in a bloody nose, which got all over my carpet, coat, and kitchen wall. And face. And in my hair. I felt like an episode of CSI. My second cry came this afternoon after I read an email from my cool supervisor basically lecturing me on missing work today. He has no idea how rare it is for me to not come into work, so maybe he thinks I'm flaky. I am flaky, sure, but only when it comes to relationships. Work? Like it or not, I'm pretty much a brown noser. BUT I TAKE ONE SNOW DAY AND SUDDENLY I'M THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD. See. This is why I never took snow days before. Bummer City. I could go on and on about how disappointing that job has been, how most of my coworkers make me feel, at best, lame and, at worst, invisible. I don't get paid much, I only work about 12 hours a week, I'm not pretty enough for one of the dudes in charge to flirt with me, and soooo on. But I don't want to dwell on it. I don't need to dwell on it. As is common with me, I'm most likely making it out to be a bigger deal than it actually was. Still. I put in a lot of work and very rarely do I get credit; the only feedback I get is negative when I take a legitimate day off. Grumble.

I don't know. I'm kinda melancholy right now. I guess I don't feel much like writing. Or reading (gasp). Or cleaning or walking (bigger gasp) or eating (you can't gasp any louder) or crying or talking or praying or sledding or shopping or meditating or jump roping or tight-rope walking. Shoveling. I feel like shoveling.

Blank.

profesh

Meghan Wiemer: Professional. Just a pro. In just about everything. Just. Justin. This just in: A nice fellow named Justin was texting me for awhile, but I had no energy to keep up with his texts. I had no energy (or courage) to meet up for dinner. Will this be the mistake of the century? Was Justin my soulmate? Well, guess what, kittens? I don't believe in soulmates. Or maybe I do, but I believe that we could all be each other's soulmates depending on when and where we meet. In other words, there is no one perfect person. Aside from Santa Jesus. This post took a nose dive directly after "Meghan Wiemer: Professional."

Nosedive or no nosedive, I must continue! I cannot get used to typing on this computer, which is the size of a king size candy bar. Sure, that's a large Krackle, but my oh my that's a teeny general-purpose device that can be programmed to carry out a set of arithmetic or logical operations automatically. Yes, it is. But enough about my candy bar computer -- more about Krackle. Do people still eat Krackle? I mean, of course they do. If it's around. If it's just sitting there on a lonely, cold operating table, someone (probably someone not under general anesthesia) will most likely pick it up and enjoy it for the seven seconds it's in their warm, wet mouth. But does anyone just get an unbearable craving for a Krackle? So unbearable that nothing, not even the WORST SNOW STORM OF 2015, will stop them? They get into their frozen car with the bald tires and defy death just to get their Krackle fix. They've hit rock bottom, but man does it feel good.

Hi, I'm back. I promise to write less about Krackle and Justin and Justin's obsession with Krackle in the future. Weird how the future will never happen, though, huh? Now now now. Won won won. We've won! We've won the prize of an all-expenses paid vay-cay to Now. Enjoy it while you can be it'll only last forever.

You know what, maybe I should give you guys (and girls) (and cats) (and Santa Jesuses) a break from my incoherent ramblings. I'll be back, though! So grab a coffee and a Krackle and prepare yourself. Yourselves. You. Do you even exist? Only right now. Lucky you.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

festive

I HAVE AN EXCUSE. I have not been writing because my computer totally died. Totally. Bit the dust. Filled with dust, dust broke the fan, overheated, burned up some kind of board or drive or whatever. All I know is that it is no longer with us. Scattered the computer's ashes all over this land, some of it may even be in your land/dinner. That's right, I snuck some of my computer's ashes into your Hot Pocket. Sorry you are eating a Hot Pocket for dinner. Maybe add some guacamole? Fancy it up.

Snuck is not a word. But clearly it is because I used it. It exists because I used it. Them's the rulez.

So anyway, my old computer can rot in hell/be eaten with guacamole. I have a new li'l device, which can sometimes be referred to as a "computer." But it is so tiny! There's not even a CAPS LOCK key! I have to hold down the shift key anytime I want to shout at you, WHICH IS OFTEN. No no, I'm not shouting AT you, I'm shouting WITH you.

In an hour and 17 minutes I will be at a work holiday party in some lameass mansion. Is the mansion haunted? I vow to find out. I wonder if my coworkers will want to have a seance tonight. If they don't, I will throw a glass of champagne in their faces. Not a glass, but multiple glasses. And then I will smash the glasses and declare a war on Christmas.

I suppose the thing I need to do right now is get ready for this seance. Apparently I am supposed to wear "festive attire." What about a festive expression on my face? Will that suffice? I'll let you know in the next post. Happy Holidaze, you filthy and unbearably attractive animals!

Friday, November 20, 2015

path

A few months ago when I began working at what I call my "second job" (cuz, you know, I have two jobs), I had what might be considered a slight crisis. All of my coworkers were at least a decade younger than me. They all had more money than me. And more motivation. I felt, to put it mildly, wildly inferior. I felt (and still feel to some degree -- probably always will) out of place. I began beating myself up for being "nowhere" in my life. Here I was, a 31-year-old with a college degree, working a part-time job for almost minimum wage. Most people my age seem to have three kids, a loving spouse, a house of their own, and enough cash in the bank to take Disneyland vacations once a year. Oh yes, and they have careers. And a purpose. And peace of mind. Right? Okay, that might not be entirely true for everyone. And even if it is true for some people, it probably just looks that way on the surface. There will always be the not-so-shiny stuff underneath. It's in my best interest if I stop assuming -- and comparing.

At the risk of sounding cliche, I will say (declare! exclaim! shout as loud as I can with laryngitis!) that I am simply on my own path. I do not know why I place so much value on employment anyway. Who cares how one pays the bills, so long as it does not harm yourself or others. I believe what is more important than an income and a title is doing what you love, even if it takes you decades to pinpoint that passion. I am still finding that love. I am proud of myself for searching. It may take me longer than most because I am determined to be as honest as I can be with what I dedicate my time to. Well, whaddya know? I AM determined. I am not a slacker (well, for the most part), I am not a loser (well, only sometimes), I am just walking through the forest and taking time to look at each leaf on every tree.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

circumvent

Goodness, I had a lot of feelings yesterday. Then again, when don't I have a lot of feelings? Oh right, when I am over-prescribed by dumdum doctors. But aside from that, I am a fairly emotional being and sometimes/most times I allow these emotions to rule all of my decisions... That makes for some pretty bad decisions. I end up being a bit of a monster, to myself an others (mostly myself). I know we are made up of light and dark and that both serve a purpose, but I am ready for the light side to come out and play more often.

I won't go into much detail right now, but let me just say (let it be known! hear ye! hear ye!) that the "situation" with the kiddos upstairs has significantly improved. It had been such a huge burden and now it is a huge relief. I am amazed at the power one conversation can have -- and I've been reminded yet again how avoiding things never ever turns out well -- I mean, unless you are avoiding a shark or something. You should probably avoid sharks. And the bird flu. And large birds, especially when they have sharp beaks. It would be best to avoid acquaintances in grocery stores and to avoid grocery stores around 5pm and liquor stores around December 31st and any store that advertises modest being the hottest and stores in general. Except general stores. I like general stores. They are so old timey and quaint. I always half expect to see a horse and carriage out front and maybe even a shoe shiner. Shine my shoes, win my heart.

Anyway, I vow to not be such a passive aggressive shithead who avoids the uncomfortable. Guess what? It will only remain uncomfortable (and usually get much worse) if you remain stagnant and do nothing about whatever it is that you are avoiding. And here's a secret -- most things/people/places are not as bad as you imagine them to be. Congratulations! You have an overactive imagination! It may end up disrupting your life if you let it! Don't let it! Write stories instead of avoiding situations! Make that weird imagination of yours work in your favor.

WORK. I must work now. I must not avoid it. I must untie my horse and head into town. Hope I don't run into any sharks.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

larynx shmarynx

Quick! Someone make plans with me so I can cancel with a LEGIT excuse and not feel waves of guilt! My excuse is that I have laryngitis. It is the truth, too! Isn't it great? Hey, I may even call in sick to work tomorrow and then just chill the frick out, drinking honey tea and coloring one million mandalas. Last time I had an inflammation of the larynx, I was at the Happiest Place on Earth with the Lamest Rich Children Ever. I shall not say which famous politician was the grandfather to these children, but some of you already know. Who cares, doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am under no obligation to hang out with one single soul for at least the next two days! Hoooooray!

Work is a little bit better. It's calmer. Calm is, in the long run, better than chaos. My roommates, however, are still a pain my cute, nicely shaped ass. They sneak into my damn bathroom while I am away at damn work and use my damn toilet and damn shower and who the damn knows what else. What really gets my goat is that they are sneaky about it. It's creepy. But not the good kind of creepy. I am thinking of being the good kind of creepy and leaving doll heads hanging from my bathroom ceiling and riddles written in fake blood in the shower so that the next time the upstairs goofballs get the goofy idea that they want to be highly disrespectful and march into my bathroom, they will be shocked! Horrified! On the verge of vomiting! But vomiting in their toilet -- you know, the toilet that they are supposed to be using and which I would never even think of using. Because I am polite. Because I know better. Because I'd rather look into the soulless eyes of a doll while I urinate thankyouverymuch.

Five minutes until I have to wrap up this post and go to my job where I feel like a nameless peasant. Rich people, man! They have boring kids (but not the ones at my school, just the ones who have politician grandfathers) no desire to acknowledge you if you aren't a member of their exclusive country club. Nice feelings. Three minutes! Do you think three minutes is enough time for me to rip the heads off of some dolls and dangle them from some chains attached to the ceiling? Probably. It's at least worth trying. Have a spooky, inflamed larynx Wednesday!

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

blanket

It will take too long to explain and probably won't make much sense, but trust me when I say that things are topsy turvy for me at work. In short, the director of the school had me switch places with a coworker because I am CPR certified and she is not. My duties now are easier, but lonelier. Naturally I grew attached to the children I had been working with and now -- poof. They are gone. They were sincerely my pals and I loved spending an hour a day with them. And to be honest, they loved me a shit ton. I do not believe the director made a wise decision and I am hella struggling with the change. If you've been a faithful reader of this roller coaster of a blog, you know that change is a weeeee bit difficult for me, especially sudden, unforeseen changes. But but but (butt butt butt), it will be okay. I am not terribly distraught, although it has been taking up a majority of my thoughts (and dreams). I may have to get way out of my comfort zone and even tell the director my honest feelings about the change. Or maybe I'll just quit and disappear into the desert with nothing but a notebook, pen, and sunbutter an jam sandwich.

I didn't want to write about my job. I wanted to write about my eating disorder and my current struggles. But I wasn't prepared to dive into that rather heavy subject in the 15 minutes I have given myself to write. So I will put that off for another day. I will say, however, that I am in a much better spot than I have been in quite some time. When I say "current struggles," I mean that I am making healthy changes and am having to confront ED head on. That is a struggle and always will be. I am not a confrontational person -- and confronting something that has been a security blanket (a security blanket that ends up suffocating me, of course) for over two decades ain't a walk in the park. But I am strong.

I think I'll end this post here. I know there are more things I want to discuss, such as MY BIG PLANS TO BECOME A FARMER and WHY I LOVE CRYSTALS SO MUCH and HOW BADLY MY CHAKRAS ARE BLOCKED (someone call the chakra plumber), but I will wait to write because... Just because. Sometimes I don't need to explain everything. Sometimes "just because" is enough just because.

Monday, November 16, 2015

eeeeeeee

white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise

Great, great book. And also totally necessary in this sad-cave-of-an-apartment. I can't wait for the day when I'm not buggin' y'all with my housing complaints. The day is coming, I promise. In the meantime, I'll crank up my public radio to drown out the cacophony upstairs and google spells on how to get rid of my bad attitude.

Okay, I wrote the above on Saturday when it was, naturally, a bit too loud for my liking upstairs. I'm in a less bitchy mood right now because a) it is quiet and b) I've decided to be less bitchy. Yes, as it turns out, I have no control over what the folks upstairs (or anywhere eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee else) do, but I have quite a bit of control over my own actions and reactions. By the way, that train of Es was from me cleaning the jam off of my E key. Now you know. Now you know that I absolutely eat while on the computer. Who doesn't? Just people with kitchen tables and families.

My slightly more positive attitude about my living situation does not mean that I won't still look for another place. I will. And I have. And I need to make some phone calls first. It's kind of a bummer because I really do like this area. I'm close to lotsa cool places, specifically CRYSTAL SHOPS and MAGICAL PARKS WITH MAGICAL CREEKS AND MAGICAL ROCK AND EVEN THE OCCASIONAL MAGICAL SNAKES. Maybe I can stay close to this area. There is a home two streets over for rent. Could I handle having roommates? Probably, if they were quieter and had jobs and let me live in a room with a lot of natural light. But ideally I want a cat and a ghost to be my only roommate.

WHY ARE YOU STILL READING THIS. I just reread what I wrote and my oh my this all belongs in a private journal, not online. It's just me blah blahing, saying the same old junk that probably doesn't matter all that much to you. As I've mentioned before, I might need to find a theme for this blog aside from petty complaints and dick jokes. Fine, I haven't made any dick jokes, but that doesn't mean that I'm above such jokes. It just means that the opportunity has yet to present itself. But it will. I can promise you that, wiener face.

Well, me and my sunnnnnnnnny (more jam) attitude must be on our way to work. Isn't it cool that I work at two private schools with a bunch of rich kids who will never know the joys of stealing packets of ketchup from a fast food establishment in order to make tomato soup over a fire they built in a trash can outside of said fast food establishment? They, in their tiny Patagonia down jackets, are missing the hell out.

Friday, November 13, 2015

budget

Here I am, rushing around so that I will have enough time to write before I have to go back to work, but when I sit down to write, I draw a blank. I don't literally draw a blank because I can't draw so well. <--- Not my best joke. Anyway, I do not want to make this blog just a place where I come to complain about roommates, coworkers, construction, and noise. Should I have a theme? Blogs have themes, huh? I tried that out back in my vegan days. You know, a vegan blog. I had pictures and recipes and la-dee-da look at me. Now my blog seems to simply be a dumping ground for my dumpy (and sometimes brilliant) thoughts. And I guess that's alright.

I remind myself and everyone else on a daily basis that I am 31 and old. Old is okay. Crones are old and I love crones. Speaking of crones, I want to buy a cape and a broom and most definitely a black cat. I need to save up some money first. Being an elderly woman, I should know how to budget my money. (Isn't "budget" a dumpy word? It must be the "-dge" sound.) Hmmm. Now I'm figuratively drawing a blank again. Interesting how I have no problem writing when I am complaining or eating a vegan diet. Guess I should grab a block of tofu and start bitching.


Quick mind dump: I want to be a farmer, why are saltines so perfect, I call saltines "salt crackers" and yellow lights "orange lights" and socks "foot puppets," I will be eating soup in less than 20 minutes, it's free soup, it's soup at work, we get free meals, I am using commas incorrectly and it might be driving some of you loonies looney, is using the word "looney" not PC, it's been about a decade since I've had a hard shelled taco, I have to go now, I will write more later, I can't make any promises, I can't budget my money.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

lavatory

I am going to tell you some things you may not know. Because that's why you've come here, yes? To learn. To expand your mind. To see the seeds of knowledge sprout and grow. Reap what you sow. Just "sow" you know, I am not going to be telling you anything you didn't already know. All of life's wisdom is already within you. You are god. You are GOD. You are also a lucky bastard/bitch/bitchy bastard if you have showered today, which brings me to my first nugget of knowledge...

Did you know that having running water is a luxury? I didn't know this until about 20 minutes ago when one of those camo men from a few posts back informed a very-sweaty-from-the-gym me that my water has been shut off. Should be on in half in hour! he said, confidently. Well, sir, you may be confident about the water being turned back on, but I'm sure not. I've been fooled in the past! I've had my fair share of disappoints when it comes to showers and sinks. May this whole house go to hell -- after I move out, of course.

Second whisper of wisdom: Cats are magickal and you know it and stop denying it. And yes, "magickal" with a k. Dumb superstitions started by a bunch of losers have stuck around and have made it so black cats are the least adopted at shelters. It's a shame. Like I said, cats are magickal, especially black ones. Back in the day, black cats actually used to be a sign of good luck. Imagine that? I wonder if male black cats can hold the priesthood. More like PURR-iesthood. Anyway, I have this black sweater next to my bed that I like to pretend is a cat at night. I'm lonely, okay?

Third, and final (FOR NOW), trinket of truth: Brown lipstick looks real good on me. REAL good. Gives me a bit of attitude/cattitude as well. I don't know why, but it does. This is the most important truth that I could ever tell you, to be honest. Honesty is my top priority after finding some way to take a shower with no water. So far I've only come up with wiping my body down with Handiwipes and dousing myself with perfume. Maybe I can rub some dryer sheets under my pits. I'm a monster.

PURR-iesthood. Yeah, that was genius.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

centaur, part 1

Yes, the troll is back. Yes, the construction workers are attempting a peace treaty with said troll. Yes, it looks promising, but as history has shown, anything -- especially the unexpected -- can happen. Maybe I will fall in love with the troll? Maybe my kiss will transform the troll into Tilda Swinton or Jonathan Taylor Thomas and we can jump onto the back of a centaur or whatever and ride of into the sunset/towards Del Taco. Look, they've got a decent bean and cheese for chump change.

So anyway, I am writing this on my phone right now. Like, not ACTUALLY writing directly on my phone screen -- I am typing it in an email to myself because my computer decided at the worst time to be a damn troll and begin an hour-long update. At least an hour. LOOK, this girl doesn't have an hour! In fact, I have less than 9 minutes before I have to hop on my centaur and go back to work. Eight minutes now. Wonderful.

If a slow computer and a magical troll are the only two things I have to worry about, then goshdammit, my life is pretty wonderful. Except I have more things to worry about, which means I will avoid thinking about or dealing with any of them until it gets to the point where it's impossible to not address whatever the issue may be. I will then realize for the millionth time that, "Oh! So it turns out it WASN'T that bad. Huh. Wish I would have dealt with it way earlier." How fun, these self-destructive patterns are. Shrug shoulders. Shrug shoulders forever and ever until I develop neck pain.

Oh cool. My computer is starting right when I have to warm up the centaur. Great timing, Universe! JK, whatever. It is what it is. Footprints in the sand. God don't make no junk. Please wait while your computer updates. Ad infinitum.

Writing a blog post on my phone is sorta tricky. I really wanted to talk about self-compassion and how I'm beginning to like myself way more. But now I have no time! This post took a nosedive from the very beginning. Would you forgive me if I end this with a cute photo of me and then a cute photo of a cat? Thank you. Thank you for your patience, forgiveness, and tips on how to properly wash a centaur. Stay tuned for part 2.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

camouflage

There are a trillion -- or at least 3-7 -- things I wish to discuss, but I am "hella" distracted. There are three men in University of Utah beanies and camouflage jackets digging right outside my window. All I see is dirt. Dirt and school spirit. What is going on? Why are they doing this? Who did I offend? I must have pissed off (that's French for "offended") someone at some point and they said, "You know what? I'm going to send three men in beanies and oddly attractive camouflage jackets to your house riiiiight when you want to start writing. It will be a distraction! You will not remember the 3-7 things you wish to discuss! I hate you, but I also love you so much. Please marry me. I will make this up to you." Well, guess what? I don't feel like getting married, especially not to such a reactionary person.

Anyway. My apartment. I know I've been meaning to discuss/vent about that. In no way has my new home exceeded my expectations. In fact, it has helped me to cry myself asleep on a handful of occasions. I've also had to pound on the ceiling when the video games upstairs get too loud (at least 6 nights a week), so that's fun. At least I'm becoming more assertive? And used to the showers at the gym. Have I mentioned that I have to shower at the gym a lot? Because there is a troll living under the house or something and he (she? they?) keep messing with the pipes. Ohhhh... So maybe that's what these three handsome camouflaged gentlemen are doing... They are fixing the pipes? Making a deal with the troll? Answering three riddles? Trolls don't ask riddles, it's wizards. Trolls trick people. And clog shower drains.

Okay, I'm beginning to remember the 3-7 things I wish to discuss. That's what happens when you chill out and ignore the troll outside your window. I wish to discuss my coworkers. OH BUT I CAN'T. I mean, I can, but I shouldn't. Not that they read my blog... Yes, I did post a link to this creepy blog on my Facebook, and yes, I am Facebook pals with most of my coworkers, but let it be known that they do not give one shit about me. If any of them read this blog, I promise to donate 3-7 trillion dollars to Trump's campaign. Hey, coworkers, wanna make America great again? Read my blog.

As always, I wish to discuss food issues and body image issues and issues about having issues. It is, and forever will be, an ongoing battle. Where is my sword? Would a sword even help? Maybe I need a troll. A troll to trick my eating disorder into disappearing without a trace. Things have been better, though. I am beginning to replace some of my negative habits, routines, and thoughts with slightly more productive and healthy activities, such as writing and buying a crap ton of crystals. Right on, Meggie. Keep it up.

Okay, so I have sort of discussed three things. That's good enough for now. It has to be good enough for now because I have to go back to work. My coworkers at Rowland are all pretty topnotch, even if they fail to read this fantastic masterpiece blog. That's alright, I'll forgive you... But only if you can answer these three riddles...

Monday, November 9, 2015

floodgates

THE FLOODGATES ARE OPEN.

Hi! Hello! WHERE THE FUCK DID I GO?!?! Pardon my French, Mama. Excusez-moi. But I have French in my blood and in my bones and in my skin and in my mouth, so the occasional F bomb will be dropped. Enough about bombs. More about ME.

I have about five minutes to write. To type. To let the water flood this great land of the Internet. Does anyone still read this? Did you check it occasionally a few months ago and then gave up after you saw a couple of tumbleweeds and heard a few crickets? Well, come back. If you want. I'd love to have you. I'd love to have me. I'm glad I'm back. BECAUSE I AM.

Transitions, as it turns out, are not the easiest for this creep. I say "creep" lovingly, by the way. PS. FYI. It has taken me weeks and weeks and weeks to go from a pile of confusion, anger, and fear to a pile of acceptance. I am a creepy pile who accepts and sometimes even welcomes the challenges that have arisen from moving out on my own. Cool, huh? Way cool.

It has become apparent that maybe my writing has suffered a bit over these past couple of months. That's to be expected and I accept it. I don't quite welcome it, but I will welcome the opportunity I've given myself to write daily. Here's a real step forward: I've cut down my exercise routine in order to fit in some much needed writing time. Pat on the back. Excusez-moi -- pat on the fucking back.

I'm finally finally finally beginning to realize that I have control over who I am, where I want to go, and how I wish to feel. It's nothing more than a switch of perspective... And maybe a few purified crystals and bundles of blue sage.

I will keep this up -- my improved attitude and my daily blogging. BLOGGING is a silly word, yes? I wonder what the French word is for blogging... Well, Google just told me it is "le blogging," which I fully believe. The "le" makes a difference. The le gives it an air of sophistication. Plan on checking this le blog daily, you creeps. You lovely, lovely, magikal creeps.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

comfort

Jeb! I am going to begin each post that way from now on. Get used to it, appreciate it, crave it, become addicted to it, realize you have a problem, take the steps to quit, quit, detox, crave a little bit again, find a higher power, continue continue continue. Jeb!

I was all set to be melancholy, but then I had a sudden burst of rain hope and I felt okay. In fact, I felt as good as Jeb! must feel. Meg! Now I'm back to my melancholy ways, only because I had to turn on a light to write this. An indoor light at 9:20 AM. It shouldn't have to be this way! I do not do well with artificial light! I crave natural light more than I crave wasabi sandwiches, and if anyone knows me, they know I am almost sexually attracted to very carefully crafted wasabi sandwiches.

Buuuut... There's not much I can change right now except for my attitude. And my perspective. And my pants, because why am I wearing pants when I could be wearing no pants? One of the benefits of living alone, although I would definitely go pantsless around another person if it didn't make them uncomfortable.

Feeling uncomfortable. That might be the theme of my life. It sure has been these past few years. I either feel uncomfortable around Orem residents because, well, they are Orem residents or I feel uncomfortable up here in Salt Lake because I am not rich enough, hip enough, social enough. I wander around streets full of people I'll never meet (or meet their income bracket), casually glancing into their windows wishing I could have their cozy existence. I get greedy. I want that baby grand piano, despite not playing. I want those shelves full of first edition books. I know I need those KitchenAid appliances I'll never use because I'll eat out for every meal, never checking the bill.

But this isn't about wealth. I swear it's not. Money would just make things slightly easier. No, this is about belonging. This is about having a purpose, a reason to get out of the house other than oh-god-help-me-it's-too-depressing-in-this-dark-basement. In order to have a purpose, I must first find it. Maybe I have to search for it a little bit at first and then once I spot it, tackle it down and never let it out of my grip. I've got strong arms. I can do it.

I need to find more faith in myself in order to find this mysterious, life giving/saving purpose. So far in this "new chapter" of my life I have stumbled and sobbed, grown angry and weary, but I am still moving forward and I believe that alone is enough reason to celebrate.

So I'll celebrate with a wasabi breakfast sandwich. You know who else probably digs these wasabi concoctions? Jeb!

Friday, September 11, 2015

aa

Today on my morning walk I saw three moose and it was sooo annoying. Kidding. "Kidding" is the one word I use the most aside from aa, which is a kind of volcanic lava. Anyway, the moose were cool. Literally cool. You could see their breath. You could see my breath as well, if you were looking at me. Were you looking at me? Why were you looking at me? Would you mind just leaving me alone while I'm walking? I like to think while I walk and I can't think while I walk if I know someone is watching me while I walk. So let me walk. Let me and the moose breath in peace.

Remind me to drink water. I didn't drink anything aside from a few sips of coffee yesterday. Big mistake! I also didn't eat until 10:30pm. Big mistake! I also fell into a volcano and got aa all over my pants. Big mistake! I'm realizing more and more that I make all sorts of big mistakes often. I can't just chalk it up to LIFE and LIVING LIFE. It's time I maybe try to make some changes? You know, lead a more ethical, moral, responsible existence? Self-reflection is a very tough thing to do, but sometimes the tough shit is the most rewarding -- BLAH BLAH BLAH. Lazy writing. My writing has become lazy, but my feet won't stop moving.

So now I'm off on another hike. Wish me well. Wish me to find a well, not a dry one, so I do not dry out under the sun and become nothing but a ghost of a girl, a ghost of a girl who kid all the time and was a magnet to magma.

More later. I like you all so much.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

signify

Hi everyone! I'm in JACKSON, WYOMING, otherwise known as the land with too many rich, old, and entitled tourists. And locals. Lots of rich, old, and entitled locals. Am I one of them? Well, I'm no local and I ain't rich, but I am old and entitled.

But anyway, it's been nice. Nice isn't the word I'm looking for. I'm looking for too many words and haven't found a single one I want to keep in my nice back pocket and use often. Oh well, I'll come across it one of these days. Speaking of words, I read some crazy shit about poststructuralism on this trip (because, of course, reading about poststructuralism is a relaxing, vacation thing to do) and didn't understand a word of it. Or did I? What is a word anyway but a signifier? Or is it the signified? Definitely the signifier. See, there I go again, not understanding a lick of what I say/write/type/scream into the void.

This is a weird post. And it might have to be a short post. I am surrounded by people, none of them locals, only some of them old and slightly rich, and bananas. Yes, surrounded by people and bananas and that means my brain has left the building of my body. The elevator's broken as well. And the rent's due. And there are hints of cockroaches and traces of tenants long dead. Ghosts inhabit this building, my friends. And they are hungry, rich, and old, very, very old.

I will update you later on more trip-related "shiz" and less poststructural "shit."

LOVE.

Friday, September 4, 2015

care

Hi, I'm back! It's me! Bet you didn't even know I was gone for maybe a day, a day and a half. Anyway, here I am, Meghan "Frustrated Forever" Wiemer. Sexually frustrated? Actually, no. Not really. Mentally frustrated? I don't even know what that means exactly, but yeah, sure. Phone frustrated? If you mean absolutely and totally and without-a-doubt pissed off at my phone, then yes. Well, not at my phone. I love my phone. My sweet baby phone who I love so -- what am I saying? Not much. Phone blah blah blah frustrated over no service yadda yadda yadda. Meanwhile, there's a refugee crisis and melting ice caps and the constant threat of nuclear war. And there's the sweetest poodle mix over at the animal shelter down the road who is wearing a cone of shame and is missing an eye, yet his tail keeps wagging and he just wants a home. HOME. All any of us want is a home, a shelter, a sanctuary, a holy site where we can finally find our peace, with or without appropriate cell phone service.

I need to not complain. But if I do complain, I need to not give myself a hard time. In fact, wouldn't it be wonderful if one day I learned the art of self-love? Or at least self-neutral-feelings. I can't do this self-loathing thing much longer, even though I am a pro at it. (Why would you give up something you're really good at? Because sometimes we are talented in terrible ways.) I don't even realize most of the time that I'm treating myself poorly. I push myself all day long to go go go and do and still, no matter how much I accomplish, it is never enough. So depressing! Let's lighten the mood.

How do I lighten the mood in such a dark basement? Whoops, there I go again. Okay, I am feeling better. Things will be okay. Things are okay. It's been said before and it's worth saying again, but it's all about one's perspective. Of course, perspective can't fix a sink that won't drain or provide a clear reception, but it can make those slight annoyances more bearable and not such a tidal wave of despair. Quick: Go through my hundreds of posts and count how many times I wrote "tidal wave of despair." If I was a woman with an income, I'd bet that I've written it at least 13 times. 13 Going on 30. I'm 31. I am no Jennifer Gardner. I will not sing "Love is a Battlefield" into a hairbrush.

I may not sing into a hairbrush, but I will go carry-oak-ing. How in the world do you spell it? Kareoke. Karoke. Keareokkey. This is getting ridiculous. Karaoke. There we go. We're okay. We got it. Karaoke.

Thanks for, I don't know, letting me be a mess. It's nice to know that someone will when I won't. Maybe if I embrace the mess that I sometimes am, I will start cleaning up with compassion and patience. Speaking of cleaning up, that's exactly what I've been attempting to do all morning, but instead I've been pacing back and forth and making eye contact with the neighborhood cat. I should really do the dishes.

Take care. In the meantime, don't text me because I won't get it. But definitely sext me because I will feel it.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

rave

I think there's a rave going on upstairs. And by "upstairs" I mean "in my mind." That is not true. There is no rave in my mind today. My mind is not poppin' molly and suckin' on binkies. No, my mind is a deflated tire. I spent a good chunk of the morning and afternoon in IKEA. And then in a hot hot hot storage unit. And then at a totally normal temperature grocery store. Stores and storage: The true story of my Tuesday.

So I'm tired! That was my point. Tired and a little... hmmm. Lonely? Lonely not so much. No idea what my identity is? Yeah, that's more like it. I love how beautiful it is up here. My walks have been fantastic! I just feel a little isolated and unsure of where to go and what to do. Well, Meg, be creative! Okay, but with what energy? Maybe I need to give myself a week or two to settle in, establish routines, etc. I also need to make an effort. I need to make sure I don't find excuses to isolate myself. Social interaction is desired, to be honest. I just need to relearn balance and not spreading myself too thin.

I miss running. I'll be honest, taking two days off from running has been hard. I miss the natural high, the break in the day, the time to be alone with my thoughts, the sense of accomplishment, etc. But, if you didn't already know, I HAD A GROIN INJURY. I had to allow myself time to heal. And I'm glad that I did. Still, running has been a security blanket. And it, along with most of my other security blankets, has vanished when I needed it the most.

That was quite dramatic! I am overall super pumped and feel like this change, despite how gosh damn difficult it was, was necessary. I don't really know what I'm doing or who I am or where I'm going, but for once... I'm okay with it. My biggest challenge now is to continue. Continue continue continue. And trust. I have to trust in the Universe or whatever/whomever as well as, and perhaps most importantly, myself. MEEEEG. Meg. You got this. And I love you.