megrim

Do I start this post off with a question? Oh, guess what? I started it off with two! Two questions, one exclamation, one statement. This could go on forever and ever and do you ever get the feeling that you are a ghost? Like, in an M. Night Shyamalan way. You are Bruce Willis. You hang out with a fresh faced Haley Joel Osment. People Have such stupid names. Night. Haley Joel. Night Shy. M. Night Shy. Meg is Night Shy, which is not true. I am Night Bold. I love the night. Nighttime is when I can finally sneak around the world and go and do whatever I want! Everyone's asleep! Except for the Night Bold! I don't sneak around the world. I usually just channel surf and stuff my face. M. Night Face Stuffer.

The tea kettle will start whistling riiiiight aaaaaabout noooooow. It always (always! black and white thinking! always! never! never! forever!) whistles when I am on a roll with my writing. Wait, you call this a roll, Meg? Put some butter on your roll and then see where it takes you. I remember eating a whole wheat English muffin with butter in Wyoming years ago. I remember eating it because it was the first time I had had butter in YEARS. Of course, I'm sure it was reduced fat butter or margarine or some other sacrilegious substance, but at least my muffin wasn't dry (get your mind out of the gutter -- or keep it there because you are allowed to think whatever, (wo)man). I remember it tasted like caramel. I was so happy.

And now for my required sad paragraph: I am losing interest! In things! In everything! I go through these cycles; I will be passionate -- borderline obsessive (or just outright obsessive) -- about someone or something, usually something. I will be dead set on a certain life path, a future career, a potential place of residence. It fuels me. It gets me talking and planning and dreaming, definitely dreaming. And then on an unsuspecting morning I will wake up and poof. The passion vanished, the interest faded like a dream. It is almost as if I am a different person and I become suspicious of the person who just yesterday was gung-ho about x, y, or z. Can I trust that person when she inevitably becomes obsessed again? I'm beginning to think no.

Okay! Depressing paragraph is out of the way! And now on to more important things, like emailing my BFF Laura. (Mama! You are also my BFF! I have a thousand and one BFFs! Not true. I usually only have one or two. I know a thousand and one people, but only a smidgen of them will get the other half of my broken heart.) Maybe I can put some energy into things such as emails and conversations and orgies. You know, things involving other people. No orgies, though. Don't touch me. But, like, touch my soul. I want to connect and create my own passion. I can't keep being thrown around by every whim that comes my way.

Oh yeah, so M. Night Shyamalan. Whatta guy!