Sunday, March 29, 2015


I have no idea why, but there is a little box at the bottom of my screen that says "complain." WHAAAA??? This is normal, right? I don't know much about computers (or biology or the oboe or various mathematical theories or top 40 radio), but I am going to go ahead and say that I think my computer is an ancient alien who has time traveled to tell me a very important message, one that will save all of humanity and somehow kill Hitler. The message is this: "Dude, Meghan -- stop complaining all the time." And I, being brave enough to talk back to an ancient alien, will say, "Hey, I don't complain ALL of the time. Just lately, okay? And I am not a 'dude.' I am a doctor." Oh, right. I forgot to mention that I am a doctor in this story.

But this isn't fiction! Aside from the computer being an ancient alien and me being a doctor. Me complaining, however? Totally true. Nonfiction all the way, dudes. For example, just this morning I grumbled like an ancient grumbling alien about my neighbors. I need not complain to you about what they were doing, but I'll just say that it involved a whiny toddler and organ music. (I'm not the whiny toddler, by the way, although it often seems like it.) How dare they disrupt my peaceful Sunday morning! My tea! My book! My thoughts! All interrupted. And I can't go in the front yard because there is nowhere to go, plus there is a church across the street -- I am not sure my braless, tattooed self holding a mug of tea and a book about evolution would be met with loving eyes by the pious people in their Sunday best. (*Hi mama! I am just being a little silly right now. I know that there are so many good, nonjudgmental folk in the ward. Will you ask the relief society to bring me some treats sometime, though? I sincerely would love that. Hell, I'd even talk with them for a full four minutes! Snacks = Salvation.)

Whoops. Just complained. Or explained. I guess complaining and explaining are two different things. Is today Easter? Nope. It's not. Anyway, I can't change my current circumstances. I can't change my physical environment right now, but I can change my mental environment. My emotional environment? Emotional and mental and spiritual. And, yes, I could technically change my physical environment by going up the canyon or hopping in my car and driving down to Costa Rica. (That's possible, right? Anyone want to go?)

I suppose I'm saying pretty much the same thing I said in one of my posts from yesterday -- I "have to" stop letting anger get the better of me. I either get angry at the whiny toddler and organ music and church full on non-tattooed, bra-wearing saints OR I release that and channel my energy and attention into something far more productive and peaceful, such as looking up driving directions to Costa Rica and attempting to communicate with the ancient alien who wants me to assassinate Hitler.

All of this being said, I still really really really desire some goshdamn peace and quiet. And space. So much open, natural, wild space. I should thank my back and front yard neighbors for reminding me just how important this is to me. Finding a physical refuge where I can rejuvenate my SOUL. And it won't be in a pew, but in Peru. (Uh, or Costa Rica. Peru just sounded better.) (But I'm totally open to the idea of Peru as well.) (Mostly I just need a fire lookout in the Northwest.) (A fire lookout full of snacks and salvation.) (And no bras allowed.) (Or bros.) (No bras or bros.)

Hey. Keep it real. You are amazing.

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