Thursday, April 30, 2015


Broken Record Meg has replaced Monkey Mind Meg. I feel like I have said this before... See?! And no, not broken record as in I'm breaking a lot of records! I am setting the bar higher! And no, I'm not breaking actual records, although I've always secretly wanted to walk into a party which still uses a record player to set the mood and grab the record off the player, smash it, and walk out. The party goers will stand around holding their martinis with their mouths agape and stare at the door, wondering who the hell that badass chick was that just sauntered into their soiree and smashed their Lawrence Welk record. And why? Well, I can't tell you who that badass chick is (due to having Borderline Personality Disorder), but I can tell you why she smashed the record. Because it was freakin' Lawrence Welk, you dummmies. Put on some surf music and then we can call it a party.

I am frustrated by one thing this morning (okay, three things) and delighted by one thing. First the frustration(s): It's the classic "oh, I don't want to date you so you won't even acknowledge me anymore?" thing. Those people a real gems. No, I get it, though. The ego gets in the way and the reason they drop me the second I express any kind of doubt is that they are protecting themselves. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. Second frustration: I ran into FIVE tree branches this morning on my walk!!! Hey, I can either be frustrated by it or be thankful that we have trees and that I didn't poke any of my three eyes out. Third frustration: I can't really remember what the third one was, but I think it had something to do with stupid cars on my morning walk. I want to walk in a place where no cars are allowed. NO CARS and NO BRATS ON SCOOTERS. And only dogs are allowed. And nudity. Naked poodles EVERYWHERE. Okay! Now for my delighted thing! I was and still am delighted by the clouds. I mean, I always am. But this morning they are popcorn clouds! They are super trippy, too. It's as if the clouds ingested some lovely psilocybin mushrooms with their morning Cheerios (as opposed to their mid-afternoon Cheerios and twilight Cheerios). I adore clouds. And the moon. My two favorite things aside from in-your-face tree branches.

Breakfast time for me, folks. Yes, gonna butter up that hot muffin of mine. Should I sprinkle it with shrooms? Can you imagine? I would have the best/most terrifying day at work. Recess would be amazing, I'll tell ya that. I'll tell ya! And I just did! I tell you a lot of things, perhaps too much. Don't take me seriously, but please, whatever you do, take me seriously. Which one will you take? The non-serious or the serious? Whichever one you decide on, please return it when you are done. Catch ya later!

Wednesday, April 29, 2015


Oh, hello. I'm back! And I'm front. Front and back. Party in the front, business in the back. Reverse Mullet Meg. Okay, so I am still going to answer those 8 questions I found a month or so ago on some website. You know, those questions which lead me to discovering MY PASSION. What a claim! I am on number... 6?

6. Write.

Ideas flow more freely when we write without an agenda. New inspiration may appear unexpectedly and it becomes easier to connect the dots. Spend a few minutes of quality time each day with a pen and paper allowing yourself to process your thoughts without influence from the outside world.

Hey! I just purchased a journal on Sunday with a Barnes & Noble gift card I found in a used book at the library! (Was it wrong for me to take the gift card? Ethical dilemma. Then again, if I returned it, would it ever be claimed? I'll never know! I could have used the gift card to purchase some outstanding books to donate to the library/a children's hospital OR I could have used it to purchase a book on ethics. I just don't know what to do sometimes, ya know? And we all have selfish desires. And, to soothe the ego, maybe the Universe placed the misplaced gift card in my life so that I could purchase a journal and write and discover my passion. Sure, yeah, I'm gonna go with that.) I also purchased a poetry magazine. Yes, there are poetry magazines. Hey, if there can be multiple magazines dedicated to guns and ammo, there sure as hell better be at least one periodical dedicated to poetry. After listening to a podcast with the actress/POET/wife-of-David-Cross Amber Tamblyn discuss poetry, I was, like, "Damn, Meg. Why have you neglected poetry for years? It was the ONE thing, aside from math and getting into uncomfortable and perhaps inappropriate situations with various professors, you could do in college. Nurture! Cultivate! Produce!" So maybe the Universe is nudging me to get back into the reading of and writing poetry. The Universe should probably come up with a more creative way of doing this, however, than just throwing Barnes & Noble gift cards in my face. Not that I'm complaining. Well, I guess I was complaining. I should complain in a quatrain.

So I am going to start writing again. Watch out! Watch out for my book of poems! Watch out for my book of poems, poems which are all about my exes and sex! Kidding on both accounts. My poetry is usually about finding Jesus in grilled cheese sandwiches and sticking needles in my eye. Speaking of eye, "eye" am hungry. Uh... I am hungry. I am going to, yes, toast my muffin. I will continue to make that "joke" for as long as I can remember to make it. I hope I see Jesus or at the very least Mary in my muffin. If I find a Barnes & Noble gift card in my English muffin, then I will know that my path in life is to be a baker. Hey, better to be a baker than a candlestick maker. Who wants hot wax all over their muffin when they can have butter? WINK WINK.

Go get 'em.

Monday, April 27, 2015


May I use that "Blogger? But I hardly know her!" joke again? Because that joke is what some might call "gold." I like to write in the morning, but I don't know what to write lately. I still feel compelled to write. So I pump out these posts and don't say too much... Quantity over quality? I don't think that's what I'm going for, although it sure seems like it.

I feel more centered and naturally focused these days, which is (insert thumbs up emoticon). After quitting a certain stimulant and starting to, you know, eat food, I find that the world outside is pretty again. And I am slowly becoming "creative" again, whatever that might mean. I think it means that I am okay with a mess. In fact, it's in the messiness where I draw inspiration. I am drinking in a lot of water after dying of thirst and my cells are rejoicing. They are dumbfounded by their sudden luck, but they are grateful.

Where do I channel this clarity and creativity? I know there are worse things in life than to be interested in too many things, so I vow to not complain about this "dilemma." But it's high time to choose a path. I am going to be okay if that path leads to a dead end; I just want to start walking.

I am flirting with the following paths:

Work seasonally for national/state parks in Oregon.

Go WWOOFing. (Go look it up if you are horribly confused by what the hell "WWOOFing" is.)

Get my TESOL certificate so I can teach some foreign whippersnappers English (especially English swear words! HELL DAMN CRAP!)

Ideally join the PEACE CORPS, but I don't think I am qualified enough. So join some kind of corps doing some kind of humanitarian work.

Become PREZ.

Any ideas? Suggestions? Thoughts, concerns, recipes, knock-knock jokes, wisdom to impart? I truly will reply if you leave a comment. But I probably won't reply if you send smoke signals ONLY because I'm all out of matches. Plus, if I start a forest fire I probably won't get that job in an Oregon park.

Okay! Time for breakfast! Time to go toast my muffin WINK WINK. Have a day full of compassionate actions and sexy surprises. Mwah mwah!

Sunday, April 26, 2015


I feel on top of the world. Well, not THE world, but my world. I spent today sort of... apologizing to myself. I allowed myself to rest and wander and create and laugh. It was incredibly healing. I allowed myself to ignore my phone with no guilt. Okay, there was SOME guilt attached to it, but being unattached to my phone was nice nice nice and I almost want to throw my phone into a river, but that would require me to go find a river. I don't want to throw it into the Provo River. I'm thinking the McKenzie River in Oregon would be an appropriate phone-throwing river. I will NOT do that, however, because my phone is fine. I do like that it connects me on occasion to a select number of people -- plus, it comes super in handy when I'm using the bathroom at work/standing in the bathroom checking Twitter while pretending to, you know, pee.

I was THIS close to making a 5-year-plan today, but instead I bought a sketch book and read some poetry and contemplated cats. I can't do 5-year-plans. They terrify me. But I AM going to start writing down what I really, really want. What I would like to achieve. So far I just have the word "OUTSIDE" written down. Give me open spaces with no attachments to phones and places and people (I mean, I still love y'all, but I am beginning to realize I may be one of those solitary types). Let me rely on my feet more and bless the ground as I walk. Give me a park ranger hat and I will wear it with pride. Come and find me because I might hide. Note: Do not really come and find me. That's creepy. And I won't hide because I am too into letting people know about my life via Twitter and Instagram and, to a lesser extent, Facebonk. I mean, Facebook. No, wait -- I did mean FaceBONK.

Live your life. I will live mine as well. There is no need to please and say sorry. There is only a need to drop down on your knees and say thank you thank you thank you.


Because I am an absolute genius/idiot, I am drinking some concoction called "Bang," which comes in a can telling me to NOT DRINK THIS if I am under 18. Well, I am far beyond the age of 18, so I think I am safe with Bang. I am not, however, safe with scissors because I usually make the mistake of cutting bangs and then for the next six months I am complaining about bangs and buying bobby pins at Big Lots. Anyway, I mostly purchased this Bang drink because I thought it was called Bong. AND HOW HILARIOUS WOULD THAT BE TO DRINK A DRINK CALLED BONG?! Imagine if it was just canned bong water. Heeey...!!! No stealing my idea, promise?!

Bang might be cocaine. I took a gulp of it and instantaneously my leg began shaking and I wanted to go clubbing. Bang might have been a bad idea. But what was the real bad idea was becoming an adult. All bad things happen after the age of 18, apparently.

Good morning! What are you up to this morning? Do you think you will allow your mind to wander as well as your feet? Or will you stay put in a pew and bow before a bishop? Will you eat some eggs and toast or will you opt for the more traditional leftover Subway sandwich smothered in wasabi paste? Will you take a walk in the park with the worms who have emerged after last night's rain? Well, I'll tell ya what, kiddo -- there's going to be rain again today, so forget last night. Prepare for today. Go out and get yourself an umbrella hat.

The combination of emerald and gray makes THIS BANG GIRL so so so pleased. The overcast sky, the slight chill in the air, the raindrops lingering on leaves -- IT IS MY DREAM COME TRUE. I am about 88.3333333...% certain I "belong" in the Northwest. Something about being outside yet still being enclosed, whether it's under the giant trees or almost-permanent clouds, is comforting. It is a natural Xanax, one might say, but without the zombie-like side effects. In fact, this natural environment doesn't turn me into the undead. Hardly. It wakes up each one of my senses and even some I did't know I possessed. I hope they sell Bang in Portland! I hope they are not in short supply of wasabi paste as well!

Guys. Bong water IN A CAN.

Anyway, I think I want to read. Kidding, I want to eat some grits. I guess you can read and eat grits at the same time, right? I know that maybe you shouldn't because it's pretty awesome to be fully present with one's food (or one's anything, really), but sometimes I just have to ignore the Buddhist side of me and do everything wrong. You can't learn if you don't make mistakes! Now off to microwave my book and read a 100 pages of grits. Wish me luck!

Saturday, April 25, 2015


I feel like I need to issue an apology for my last post. I know, one shouldn't have to apologize for having FEELINGS. I know, we are all allowed to have melodramatic moments. I know, I just purchased a bag of flour tortillas for FIVE dollars. I have feelings about five dollar tortillas and they aren't the most positive of feelings. But they are by far the best tortillas I have ever tasted. And you get 47 of them, so I figured five dollars is a pretty decent deal. (And by 47 I mean 10! So it's actually not that great of a deal! Screw it! What's done is done! I am not returning tortillas! I will NOT become that woman!)

Yep, feeling better. Blame my sunnier mood on the non-sunny weather if you will. Will you at least play Garbage's "Only Happy When It Rains" when you blame the weather? Even better, will you karaoke it? It only took me 47 times to correctly spell "karaoke." I made yet another "47" joke. It only took me two and a half times to spell it perfectly. Anyway, I think taking a bunch of funky ass hippie supplements today has also made me feel happier and more hopeful. Thank the Buddha above/within. It has also made me feel a lot poorer because funky ass hippie supplements cost a pretty penny. In fact, they cost 47 pretty pennies/dollars. I have also "given up" a little today and that has elevated my mood. I gave up in positive ways, such as giving up obeying that critic in my voice (I mean, not totally, but here and there), giving up being a perfect perfectionist, and giving up 47 of my dollars to some funky ass hippie corporation so they can order some stupid green smoothie up there on their throne in Aspen, Colorado or wherever the fudge they reside. Fudge? They wouldn't dare. They will stick with their quinoa and kale and smug self-satisfaction. I hate hippies! I love hippies! I am a hippie! I hate and love myself! Ultimately I want to forget myself! Abandon the ego and embrace the oneness! I am so hungry!

I was sad these past couple of days because I got in a fight of sorts with two of my best friends. And then another friend got upset with me because of a misunderstanding and it bummed me out big time. It is fairly easy to bum me out these days, though, so WATCH OUT. But it's also remarkably easy for me to bounce back from the bummed out mooooodz. Like, all I have to do is walk outside and my damn spirit (which may or may not exist) has been lifted all the way up to heaven (which may or may not exist). Outside outside outside outside is the only place I always want to be. Sometimes I want to run away from here or there, but I never want to run away from being outside. My love of open spaces might actually be some kind of disorder. Restless Spirit Disorder? Yeah, sounds about right.

I'm better. I hope you are better and best today. I hope we can eat tortillas together in the future. After we eat our hippie tortillas, would you like to go TP the funky ass hippie CEO's mansion in Aspen? We'll really STICK IT TO HIM (or her! or her!) by using 47-ply, bleached, 0% recycled toilet paper! Yeah! Show him and planet earth who's boss! (Hint: WE are the boss!)

Take care, sweeties. Go warm up.


Maybe not a good sign that, again, I've started my day off with a good cry. I know I know (I know I know I know) I know I can change my day around. I know that I can switch my perspective. I know that there is a lot of support out there for me and etc and so forth and so on and so this is what I hear constantly and tell myself constantly and it has almost become white noise or that Charlie Brown adult voice. Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa. In other words, they have become platitudes. Platitudes are on par with small talk -- they are insufferable.

But I'm a writer, right? Maybe I can be creative for once and manipulate these platitudes so that they are fresh again. I can hide them in a story (pssssh -- like I write stories) or dress them up in different words. Because they are true. I do know that I create my own universe. <--- THAT is kind of a freaky thought, by the way. (Why? Maybe I don't want that much responsibility.)

I am going to go now. I am too much of a downer. As much as Adderall destroyed my health, it at least gave me a big heaping of euphoria in the morning so that I could actually, you know, write. I feel like an idiot these days. Slow and unable to do the ONE thing that gives me a natural high, which is writing. I can't seem to write, to be nice to myself or others, to read, to be excited about food, to make it through a full day of work, to care about anything other than making it to nighttime so I can sit down and zone out in front of the TV.

Friday, April 24, 2015

gray day

I want to go to bed right now. It's 6:51pm on a Friday, yes, but I don't care. I wanted to call it a day around 2:51pm, okay? And maybe I should have. I am just so drained. Emotionally, physically, scientifically. I am kidding about the "scientifically" part. I do not even know what that would entail. Like, I am a scientist (I wish!) and I am experiencing career burn-out? Anyway, I don't know why I am so tired. Oh wait, anemia. Yeah. But I felt like I had been doing so much better. Were those iron infusions in vain? Were the nurses actually giving me some kind of sad syrup instead of iron? Maybe it has just been a long week (it hasn't -- it flew by). Maybe it's the weather (it isn't -- I adore rainy days). Maybe I'm just hungry and lonely (ding ding ding).

My loneliness turns into grumpiness, which turns into me taking out my pissy mood on some of my favorite people. Blah blah blah. Same old story. I feel saaaaaad. I am also sooooo worried about my health. Not a darn second goes by where I am not sticking my fingers in my ears and "la la la-ing" away the thoughts that I am dying of some horrible disease. Oh, and I also miss having a best friend. I have had some pretty awful friends in the past and I let them off the hook time and time again. And it's probably time I stop doing that. But where's the balance? I want to be compassionate and empathetic and forgiving, but I also do not want to be a pushover. I do not want to be used for x, y, or z and then immediately abandoned after they get their x, y, or z. That's shitty. And I let it happen all of the time. Where are my homies at, yo? There are a few of you out there who are rock solid pals. Thank you. I also want to declare that I desire to be a better friend to others... And, okay okay, a better friend to myself as well.

That last one is going to be quite the challenge. I have been nothing but cruel to myself these past few days. I guess it stems from feelings of worthlessness, YOU KNOW?!?! Fun! But to be honest, I don't feel like the most honest person. I am not honest with others or with myself. How can I be a good friend if I am not transparent and open? How can I expect to get rid of these overwhelmingly negative emotions if I just keep avoiding them and covering them up with fiction? I have to start facing those aspects of myself which I do not like. I have to start facing myself. And then maybe I can embrace myself.

Well. 7:06pm. Bedtime yet? Please say yes.


I am a dirtbag.

No, not a teenage dirtbag (but do you now have the song stuck in your head?). And no, I do not mean dirtbag in a derogatory way. In fact, I am proud to be a dirtbag. Well, not quite proud, but I'm getting there.

How do I define dirtbag? That's asking how I define myself and IF YOU ARE AT ALL FAMILIAR WITH THIS BLOG, you will know I have a difficult time defining myself. In short, it's someone with a college degree who would rather wander around outside than maintain a steady 9-5. It's someone who wears unattractive and clunky sandals because they are comfortable and perfect for hiking while allowing the toes to breathe. Stilettos that make my legs look longer? (Is that what stilettos are supposed to do? Are they supposed to lead to, well, intimate relations with another person? Because other than those two things, what's the point of such shoes?) I haven't worn any form of high heel in, honestly, over a decade. A dirtbag forgets to shave. A dirtbag doesn't exactly "forget" to shave, they just don't care. A dirtbag fantasizes about that VW van her family had growing up, the one with curtains and Grateful Dead stickers. They unfortunately had to sell it at some point and not a day goes by when she doesn't mourn for the loss of such a dirtbag approved vehicle.

LOOK. Look. I don't look down upon those who are the opposite of a dirtbag. I really don't. In fact, there have been times in my life when I have fantasized about what it would be like to be posh. To be pampered and professional and put-together. I like trying on different hats, if only in my head. (Trying on hats inside of your head? Trippy, dude.) It's just time and time again I return to my dirtbag ways and it feels, finally, like home. It is where I rest my hat-trying head and recharge my batteries. (Yes, they are rechargeable batteries! No way am I going to throw those suckers into a landfill.) Dirtbag Badge of Honor. I need to start wearing it with pride.

I think the reason why I don't fully embrace and accept my dirty, wandering ways is that I far too often buy into the belief that I must be settled down and suited up at this point in my life. I should have satisfied my nomadic hungers by now and I should have 2.5 kids and a fence and a retirement plan by now. Shoulds. "By now."

Buy now. Am I buying into what society tries to sell me any chance it gets? Yes. Yes, I am. That has to stop now. It has to stop now simply because I want it to stop now. My whole life I've quietly said what I've wanted to myself, alone, while publicly going along with whatever is accepted by the majority. Okay, not my whole life, but I have definitely kept quiet when I have wanted to scream/sing on definitely more than a dozen occasions. So much so that I don't even realize it anymore. I do not realize it when I give up my voice and my desires in order to pacify and please someone else, whether it is society at large or a casual acquaintance. Why do I give away my power so freely? How can I gain it back?

It starts with embracing the dirtbag lifestyle I know fits me like an old Chaco sandal. Embracing it and not viewing it as some sort of handicap. It's not. It's a path, that's all. And lucky for me, I am wearing the right shoes now in order to traverse this blessed road. May you find and wander through yours as well.

Thursday, April 23, 2015


HI! Better day. My pinkie slipped and hit the caps lock button, so my "hi" seemed extra enthusiastic and perhaps a little threatening. I do not mean to be extra enthusiastic (medium enthusiastic is about right for me) or a little threatening (I prefer to be majorly threatening!!! jk???), I just mean to be me, maaan! Yeah, totally.

I feel much happier these days. I still have really rough moments some days, but I bounce back quicker than I did in the past. Plus, I try to stay with my emotions more than running away at the first sign of danger. A lot of this peace and contentment comes from -- you guessed it (or maybe you didn't) -- quitting prescribed meth Adderall. But uuuuugggghhhhhhhhh I really don't want to discuss Adderall right now. Even mentioning it is kind of a trigger for me. I should go to AA meetings or something. Adderallholics Anonymous. I really do need a sponsor. And some kind of reward for being clean for 90 days. So far it's been a little over two weeks since my last amphetamine high. I am proud of myself and I'll leave it at that.

So late this afternoon I was, as they say, "lonely as hell." I reached out to a few people via smoke signals/text and either didn't get a response or got a very short, polite response -- a response that was basically, "Yeah, I don't want to talk." I can read between the lines, people!!! And that's totally okay. We all have those days/moods. Not everyone needs to drop everything they are doing when I come around "demanding" attention. Only some people need to do that. Just joking, nobody "owes" me anything (aside from respect, ya hear?!). I guess what I've been trying to say this entire paragraph is that I am lonely and I desperately miss having a best friend.

I wandered around the library and then the park trying not to cry. Unrelated, but I also walked past a Domino's in order to smell pizza. Anyway, I thought about how I could either feel bad and sad for myself or I could use this tenderness to turn outward and feel/develop compassion for others who feel lonely, for others who reach out only to be rejected. I could turn my sadness into compassion. And so I did. As I was walking past Domino's and other Orem landmarks, I silently wished for those who were suffering from loneliness to not be lonely. I breathed in loneliness and breathed out peace. It helped. I don't give a shit how self-helpy I sound because it worked. My heart became softer instead of harder. A weight lifted off and the sky was delicate and strong again. And damn, that pizza smelled better than ever.

It is my hope that tonight you aren't lonely. It is my hope that you are free from suffering and the root of all suffering. It is my hope that you treat yourself with the love you deserve and that you definitely treat yourself to pizza and dessert. And I'm here for you if you ever want to talk and/or share a pizza pie. A pizza pie! Mama mia! It's a-me! Mario! Mario like-a da pizza! Mwah mwah!

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


It's not even 9:46am and I've already cried once today. I have only been up for an hour, too! What gives?

I trace it back to me being overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with stuff. I received two packages in the mail the other day. Wait, make that three. Three packages in the mail of great and wonderful things that really will come in handy when I'm on various outdoor adventures. Hiking socks! Running socks! A sock for my head otherwise known as a hat! And sandals. The sandals were not necessary (to be honest, none of the things were "necessary"), but they were cute. Cute vs. necessary vs. what the eff am I doing with my life.

I start most of my sentences with "I." I call my family up on the phone and I talk to them about me. I ask them for help constantly and it's usually for things which I consider to be selfish. Yes yes yes, I know ED is a mental illness and that running at the gym goes deeper than just... running at the gym. But still, why do I spend all of my energy on exercising? Yes, the whole control thing. Yes, addiction. Yes, avoidance. But sometimes I just want to slap some sense into me. (Probably not helpful, no. That's the same as saying, "Just eat a sandwich!") I need to get out of my own head. Like, big time.

Life isn't just this empty wasteland. There are colors and shapes and shades out there. There is depth. There are discoveries waiting to be made, lands leading to new ideas and fresh perspectives. And people. There are so many people out there (7 billion-ish) that it seems silly for me to stay put, running nowhere on a very energy inefficient machine inside of a very energy inefficient box.

So let me run away. Let me run away from myself in order to find myself. Let me take risks and reach out. I don't want to let everything and everyone zoom past me while I remain cowering in my far-too-comfortable corner.

Let me get dirty. Let me make mistakes. Let me open my eyes. Let me stay open while constantly moving.

Breakfast time. Be nice to yourself today.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015


Oh good! It's that time of the evening when I am convinced I am dying of every ailment out there. Except maybe stigmata. Is stigmata an ailment or a miracle? Or a myth? Where do we draw the line, people? When will we stop looking at WebMD? Why do I feel like a vampire and a ghost most of the time? Oh right. I know why. And you probably know why if you've read at least one other post on this li'l blog.

I don't want to think about or talk about or write about dying. Hey, Buddha, I know -- I can't avoid it! But I can avoid thinking/talking/writing about it. Should I? Probably not. But just TRY TO STOP ME, SIDDHARTHA.

What a weird cycle I'm on. No, not a menstrual cycle. As you may know, I haven't had one of those suckers for almost five years. Oh god. That's another sign I am dying. Well, whatever. The cycle I'm talking about is my daily highs and lows. Here's how it goes: I wake up and ahhhh! Pretty good! Uh oh, here come the grumps. Okay, the grumpiness is disappearing. Oh! Here it is again! Okay, I feel better. Maybe a little manic and jittery, but pretty alright. Hopeful, even! Now it is noon and I still feel okay, depending on what I did/did not eat. If I ate "too much," I'll be in a brief, but very real, state of despair. But overall the early afternoon is what it is. I am more stable and balanced than I am in the morning. UH OH. Big uh oh. The late afternoon! This is when I cry in parks or parked cars. This is when I swear at inanimate objects and consider cutting bangs. This is when I bide my time until nighttime. Lately the late afternoon blues have been carrying over into the evening -- and that's a real bummer! No bueno! I attempt to walk off the anxiety in the afternoon and evenings. Walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk. My neighbors must think I'm nuts. Funny thing is, however, is that my neighbors don't think about me at all! In fact, I'm not entirely sure they even know I exist judging by the fact that a good number of them have almost run me over with their luxury sedans. Anyway, I have these little "activities" and rituals I do/perform each evening to keep me sane/distracted. THIS is one of them! This whole writing-a-blog-post thing. I guess it helps. It helps to pass the time if nothing else.

And then nighttime hits. Ahhhh and it feels so good. Hit me baby, one more time. It's usually around 9pm when my brain either gives up or wakes up. I'm not sure which it is. But I feel about 79% more relaxed than I have all day long. Relaxed, focused, inspired, happy. That might explain why I am the night owl that I am, despite loving early mornings. I finally feel at peace and "like myself" in the darker hours. How goth of me! Too bad no one's around to experience my best self. Maybe one day. (Or maybe the reason why I am happier is because I am alone? Nah. That may contribute a little, but it isn't the main reason. I'm not a complete hermit! I love heart-to-hearts. I want to have more heart-to-hearts with more sweethearts. Maybe you are one of them! Maybe you are my sweetheart.)

I got distracted for about 15 minutes. I broke the flow! I can't recall if there was some point to this post. Is there ever a "point" to any of my posts? What is the point of any of this? I joke. I am feeling better already! The despair I was feeling at the beginning of this post has faded into a dull anxiety. I can deal with dull anxiety. (Is that a contradiction? Isn't anxiety always razor sharp?) I can also deal with the nice weather and the sure-to-be-beautiful sunset. So much so that I am going to deal with it outside where all of it is happening. You should step outside as well! Let's step outside on the count of three and look up at the sky. We are seeing the same sky! Isn't that trippy, man? It's a very large, small world. Let's not avoid it.

ease up

Just sitting down in my New York City office about to type up an article/report/grant/best-selling teen zombie novel. Yep! Just a career woman at 30, payin' the bills and wearin' designer duds. Gotta go get lunch with a colleague. Think we'll try that new sushi place in Midtown. Instead of using seaweed, they use bacon. It's really quite innovative and marvelous and over 50 dollars a roll. But I just roll with it because I make a lot of money and don't even look at prices anymore. I mean, unless it's for my child's preschool. I want my child to be in the most elite private preschool in the city. Oh, I don't actually have a child yet, but I will soon because I'd like to walk the tree-lined streets of the West Village with some dorky kid of mine while I snap some photos for my lifestyle blog. I need a child in the picture to make it perfect, you know? So that's why I'll procreate. Well, I'll have a surrogate. No way am I going to ruin this gym-made bod.

Okay, so I am actually sitting in my mom's condo in Orem, Utah drinking yesterday's coffee and a flat Fresca. I am glad I don't live the above life, although I would be okay writing a teen zombie novel and payin' the bills. But bacon-wrapped sushi and a lifestyle blog? No thanks. I'll stick with my tortilla-wrapped frozen burritos and monkey mind sometimes-overly-dramatic blog. I yam what I yam. And I yam going on 31 with not much to show for it except for A LIFETIME OF EXPERIENCES. I gave myself a hard time last night -- It's far too easy to fall into the trap of "oh woe! I have let life pass me by! all of my friends and family are so accomplished and, like, normal, functioning humans." That is a trap I fall into at least 476 times a day -- AND that's on a good day.

BUT THERE IS HOPE. I am beginning to ease up on myself. I really am! My heart feels lighter and my head feels clearer. And blessed be the lord on high, my fingers feel less tingly! I'm arising from some deep sleep, I do believe. My my, did some prince kiss me or somethin'? Nah. I woke myself up, thank you very much. And for that I am damn proud. I deserve a very long pat on the back. Maybe I can even lift myself up on my own shoulders! Hip hip hooray! Three cheers! This Bud's for you! Where's the beef? I'm lovin' it! The cold, crisp taste of Coke! Have it your way! Life is a highway! Life is a banana ready to be peeled.

Go out there and live your life. Don't compare your progress with anyone else's. Don't compare in general. Just keep drinking that flat Fresca with confidence. You are just fine. I promise. I like Shunryu Suzuki's quote, with which I shall end this post: "Each of you is perfect the way you are ... and you can use a little improvement."

Monday, April 20, 2015


Warning: This is bound to sound obnoxious.

It's difficult being an REI gal in a sea of Cabela's folk. An outsider is how I feel 1,000% of the time in dear old Family City, USA. That comes as no surprise. I am sure you too have felt like the odd one out on 1,000 occasions. I also get that there are bigger things in the world, more pressing problems, and, uh, bigger fish to fry? I get that. I also get frustrated that I can't even feel bad without feeling guilty. Like, yes, hashtag first world problems, but they are still problems and if I keep beating myself up for having a variety of emotions, then welcome to Bummer City, USA -- population: me.

Today has been an off-day. Yeah yeah, Mondays. Yeah yeah, the weather. But actually the weather has been MARVELOUS. And Mondays are like Fridays for me. So it's probably just chemicals going cuckoo in my brain. That's all. It's not even that I feel hopeless or anything. I think I almost feel too hopeful. There are so many things I want to do and be and see -- so many that it is impossible to do and be and see it all. That li'l fact is throwing me into some kinda crisis. It freezes me up. It makes me wildly indecisive and frantically overwhelmed. Where do I start? What's most important? Who am I really? Why can't I focus long enough to finish anything? When will I be ready? When will my life begin?

And then I remember it has begun. It began nearly 31 years ago. I have let years go by with very little to show for it. Not that I'm a showy person... But I am a person who has a lot to tell. Show and tell? I want to tell, but I can't locate my voice. I want to be a part of something, some movement, some community, some sea of like-minded sweethearts. But I stay still and eventually wither. I have to start growing.

Sigh. I am going to call it a night. Love you.


Hi kitties! Happy 420 and light up and look at the sky and listen to some really great albums today (and everyday) and so on and so forth.

Okay, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's move on to more important business, namely that of fanny packs. I want a fanny pack. I want a fanny pack because I want to start jogging OUTSIDE (no more conveyor belts, please!) and I want a place to store my phone because you never know when you will need to make an emergency call/snap a sweaty selfie. I can also put other things in my fanny pack, such as my tattered copy of War and Peace, fourteen overripe bananas, and another fanny pack. And inside that backup fanny pack will be another fanny pack, which holds another fanny pack, which holds another fanny pack, which holds another fanny pack... And this never ends. I hold infinity around my waist. A waist is a terrible thing to mind. Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind and my fanny pack the most. Make the most out of today for you never know what tomorrow brings aside from fanny packs in the mail. I just ordered fourteen overripe fanny packs. I expect them in the mail any day now!

Now that was a lie. I did not order even a single overripe fanny pack. But I probably will because why the hell not you only live once be spontaneous be reckless strap a small bag around your waist don't waste your time -- and don't waste MY time. That's something I still have to learn. I have to learn to not let others waste my time. That sounds harsh, not super compassionate, and a little dramatic. Maybe it's all of those things and more. Maybe I need to switch my perspective yadda yadda yadda. (Yada or yadda?) (Yin or yang?) (Fanny or pack?) But maybe I also need to start stickin' up for myself and being more assertive. I still struggle majorly with people pleasing. It's such a drag. I need to remember that I am people, too. I am a person! How about I please myself for once? What do you want, Meg? What do you want aside from a fanny pack full of infinity?

I can start off by saying I want breakfast. I was going to say I want a burrito, but that's not entirely true. I've created this image of myself that I am a girl who loves loves loves burritos and bananas and cats. Well, I do, but not as hardcore as you may think. I like cats the most out of those three items simply because a cat is a living creature, but bring me a dog first. Burritos are marvelous, but I'm usually disappointed that the burrito doesn't live up to my expectations and so I will keep eating the burrito in hopes that it will get better, but I just end up getting fuller until I'm about to explode and then I'm sick and sad. Bananas are high in potassium DUH and that's something I lack DUH so it is wise for me to eat a banana every now and again, but lately I've preferred oranges.

Orange you glad this post is almost finished? Orange you glad you stuck around to the end in order to see some pictures of some fanny packs? I feel a little melancholy this morning. I am not sure why. Since I am a certified adult, can I blame my mood on the fact that it is a Monday? That's the easiest thing to do. And lately I've been doing everything the hard way, so perhaps it's time for me to relax and go with the flow. Take the easy way out! Complain about Monday! Strap a fanny pack around my heart and go out for a jog. Smell the roses/banana peels littering the path. Wake up. It's time for me to wake up and speak up and toke up. Happy 420 4ever. Mwah.

Sunday, April 19, 2015


Last night's labyrinth brought some MUCH NEEDED JOY into my life. So I will begin wandering around again tonight. Stop reading now if you dislike stream-of-consciousness writing or streams or consciousness or hemorrhoids. Because I am about to discuss hemorrhoids.

What's the deal with hemorrhoids, am I right? And why the long face? And who's on first?

I'm sitting here with my green tea and I'm, like, "Yo, I'm so zen right now." Little do you know (but will soon know in about two seconds) that I took a huge swig of an energy drink right before I pretended to be so zen with my green tea. Hey, YOU try having anemia. Don't try having it. And don't drink carbonation or tea if you have anemia because it will prevent your so so so tired body from absorbing the so so so needed iron. Well, whatever. You only live once. Or maybe you live over and over and over again until you "get it right" and attain enlightenment.

I am not going to discuss hemorrhoids anymore after this short paragraph, but really quick -- what if I have one? Eating disorders sure come with a basket full of surprises. Some people receive fruit baskets or maybe a fancy basket full of imported cheeses, but THIS GIRL received a gift basket from anorexia that included hemorrhoids, anemia, hair loss, amenorrhea, stress fractures, early-onset osteoporosis, loneliness, insomnia, loneliness, joint pain, loneliness, gray skin, and really cold toes. Thanks for the gift! What's that? I can't return it? Well, dammit. I mean, uh, no, that was very thoughtful of you, ED. Like, super generous. You shouldn't have.

Okay! I'm done talking about hemorrhoids and suuuuuper depressing crap (pun?) for now. Now on to something much more lighthearted! Like....... Like the fact that I am pretty happy these days? Yeah. I am pretty happy these days. I think part of the reason for my elevated mood is that I am just tryin' to fake it 'till I make it. I try to be in a better mood and then slowly I don't have to try anymore. But the BIGGEST reason for this gooey hippie dippie outlook has to do with ditching the stimulants. The prescribed stimulants, mind you. I still drink far too much caffeine. But I am no longer swallowing little legal meth pills and it has made a world of difference. In short, I am no longer an asshole! I just have some embarrassing issues with my asshole (OH GROSS SORRY SORRY). I realize that other folks may have a very similar prescription and that they legitimately need these orange beads in order to function -- and that's A-OK! I don't want to knock prescription drugs. I don't think the issue is black and white. I will never shame someone for needing a crutch or two or seven. We do what we have to do at certain times, you know? I was just over-medicated on the wrong medicine, that's all. And it nearly killed me, that's all. And now I feel like a human again -- and that's all I ever wanted.

I still have a ways to go. I can't let myself fall into the trap of, "Oh! Lookie! I'm all better! I cured myself! Nothing could possibly go wrong!" I have to stay alert. I have to keep working on my health. I have to be gentle with myself and the process. Gentle and realistic. I can't always be riding this gooey hippie dippie wave. But I can prepare myself for what I will do when I get swept under unexpected waves. And I will prepare. And I will be okay. I can always choose to get back up on the board.

Now I am bored with being indoors. Time to watch this li'l sun of ours set. Thanks for reading and being. <3

Saturday, April 18, 2015

i scream

Blogger? But I don't even know her!

This will be a wild ride, buckle up.


This Will Be a Wild Ride, Buckle Up: The True Story of an Anemic and Neurotic Hippie Simply Named "Meg": Now a Major Motion Picture Starring YOUR MOM

Hi, everyone! I feel like I am thawing out and returning to human status. Human status? Could/should I have phrased that in a better way? Could/should I have purchased regular ice cream at the grocery store tonight instead of the tasteless sugar-free/fat-free kind? Yes to both questions. Progress, though! I am making progress! I will get there. I want to get there, so I know I will get there. Soon I'll be chasing down that damn ice cream truck which circles our block a gabillion times a day and I'll yell, "STOP, YOU BASTARD!" And the bastard will stop and I will stop and we will lock eyes and he will know -- KNOW -- right away that I want absolutely every damn bastard ass thing on the menu. The menu! The ice cream truck menu. We won't even exchange words, just glances. And I will hand him a few thousand bucks and he will hand over the keys to the truck and off I go, into the sunset with nothing but a helluva lot of ice cream sitting three feet behind me in a freakin' freezer. Oh good lord! What did I just do?! I just impulsively purchased an ice cream truck! And with what money?! I don't have a few thousand dollars to just impulsively purchase an ice cream truck! What am I going to do?! Try to sell it on craigslist? Ask if any of my Facebook friends want a free waffle cone? Psssh. Not free. That waffle cone is going to cost them at least two grand. And that choco taco? Yeah, cough over forty-five hundred dollars and it's yours, punk.

That was fun! That was so so so much fun to write.

See, I am thawing out! I am less of a robot and more of a human. Less of a human, more of a hippie. Less of a hippie, more of a super buddha who craves bloody meat. I sincerely crave a raw slab of steak right now and you can go ahead and tsk tsk at how unethical and environmentally devastating that is, but I can only do so much to save this dying planet. I first must save my dying blood cells and then I can go on to save mama earth. OKAY?!

That was less fun and more urgent. I had to urgently confess my wish for meat. I have a few other wishes that, hell, I'll just tell you. "Don't say your wish out loud or it won't come true!" False. True? False!

I wish I could be Paul Simon's wife. Not Edie Brickell -- still me. Just me legally wed to Mr. Simon.

I wish I could be an out and proud Wiccan. I love witches, I love herbs, I love goddesses, I love spells, I love dancing naked in a forest under the full moon. And I really love brooms except for when hair gets tangled up in the bottom of the bristles and you have to pull it out. GAG. Gag gag gag gag.

I wish I could feel my fingers.

I wish I could have a medical marijuana card and buy some "MARY JANE" (wink wink! that means pot!) for anxiety and anorexia and anemia. I have no clue if it helps with anemia, but I like that all of my disorders start with "an." Isn't that just so fuggin' neat? I say "fuggin'" when I really really really want to say another word, but I don't! I censor myself for the sake of my mother. You are fuckin' welcome, sweetie! Mwah!

I need to go tape some television shows right now that I can watch later tonight while eating cottage cheese out of the tub alone on my couch. Uh, I mean, I need to go read Ulysses while somehow composing a symphony at the same time while donating lots of money to super worthy causes while meditating/doing yoga/freaking out the establishment. Yeah. Totally.

Welcome back, Meg!!!

Friday, April 17, 2015

TGIF (thank goodness it's food?)

Two days ago a friend of mine said I seem like I am doing really well. This morning I read an email from a friend who said they suspect I am going through a rough patch. It's interesting how people perceive me (especially during my recovery process) and how easily it can change my own perspective on myself. I probably shouldn't let other's opinions affect me so much, but it does. Now I am paranoid that I am going through a rough patch even though I haven't felt this good in over three months. Hey! If I feel good then I feel good! But is my friend a prophet? Are they predicting a rough patch I am about to go through? Through which I am about to go. No, that's not right. I feel dumb these days. But a happy dumb. Dumb and happy and so tired.

Okay, maybe I am going through a slight rough patch. A nice package of confidence and motivation arrived at my doorstep the day I decided I wanted to recover. People reaching out to me and offering support, encouragement, and congratulations also helped to boost my mood. But that drive can only last so long on its own before it begins to run out of fuel. I know I need to seek therapy -- if only it wasn't so frustrating and tedious to find a decent therapist who also happens to take my insurance and/or provide income-based therapy. I known I need to, well, eat in order to properly function. I can't just keep obsessing over cookbooks and food blogs and expect those things alone to make me comfortable with eating. You can't eat a cookbook, dear. I feel sometimes like I am playing the part of a girl in recovery, but in reality I am still a hungry ghost.

I have to cut back on the amount of exercising I do. I hate even discussing exercise because it is such a trigger. It might be my number one trigger, in fact. And it's such a tricky subject because exercising is good for us, right? People praise those who regularly work out. "Oh my my my! You have such willpower. You are such a good runner! You must be as healthy as a horse! I am so proud of you." Proud. I think I just want people to be proud of me. I want to feel accomplished and be recognized for those accomplishments, even though I am also way too modest and downplay anything I happen to accomplish. "It's no big deal." "Nah, it's nothing." "Oh, I didn't even realize I did that. Huh. Well, whatever." I have always shrugged off my successes. Hell, I graduated from a university with honors and I didn't even make a peep about it. I should have at least demanded a congratulatory dinner.

But I disappear. I like to hide behind different flavors of the week. Which flavor am I this week? Oh, I am a conservationist? Cool, better break out my Chacos and talk about yurts nonstop. Next week I'll be a tortured performance artist who wears all black and considers running away to a Swedish commune. Remember a few weeks ago, Meg, how you were determined to learn Japanese and explore the world of being a geisha? It's neat that you have interests. It's neat that you get excited. It's neat that you embrace and then abandon people/places/things with lightning speed. It's super neat.

I want more consistency. I do. I don't know how to go about having that. I am all over the place with my thoughts right now. I didn't even finish what I was going to say about exercising. I am not entirely sure I know where I was going with it anyway. I am so tired and famished and ready to nap forever and ever and ever and it's only 7:00pm. On the dot. I shouldn't be this tired (or maybe I should be because of that whole "HEY I TOTALLY HAVE BAD ANEMIA" thing). I should be more vibrant and excited and, I don't know, social. I am 30, but I feel like I am 80 with brittle bones and bad posture. Where are my sexy thirties I was promised? When will I lead a Sex and the City lifestyle? Does this mean I need to start wearing $400 heels? I need to start answering some of my questions. I need to start living at least some of my life. Not everything should be put on hold. Not everything should be a struggle.

Okay, time to look at the sky. Thanks for reading these tired thoughts. Thanks for emailing me a burrito. Take care of yourselves. I will try to do the same.


You know how some mornings you wake up and immediately feel like a big, sloppy, grouchy mess? Well, TGII! Thank Goodness It's Impermanent! And, yeah, TGIF. It's Friday, things are okay, things could be worse, gotta shake off this bad mood, be grateful, be mindful, la la la la la la. But slightly grumpy is where I'm at this actually really, really beautiful morning. I am not sure why and the fact that I'm not sure is making me even grumpier. Yesterday morning it was as if Buddha had taken over my body. I was so blissed out and at peace and just playin' it relatively cool all day long. What gives? I guess I won't overanalyze it. I guess I will just ride this wave like the surfer I desperately wished I could be back in high school. Did you know I wanted to be a surfer? Thanks to the movie Blue Crush and my obsession with the brand Roxy, I was determined to go to surfing school and retire at the age of 16 and simply surf the rest of my life away. That actually wouldn't have been that terrible of a plan except for the fact that I lived (and still live! imagine that!) in Utah and, yes, swam like a stone. Now fifteen -- FIFTEEN -- years have passed and the only surfer thing about me is... Uh... My blonde hair? But there are so many surfers who don't have blonde locks. So there's almost nothing about me that would scream "surfer!" at strangers. Imagine screaming "SURFER!" at all of the strangers you see. Imagine not seeing them as strangers and instead seeing them as your mother in a past life. Isn't there some kind of Buddhist teaching about how everyone was once your mother? Quick Google search... Okay, so it's totally a thing. I'll let you Google the teaching if you want. It has to do with compassion. It ALL has to do with compassion. When will I realize that and let it sink in and make it a part of my everyday life. Everyday or every day? That one always confuses me.

Labyrinth mind again! Is labyrinth mind synonymous with monkey mind? I feel like there is at least a slight difference between the two. Maybe there is an ocean of difference between the labyrinth and the monkey. Maybe the monkey knows how to surf the waves in this ocean while the labyrinth dives deep and discovers a galaxy beneath our feet. How many toes do monkeys have on their little monkey feet? No time to Google it because I need to scramble up something TOP SECRET. Oh, wait, not top secret. Just eggs. I need to scramble up some eggs. I guess I don't need to, but kind of. At this point in recovery, I need to "force" myself to eat three meals a day plus snacks and it is both so fun and amazing and also so freaky and frustrating. Freaky, frustrating Friday. I don't want that to be a theme. I want to say to my earlier self this morning, "Hey, earlier self. It's me, the self that is from the future. I am just here to tell you that you can 'drop the story' and ride out these waves. Storms may approach! But then again they may not! Do not assume! Just ride. Also, EAT BREAKFAST, DAMMIT!" I hope my earlier self will stop being so stubborn and start listening with an open heart.

An open heart. That is what I want to give myself and others today. I will not assume that today will be rough. I will not assume that today will be a party. I will drink my tea when it's placed in front of me and scramble my eggs when they begin sizzling. I will drop the stories I concoct in my head and instead lift my eyes to the sky and remember where I come from. I come from here, I am here, I am going to be here in the future, even though "here" may change physical locations. Here is the wave. Here is the chance. Here is the ocean. Here is the labyrinth, letting me be.

Thursday, April 16, 2015


I feel quite happy right now. Content. Con tent. The cons of having a tent is that you can't see Orion. But other than that, I really dig tents. One thing that made me proud of myself was when I backpacked in the Grand Canyon and set up my own damn tent next to a cold stone wall. Cold stone reminds me and you of yes, ice cream. It reminds me specifically of a very, very, incredibly innocent date I went on back when I was a spry 18-year-old gal. We went to a ballroom dance performance at Brigham Young University and then ate frozen yogurt at Cold Stone after. Frozen yogurt? Who the flip gets froyo when ice cream is an option? And knowing how unfair life can be, I suspect the frozen yogurt cost more than the ice cream for absolutely no logical reason. The reason I am not breaking this post into paragraphs is because I wish to get you lost in the labyrinth of my mind. It only took me two times to correctly spell "labyrinth"! This is a new record, not that I have been keeping track. In high school I really should have been on the track team. I really should have been more involved with the drama department as well. And hell, I should have continued to take math and German classes. I should have done a lot of things rather than simply sitting in my now-super-nostalgic childhood bedroom listening to Simon & Garfunkel and writing love poems to Paul Simon in journals my parents purchased for me from Barnes & Noble. Simon, meet Barnes. Garfunkel, meet Noble. If I could be a more noble person, I would be. Surprise! I can be! I can be whatever I want aside from a high school student. Hey, life isn't Never Been Kissed. But if it was, I would definitely be the Jessica Alba character who dresses up like Malibu Barbie or whatever. Malibu, in a more perfect world, would be spelled "Maliboo" and it would be a town dedicated to having Halloween every week year round. Every Thursday night the children would emerge from their caves and roam the streets dressed as goblins and Republicans. They wouldn't necessarily demand candy, but they would demand an explanation from the Catholic Church as to why they tarnished the word "pagan" and why they burned their great great great great great great great great great great grandmother at the stake. That may be one too many greats or one too few greats, but the great thing about this post is that mistakes are to be expected and embraced. This is a labyrinth, correct? Dead ends are the norm.

Well, now I've come to the end of my own labyrinth. I'm getting kind of hungry. I want out of this maze, dammit! I want to leave the maze and enter the kitchen. I want my kitchen to be outside on a porch in some tropical location. I want to eat my morning banana with a monkey. An actual monkey, not my mind. I do not wish to eat a banana with my mind. I wish to eat a banana with my mouth and with an actual monkey and with a pot of oatmeal cooking on the stove which is outside on the large porch in a very tropical location. Oh! I heard a noise outside and I thought it was the tea kettle on the stove in my currently indoor non-tropical kitchen letting me know that it is ready! It is ready to be poured over a teeny tea bag of Oregon chai tea. I think the "Oregon" part is a brand. Is that the name of the tea? Oregon? I could Google it because right now in the 27th century we can Google just about anything, but I won't. I won't waste my time because I have to figure out why I typed "27th century" when it is so clearly the 29th. The 29th century when we all live on spaceships in our labyrinth mind. Do monkeys do well in mazes? Have there been experiments done with monkeys trapped in mazes? Monkeys are not rats, but then again rats are not monkeys. Will monkeys survive in space? Can we bring two monkeys on board in order to start a monkey civilization on another planet? Oh, rats. We accidentally brought two male monkeys with us. And as we all know, it's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve the Homosexual Spider Monkey. Well, we tried. We tried, but we all died in space with two gay monkeys roaming around a labyrinth full of dead ends.

Happy Thursday! Trick or treat!

Wednesday, April 15, 2015


Oh yeah. Remember when I was discovering my passion in these posts? Which number am I on? (On which number am I? Grammar is grossly frustrating at times, but not really because I don't really care that much. Really. For reals. I couldn't be more real with you. You are real. You exist.) I think I was on number... 5? Yeah, sure. Okay. You bet.

5. Find the themes.

Recognizing the recurring themes in our lives creates a pattern for us to either follow or change. What themes or lessons seem to constantly surface in your life? What are you drawn to again and again? What areas of life seem to be full of discomfort and pain? What areas are full of joy and light?

Ohhhh, I actually kinda like this one. I'm not going to belittle this question. I am going to answer it honestly! I am going to answer it NOW instead of continuing to talk about how I'm going to answer it. Answer answer.

Wow, I really really really like this question. I like it so much that I'm not going to answer it right now. I don't want to rush my answers. But here's a preview! I allow people to make decisions for me, I am drawn to self-denial, I get super close to people and then suddenly become insecure and push them away, I have an obsessive personality, I long for an identity and a home and a PURPOSE and a freaking good meal, I am inspired and soothed by nature -- all of it, even the dirt storm we had last night. Okay, not the dirt storm. But most of the great outdoors and what occurs in the great outdoors is my Xanax. Art, words, heart-to-hearts -- these all fill me with joy and light, peaches. So do peaches. And apricots and avocados and artichoke hearts. Hearts!

I am too cozy right now. I like coziness, but I also like being PRODUCTIVE in the mornings. Let me go stick my neck outside. I'll be back.

Okay! I'm back! And guess what I saw when I ventured outside? A night monkey holding on to my brain. A brain in one paw, a banana in the other. And wrapped around his little tail was the new Apple Watch. Apples and bananas, man. It's all the same to me.

Should I go eat a breakfast now? I used to shun breakfast because I shunned myself. No more shunning! Just sunning. Sitting outside in the sun, drinking up the vitamin D while sipping on a Tab. I'll have to do that another day, though, because it is currently snowing. I wonder if these are snowflakes? They might very well be frozen flakes of dirt. I'll have a nice bowl of dirt flakes this morning, I suppose. Yes, I suppose I will keep supposin' until the cows come home and provide me with some raw milk for my hearty bowl of dirt flakes. Hearts!

Tuesday, April 14, 2015


Mother Nature is a damn tease. I wonder if I am a damn tease as well. Am I Mother Nature? Speaking of Mother Nature, my mother and nature are two of my most most most favorite things. What other people, places, and things do I categorize under "Meghan's Favorites"? Well, let's find out together. (I know myself as well as you do, which is either a lot or very little depending on who you are and how I feel and now I've just confused myself and what is new? No, really -- what is new? Everything and everyone seems so old today. Ancient, even. We are prehistoric creatures trapped in amber. Fossilize my heart, you heartbreaker. <--- Those would make for some really crappy lyrics for some really crappy song! But the song might not be so crappy if the beat is just right. I don't know what "beats" are, to be frank with you heartbreakers. I know who the Beats were and I like to eat beets, but musical beats? You got me beat.)

Meghan's Favorite Things: A look back, a look forward, a look into a black hole where light cannot escape.

*REI, I guess. I just say this because I've been looking at for the past half hour while I was supposed to be writing about my favorite things. I do like REI, though, for a store. I wish I was slightly more privileged white chick, however, so I could comfortably shop there without emptying my checking account. Still, I'm totally gonna buy some TEVAS tonight. TEVA! TEVA! TEA!

*Tea. I really love tea. But apparently tea ain't so grand for iron absorption, which is a damn shame. So I have to make a Sophie's choice -- give up tea or give up anemia?

*Dinner. I am a huge, huge fan of dinner. Some say I am even the number one fan. I wouldn't dare disagree with them. BECAUSE IT IS TRUE AND WHY WOULD I DISAGREE WITH THE TRUTH.

*Lunch. I am also a huge fan of lunch, but I am in no way a huge fan of having to hurry and eat my turkey jerky and jerky banana in my jerky car during my non-existent break. (If it doesn't existent, then how can I take it? I take it very well, thank you very much. Create your own breaks!)

*Breakfast. Man, I am even a bigger fan of breakfast. The biggest! Don't even get me started on brunch... Okay, never mind! Go ahead and get me started! I LOOOOOVE BRUUUUUNCH!!! I love it more than Sophie loves making her choice. I love egg dishes with coffee (also terrible for iron absorption!) and friends and conversation and laaaazy mornings. Not too lazy, though. Well, lazy in the "right" ways. Like, reading the paper and perusing used bookstores and takin' a fuggin' walk with a heartbreakingly huge dog through a fuggin' park while the sun tans my ass. Oh, did I fail to mention this is a nude park? Well, it is. And I am as nude as they come!

All of this food talk is making me too hungry to go on with this list of favorite things. Lucky you! And lucky me because that means I get to go eat soon. Let's recap: I love an outdoor retail store, chemicals that prevent my body from absorbing iron, and food. FOOD FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD.

Go feast. Now. That's an order. And use your hands, get messy. Lick those tricky fingers of yours, one by one.

buzz butts

My monkey mind is fading mostly due to the fact that I'm not sticking an IV of caffeine into my veins every morning. Instead I am sticking an IV of meditation into my still way-too-prominent veins. (Will my veins be less veiny the healthier I become? I hope so. They really gross me out. Like, I'm happy I have veins, don't get me wrong, but I don't want my body to look like a topography map.) I begin my mornings, ideally, with a good morning sunshine text or two to lovely souls I keep near my heart, a ten-minute meditation where I am basically just thinking about what I will wear to work and eat for lunch, and a walk outside to greet the birds and avoid the chatty women who walk way too fast for such a peaceful time of the day. I return home, refreshed (and usually ready to wet my pants), and sit down to write. Oh yes, and I make tea. This morning I made coffeeeeee... eeeeee.... eeeeee...e.e.e.e.e.e I know, I know. I probably shouldn't have done that. But give me a break! I can only make so many improvements and changes. Like I think I said before, Buddha didn't build a perfect burrito in one day. It took him/her waaaay longer. And he/she probably had the help of some coffee! Look, all things in moderation. The Middle Path. Moderation in moderation as well. Let's get crazy!

Let's also get compassionate. Broken Record Meg has replaced Monkey Mind Meg, for better or for worse. I will continue to hark about how vital compassion is for all of us -- to cultivate it, to show it, to place it above almost everything else. In other words, leave your guns at home. Let's hug it out instead.

Coffee break. Expect me to return with a few shadows of my Monkey Mind.

Alright, I had ONE sip of coffee and suddenly I'm singing α—…α—Ία—·α—… songs and, for some very unknown reason, chanting the phrase "nuts and butts." Which kind of nuts, Meg? And which kind of butts? I am genuinely looking forward to the return of my butt. I had one excellently shaped butt back in the day. This is the truth. There is no truth more truthy than this. I remember a kid named Chris slapping my butt ten years ago (!!!) at the dollar theater and proclaiming that I had the best butt in Provo. Now, I don't think this is entirely true, but I do admit that it was rather remarkable. I also admit that I was too naive to know that no one should slap my butt without my permission. These days I would slap the punk right back, but in the face not the butt. I'm not much of a butt slapper. Or a face slapper, although I did once throw a glass of water into someone's face. The water mostly just got on their shirt.

Enough about butts! More about how I don't like how I feel right now. Jittery Meg and Monkey Mind Meg are best friends. Man, are they exhausting. They are like those chatty women in the park. They keep talking, but they never listen. And they practically run over Middle Path Meg because they are speed walking down the middle of the path and refuse to show some COMPASSION and move out of the way. That's okay. May they be happy, may they be healthy, may they be free from suffering, and may they pause to admire the birds and my butt.

May we all pause to admire the birds and my soon-to-return butt!

I will return soon once I chill out from these buzzzzzz beanzzzzz.


Monday, April 13, 2015


So here's the thing. I am a new woman!!! A new womyn. Hey, just the fact that I am a woman is a pretty big deal. For my whole life I have felt like I am a little girl. I forget that I am almost 31. Just because I don't wear pumps to work and have some kind of Sex and the City lifestyle does not make me less of a woman. Anyway, I am a new woman simply because very recently I have broken out of my old, suffocating schedule. It was getting to the point where life was tasteless, dull, and borderline unbearable. So I broke up with my schedule before it broke me. It's not me, schedule -- it's definitely you.

I don't necessarily need to go into all of the details, but let's just say I've taken away a few obsessions such as walking a fixed amount every day at the same time, running myself to the point of utter exhaustion, and eating the same, intricate meals at the same, very late time. Same. Everything was same, same, same. And I was so fixated on time. I have taken those away and have added good old fashioned meditation, human interaction, and DIFFERENT meals at "REGULAR" times. Or at least whenever I am hungry! Some days I eat late and that's okay. Other days I eat dinner at 4pm and that's also okay. Basically, I am attempting this whole "intuitive eating" thing, which I know works. And meditation works. And relationships fail, but sometimes work. And what's working for me these days is figuring out what works, what leads me to a more compassionate life, and then to take that damn path. Just go. Just start walking (but without ulterior motives or a timer). Just chase after what is wild and free.

So I have freed myself. I have become that new woman, who is actually just the old me. I buried myself for some time under false beliefs, self-loathing, and denial. I still don't quite understand why I did that -- or why any of us do that. I am still figuring that out. I do know, however, that self-reflection and self-compassion are worth it. They are so so so worth it. Chase after those things as well. (The neat thing about the chase is that you have already won. You have captured what you were seeking simply by beginning. You have trust in yourself. You knew you were worth saving. Congratulations.)


Good morning! Or afternoon. Or goodnight? I am not sure where you are reading this. You could be standing right behind me (creepy) or on the other side of the world in Madagascar (exotic). Anyway, I just want to greet you and tell you how wonderful I think you are. But don't get too cocky! Don't be self-deprecating or overconfident. Just forget about yourself for awhile and drink some tea, but make sure you see if anyone else would like some tea as well. Monkey -- uh, I forgot what I was going to type. I started to type "monkey" and then I left to go take care of a pot of boiling water. When I returned from the pot of boiling water, I found the word "monkey" on my screen. How curious. Curious as a monkey in heat. No, that's not the phrase. Or is it? What is "THE phrase"? What is the deal with humans dressing up monkeys in three-piece suits? And what's the deal with monkeys being "monkeys" and not "monkies." Moneys. Monies. Looneys. Loonies. Goonies. The Goonies is a really excellent film.

I feel happy. Let me have this. I won't cling to the happiness, but I will enjoy it. I will examine why I feel happy, what the circumstances are, who I am around, my environment, and so forth. So far I have a good idea why I am more relaxed and more of a disgusting hippie, but I am going to keep this to myself for now. Some things I need to keep private, you know? Still, I am a fairly open gal. ASK ME ANYTHING, just don't ask me out to dinner if you are a dude in a local band just lookin' for another notch on your keytar. NOT INTERESTED. (Although I am always interested in dinner. What are you eating tonight for dinner? Please let it be something YOU crave. Don't let the Buddha ruin your appetite when he inevitably reminds you that all cravings lead to suffering. Shut him up with some amazing tacos. Taco Monday!)

Okay, here's a small fear in the back/middle/front of my head. I feel better, right? Right. I feel like I am actually making progress in my recovery, yeah? Yeah, you bet. But now for the somewhat embarrassing confession: If I get better, will people stop caring? When I was a kid I used to pretend like I was on my death bed and that people would come up to me and tell me how much they love me and how much they want to take care of me. It's not that I want people to be concerned and worried about me... I mean, for the most part. And if I do care, it goes deeper than that -- it all goes back to human affection and connection. I desire to nurture another human just as much as I desire another human to nurture me.

And I have that. I really have that with members of my family and many selfless friends. I know that I don't have to worry that I will be abandoned. I know that, but sometimes the irrational fears creep in.

I owe it to myself, though, to continue to recover. I am not willing to sabotage my health and well being simply to get some sympathy. I am a warrior! And I am late for work! Dammit! Darnit! Talk to you later, kiddos, wherever you are and whenever later is. Now go eat something! Stay hydrated! Floss, but only if you feel like it/want to keep your teeth! Weird way to end this post. Bye!

Sunday, April 12, 2015

So the Buddha walked into a yurt...

I missed all of you sweethearts/idiots/jokers/idiotic sweetheartish jokers! Look, I say all four of those things with a lot of love. I say a lot of things with a lot of love. And a lot of fear, sure! But lately it's been all sick and disgusting love emanating from me. A bunch of gooey, groovy vibes. I'm bound to be insufferable to the more existential among us. That's okay. Hello! I am back!

I am back from my weekend in a yurt. So the environment where the yurt was located was less than ideal... Although I realize anywhere can be heaven and blah blah blah. Not true! (But maybe true.) (But not true in the case of seriously horrific places like concentration camps.) Anyway, the yurts were in East Canyon State Park, which is basically just a reservoir for boaters who love beer and bad country music and honking at hippie girls walking by the side of the road trying to read Tom Robbins and The Dhammapada in peace. So that was "heaven" in a nutshell. Doesn't matter! I got to experience for a day and a half what living in a yurt would be like. And I liked it! Almost too much. I liked it so much that I am severely bummed out that I am not currently cooped up inside of a portable, round tent covered with skins. There is something ancient and holy (holy) (holy) about being in a circle. Mark my words, sweetheart idiot dreamboats, I WILL make a yurt my home in the future.

This future yurt of mine must have a designated meditation area, by the way. I hate when people say they had an epiphany because they usually didn't, but I had an epiphany yesterday evening that in order to kick ED's bony butt, I have to replace my exercise obsession with another obsession, one that won't cause me to blackout on a treadmill. SO! So I was thinking about diving buttfirst into Buddhism. Again. Okay okay okay, I know obsessions in general should be avoided. Middle path, you say! And okay okay okay, I know that desire leads to suffering. The Second Noble Truth, you say! You say a lot of things. And a lot of the things you say are very true. But I am going to ignore that right now and still get super obsessed with Buddhism again. It is much healthier for me than killing my knees and myself on a conveyor belt inside of a prison gym. Get ready for your next dalai lama! ME. I look great in red and gold robes, so, like, this all works out.

A lot of other things happened this weekend that I wish to share with you amazing and brilliant and not-at-all-idiotic souls, but it will have to wait because I am off to MINDFULLY make myself a very goshdamn f***ing (you are welcome, mama!) delicious dinner. And I will MINDFULLY eat this meal while MINDFULLY watching Ancient Aliens. Hey, I'm trying! Buddha's yurt wasn't built in a day, okay?

I love you. I love you I love you I love you, even if I'm scared of or intimidated by you. Maybe one day we'll be reincarnated as lovers! Or maybe one day I'll be reincarnated as your GRANDMOTHER. That would be a real trip, man.


Thursday, April 9, 2015


Here is my daily reminder to myself that recovery is a process: Hi Meg! Recovery is a process! Remember that overcoming addiction of any kind is going to take time. Remember that it is okay to feel sluggish and frustrated and annoyed and tired and tired and hungry and tired and disappointed. Remember that these are emotions and that it has been a long, long time since you let yourself feel emotions. Remember that you are also going to feel joy, contentment, inspired, amorous, tenacious, thankful, strong. Allow yourself to go through the process with a curious heart. Allow yourself to slip up and slide down and have shitty days. But if you allow yourself these moments, please oh please do not forget to allow yourself to have the triumphant moments, even if they seem quiet and small. YOU are not quiet and small. You are a warrior and you always have been. Gawddammit, Meg. You are amazing. Glad you are finally seeing it.

Okay! Now I want you to remind yourself of how wonderful you are. Even if you are a dum dum sometimes. Dum dum moments make for great stories! Plus, they give you material to work with later and they can make you a more understanding and compassionate person. Let's here it for the dum dums! Let's here it for us! Let's here it for recovery making me sooooo sleeeeepy this morning. It could have also been my walk outside. I was so cozy in my coat and hat, both of which I totally did not need, and the sun in my face put me in a good place. I walked around with my eyes closed for about 98 seconds until I realized I should probably keep at least one hazel eye open so I would not veer off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic. Ninety-eight seconds. Reminds me of a certain late-90s boy band. Was it the late 90s? But it also reminds me of my temperature and how I hope I'm not running a fever. Let me check.

Nope. I'm good. Clean as a whistle. Healthy as a horse. Confused as a penguin. Fact: Penguins are probably not confused creatures. They are flightless, however, so maybe they are confused whenever they attempt to fly. I can relate.

Well, I am gonna go write a few of my "besties" emails. Those besties all of have names that begin with the letter L. The letter of the day is L. My my my, aren't you looking lovely? Luscious, in fact. Your lips are luscious and, here, let me lick them. I kid. Don't touch me. You may be running a fever and I can't take the chance. But you know what I can take? My pants off. I can take my pants off. Let's let ourselves take our pants off and leap into the lake, living like lucky sons of bitches that we are. Sons and daughters of bitches. But not actual bitches. I hope our mothers are all sweethearts. Not that being a bitch is a negative thing to be. Quite the opposite. Sometimes you have to tell it like it is, sometimes you have to let your bare legs show.

Okay. So. That's that. Let's kick/kiss today's ass. You rock.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015


Sometimes/all of the time I wish I had a stoop I could hang out on with a bunch of ragamuffin friends. We'd tell each other jokes and just shoot the shit for an entire afternoon. Sometimes/all of the time I wish I lived somewhere where I had a butcher I talked to daily. The dry cleaners would be next to the butcher shop and I'd bring the lady who runs the dry cleaners flowers every Thursday just to make her happy. Sometimes/all of the time I wish I lived in a late 1960s Brooklyn seen through the distorting lenses of nostalgia.

I never want to be somewhere where I was these past few months. I fell apart. The falling apart part distressed me, but not nearly as much as the not-giving-a-shit-that-things-were-going-to-shit part that scared me. Well, it didn't scare me at the time -- which should have scared me even more. Apathy is a gun, but at least one is too tired to be tempted by the trigger. At least I hope so.

And now I have hope. I know Pema Chodron famously wrote, "Abandon hope." I get what she means. At least I think I get what she means. I never want to assume I know it all. But what I mean when I say hope is that I now want to continue. I now look forward to the smell of campfire, to intimate moments with tangible people, to the moment when I split open an apricot and anticipate the taste on my tongue, to the sound of the lone raven's wings as it flies over a canyon at dusk, to the overpriced dark chocolate which melts slowly on my tongue... Hmmm. Guess I've developed a recent obsession with my tongue. And maybe YOUR tongue as well? Guess I've developed into a creep! But at least -- AT LEAST -- I am a hopeful creep.

This hopeful, renewed version of Meg just kinda creeped up on me. I usually do not handle surprised all too well, but this surprise is welcomed. I embrace the side of me that is sloppy, messy, wild, wandering. I embrace the peace that comes with letting moments come to me. I don't have to run away from the nice, quiet things in life anymore. I simply don't have to. I don't have to be a rat in a maze or a dog in a cage. There are so many ways for me to break free. And then I can just be. I don't have to run.

I can be that raven, I can be that apricot, I can be that intimate with myself.

So I have hope. I will wear it inside of the locket around my neck. I will abandon what destroys me. I will find some fun things to put on my tongue (WELL, I WILL!!!). I will still, secretly, dream of the afternoons spent on the stoop. Just try and stop me.


My brain is waking up from the coldest winter on record. While the rest of the world around me experienced unusually warm weather, I cowered in the corner shivering. BUT NOW... But now I feel a lightness in my heart and a skip in my step and a burrito in my stomach. Yes, folks, the burrito is still there, 24-hours later. Just don't go for the whole enchilada/burrito, you know? I mean, go for it if you want. I'm not one to tell you what you can and cannot do, but if you wish to eat any other meal that day or the next, might I gently suggest you save a part of that blessed burrito for later.

Back to my brain. It is happy again! I don't know really how to explain it other than what I already said -- that it is waking up.

Yesterday afternoon I wandered -- actually wandered with no particular purpose or damn destination -- around the park, blissed out on some really hark-the-herald-angel vibes. No, I don't quite understand what I meant by "hark-the-herald-angel" vibes. Maybe I meant that the feeling in the air was one in which angels should be descending from heaven playing trumpets or whatever. Or maybe I am saying that I am a newborn king. Newborn! Awake! Springtime! Sunny yesterday, snowy today. And that's okay. Things are really okay right now. I feel like I am coming back to who I once was.

OF COURSE... There is a danger in holding on to a Self, a fixed identity. I'm not the same person I "once was" and I never will be. I am not the same person I was three minutes ago. I am continuously dying and being reborn, right? Right. There is a sense of relief in knowing this. It means I (whomever this "I" happens to be or not be) can let go and relax in whatever is. I can stop. I can breakup with control. Hey, it's not you, it's me, Control. Wait, no -- it actually is you. Well, I am callin' it quits. Please give me back my house key.

So here I sit relaxed on a gray day with sunshine in my heart. Finally. Again. It will go away sometimes, sure, but it will come back as well. There is an ocean inside and the tides are obedient to a moon I regrettably abandoned for a space of time. But now there is space and there is time and there is a rhythm which reassures, resurrects, and restores.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015


There is a reason I didn't write this morning. Maybe some of you expect a new post from me each day upon waking! In that case, maybe you expect way too much out of this li'l gal. I can only do so much. I can only go so many nights with five hours of sleep before I turn into a pile of beans and rice and guacamole. Which reminds me, I just got a huge ass burrito from Cafe Rio (thanks, mom!) and I am going to eat it now so that my brain will work. Be back in a sec. (I'll save some guac for you. JK, I won't because I love it too much to be generous.)

Holy crap. Uh... Crap might not be the greatest word for me to use... So I wrote the above paragraph about six hours ago. I went to have a few bites of the huge ass burrito and then planned on returning to my quiet herbal tea and introspective fog and pearls. INSTEAD I devoured that burrito. I effing destroyed it, man. And it was no small feat. Oh no no no. The salmon burrito was approximately the size of a small country and this is in no way an exaggeration. It was a rather sensual experience, to be honest. Just messy and drippy and pleasing to many of my senses. Food! Whoa. Who knew that food doesn't have to just be fuel? Food can also be violently pleasurable. Give me a burrito and I will cuddle with it in a highly sexual way. Kidding, mom! (*Not kidding.)

And then I had a brief moment after demolishing that burrito when I had to choose between freaking out from "eating too much" (according to ED) or to just let it slide. Let it slide and be grateful and happy and relieved and maybe even go smoke a cig. No, no smoking cigs. Don't want to kill any of those taste buds, you know? Anyway, I chose the latter. I chose it. It is a choice, this whole listening-to-ED thing. I'm just now realizing this. It's the best realization I'v'e had in a long time.

But knowing old Meggie, some of ED's whispers are still there. Oh, and they are shouts, not whispers. I don't think he's ever whispered once in his life. He just nags in an extremely loud and incredibly close way. He yelled for me to go to the gym and so, being the still-somewhat-obedient servant that I am, did as I was told. Here's where the word "crap" comes in! Uh oh!

Okay, I didn't crap my North Face running shorts. Thank Buddha. But I did have to stop running more than once in order to, well, use the ladies' room. It was very unpleasant. It also became kinda funny after I remembered that episode of The Office when Michael Scott eats a tin of fettuccine alfredo before running a 5K and then proceeds to projectile vomit said fettuccine alfredo after the race. So essentially I was Michael Scott this afternoon. Word to the wise: It's best not to eat a country-size burrito half an hour before you run 12 miles. Just don't attempt it. Eat the burrito and then relax. You can always run another time, and you should always put the burrito first.

I feel much better now, thank you. I just really really really want to be hungry again. I have a sinking feeling that this burrito did me in for the rest of the day/night. I still might try to sneak in some gelato in there (my stomach), though. Gelato plus Better Call Saul sounds like a match made in heaven. Oh, throw in a warm blanket and my cat sweatshirt and I've just created my personal heaven.

I love you, guys and gals. Guys and dolls. Dolls and dreamboats. You really are a big support to me whether you realize it or not. Let's all be more than kind to ourselves. Let's be our own damn best friend, okay? Okay.