Don't walk away from your computer, Meghan! Sit. SIT BACK DOWN. Just write whatever. You can edit it later (but you won't) (because you don't like to edit) (or maybe because you forget) (you forget you like it). Eventually, however, walk as far away as you can from your computer. And by walk, I mean run. And after you are done running, start hiking. Stay hydrated. Hike until your legs give out and you have to rest under a cottonwood by river. Watch out for that anthill. Don't sit on a family of ants. Don't sit on any kind of family. Let families have their fun while you rest. Get away from that computer and get closer to yourself. You forgot a lot about what you like, huh? You have forgotten that you are afraid of heights, but only the kind where you are securely strapped in and enjoying cotton candy. If the rise in elevation leads to a scenic overlook with an abandoned eagle's nest, then good. Good. You are good with that. You are not secure in the slightest. There is no cotton candy except for the puffy clouds which can turn on you in a moment's notice. Notice the clouds. Notice the nest. Notice the struggling sun stretching out across the land you never knew you missed. You miss it so much that you do everything in your power to imagine this is just a ride. A ride is fun. A ride will end. A ride can be ridden again and again until you're sick and wish to go home. But here you are, home, at the top of a peak and you cannot stay. To be ripped away from one's home is like going through the tunnel of love without a heart. Or maybe you have two hearts. Two hearts too many because now you feel too much, but have nowhere to release this love. You have abandoned the nest -- or perhaps the nest abandoned you -- and now you wonder if that vulture will sneak its way in and claim ownership.
I keep thinking I don't want things to own me, which is why I keep giving things away. But sometimes I want to let go of that need for control and allow something or someone to own me. Maybe that means religion, maybe that means relationships. Maybe that means I just float down a river and hope for the best. I can swim, but maybe I can float. My life is one bizarre scenario after another littered with maybes and perhaps. Perhaps I would rather live in the ambiguous than the certain. Maybe I don't know where I'd rather live -- at the top of a peak or the depths of my psyche? They could very well be the same place. WELCOME TO MY TWILIGHT ZONE.
Yesterday I went to an amusement park. It was not like the amusement parks I frequent in my dreams. Not even close. But it was amusing, sure, at how much I longed to be on a farm, working with the land and wearing myself out just in time for a hearty meal at four. I would be in bed by eight with my thoughts, both of us exhausted and satisfied. We would start all over again the next day, tip toeing to not disturb the sun. Let it rest while we silently work. If I am going to be hot and tired after a couple of hours outside, I want it to be because I was reconnecting with animals and soil, not waiting in line to sit on a sticky seat next to a sticky child who is not mine. But let the child have fun. For the love of god and buddha and santa, let the child have fun.