126,720 inches

So did I tell you I am moving? Kidding, I won't make every post from now until September about how I am moving. Just, like, 80% of them. The other 20% will be about the evils of palm oil, the importance of Planned Parenthood, and why I want to adopt a kitten and name it Yuki Noguchi. But for reals, I am looking forward to being in an area which is, according to the trusted Google Map, two miles to every HOT SPOT depending on which direction you are facing. For example, I am two miles from Liberty Park, two miles from Red Butte Gardens, two miles from REI and a parking lot full of Subarus with Bernie Sanders bumper stickers, and a weeeee bit over two miles to Trader Joe's. I know, right?! I better actually take advantage of my close proximity to "cool shit" this time around because I sure didn't when I lived on South Temple. I mean, I did go to City Creek every once in awhile with my dad, but it filled me with so much deep sadness and frustration and I always got lost/frightened of the Mountie-looking security officers. They really are awful, aren't they? ENOUGH! Enough about malls. Why must all of my thoughts lead to shopping centers? The vast wastelands of America.

Anyway, MOVING. I figure I'll just chill out now and then pack like a maniac the week/night before I move. That's fine, right? Sure, as long as it gets done. I ain't gonna be graded on this move, okay? My grand exodus out of Utah County isn't a midterm. And it's lucky for me that I am currently on this minimalist kick. I own nothing but a robe and a notebook and a tube of Chapstick! Follow me! <--- Not true, but maybe one day.

I hope that with my move I'll be able to become more involved in organizations that are important to me, groups that are committed to making a change. I won't overwhelm myself with activities and obligations, though, because then I'll do NONE of them. Plus (and this is a very big plus), I kinda sorta really have to find a job first. You know, I've lived a fairly reeeeelaxed existence for awhile now, pretending like I am not an adult and do not have very many responsibilities. Hahahahaha, how very untrue that is. Time to step up to the plate, Meg! And, uh, swing at all of those pitches! And maybe hit a home run! And run backwards, confusing the officials! Time to publicly humiliate yourself on national television by not understanding the basic rules of baseball, yet somehow you still win the game! You did it! MVP!

Okay, moving on and leaving the topic of moving behind, what's up? Like, what do you guys and girls want to talk about? Let's have a discussion! A discussion about police brutality, a discussion about drilling in Alaska, a discussion about the election and resurrection and fungal infection and point of intersection. Let's discuss it all.

ahhhhaaahaha

What to write what to write what to write OH! I know. No, I don't. Let me go scrounge up something from the back of my mind.

So you remember how way back in the olden days doctors would prescribe "a winter in Italy" for things like a cough? That was awesome. Nowadays docs prescribe all sorts of corrosive medications, which usually need other medications in order to get off of the initial medication, which ends up being more expensive than a winter in Italy. It's, like, Italy and pasta and scooter rides through vineyards > addiction.

I will be moving in September. Ahhahahahahahhhhhhhh. That looks like I was laughing. "Ah! Hahahaha!" But I assure you I am not laughing. I am not not laughing, either. Wait. So I am in some gray space of not LOLing, but also not not LOLing? What would that even be? Anyway, I am sincerely PUMPED about moving, but late at night the sadness creeps in with his pal doubt. I wonder (often), "What the hell am I doing?" Am I being selfish? Why, exactly, am I paying $$$ for a place when I am paying no $$$ for a decent place right now? Shouldn't I have a job before I move? Am I an adorable idiot with her adorable head in the VERY adorable clouds? Please oh please answer all of these questions for me right now! I miss having someone/something telling me what to do and how and when and leaving me to not have to stay up at night with those buzzkills Sadness and Doubt. But alas.

In somewhat related news, I will hopefully be taking swimming lessons this fall/winter! At some rec center. I'll probably be the only student. I will wear floaties and a swimming cap. I will be the star student and everything will be beautiful and I will become a professional big wave surfer and nothing in life will ever hurt or be sad or empty except for the good, Buddhist kind of emptiness.

Going back to me moving, I want to reiterate that I am PUMPED. Sadness, Doubt, and a billion questions are normal, at least for me. Any change brings uncertainty and a tinge of regret. But change also brings with it a Mary Poppins bag of experiences, people, perspectives. I am ready to be the baby Bambi and try walking on my own two wobbly legs. I CAN DO IT. I can be a swimmer instead of a sinker in this pool of life! High five me! Right now! Through the Web. Love you.

cabana banana

A great man once said, "Cold pizza is just as good, if not better, than hot pizza. Go to the fridge in your mind and there you shall find the pizza of your dreams. I have a dream that one day my four little slices of pizza will one day live in a stomach where they will not be judged by the temperature of their cheese, but by the content of their crust." Anyway, my point is ---> I have pizza in the fridge.

Pizza! On a Sunday? I don't think it can get any better than that. The only thing that would make this scenario better is if I was eating said pizza on the beach with a spiked green smoothie (kale, cucumber, three shots of vodka, collard greens, a hint of lemon) and some cabana boy was rubbing my calves. Yes, calves. What? They are so tight. You know what they say -- tight calves, cold heart. So there I am, lounging on the beach, drunk as high heaven, stuffing stuffed crust pizza into my face, and planning my TED Talk. Oh yeah, did I mention I am giving a TED Talk in this fantasy? Because I am. I am talking about, I don't know, the Apple Watch and/or cleaning teeth in Africa. This is the worst fantasy. This fantasy just gave me a hangover.

Okay! I'm back from the creaky corners of my mind! I did not intend to write all of the above, but here I am. What's been written has been written. No turning this ship around.

Yesterday I looked at a few apartments aahhhhahahahahahaaaaaaaaahhhhh. I actually found a place that juuuust might be perfect. Okay, nothin' is perfect (except for that cabana boy SCHWING), but the place would be very sufficient for me right now. Which scares me. Of course it scares me. Any change scares me. I am a Cautious Little Scumbag ("scumbag" was just a joke! don't worry! i like myself! i accept myself! i am worth it! i am only a scumbag 49% of the time!) and change is something I crave and need and totally run away from. Yep. I know I need to "move on to the next chapter," but I am glued to this page because I'm too afraid I'll get a paper cut if I turn it.

But I don't want to let this opportunity to pass me up. And I need to remind myself (over) (and) (over) (and) (over) (and) (over again) that any change, no matter how massive or minuscule, will eventually be... Not a change. Ugh. That was a lazy way of putting it. But do you get what I mean? We become accustomed. We find our new comforts. We see things differently and, fingers crossed, become better because of it. I hope this will be the case for me. Although I am a Cautious Little Sometimes-Scumbag, I am also a Brave Little Toaster-Girl. I can handle more than I realize. I am a strong mother effer. Trust yourself, sweetie. You'll be just fine.

Well, it's time for me to take a slice of pizza to the church of my mouth. I pray that you are able to do the same.

compose

I am a gruuuump this morning. What should I blame it on? It always seems to be the same three culprits: lack of sleep, weather, other people. Blame! Blame! Blame! But guess what, Meggie dear? Living in the world means that you must let go of your idea of perfection. You can't live in a completely controlled environment your entire life. Sometimes you'll stay up all night, sometimes it will be slightly warmer outside than desired, and sometimes -- a lot of the time -- other people will do and say things that are the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. But who even uses chalkboards anymore? It's all white boards. No, it's all computers. No, it's all smart phones with apps. Who's the smart one now? You or the phone? Probably the phone because you are too attached to it and will end up developing a handful of tumors from always having that brilliant phone in your lazy hand. Hey! Just kidding. I got off on a tangent. And that "you" is actually just me. I would never speak so harshly to you. Maybe I should try not speaking so harshly to myself. THAT'S AN IDEA. Okay, I got off on a tangent, but now I'm back on the highway of the mind. Highway, freeway: What's the diff? There is so clearly a difference, but I sincerely know not what it is. Let's see... You do not have to pay a toll on a freeway and life is a highway. That's correct, no? No. I mean, yes. I mean, why are you still reading this?

Why am I still writing this? And why did I decide last night, impulsively, to write a novel? Because it will give me a sense of purpose, as if I am doing something with this vast wasteland of time? So I can claim to be a writer at family gatherings, which just really means I am unemployed and directionless? I would give a fairly confident "yes" to all of those questions. But the real question I have to ask myself is: Do I have a story I need to tell? I cannot answer that just yet. I do not know. I do know that I feel like I should know. And if I don't know, then maybe that answer is no. If you have a story that needs telling, wouldn't it be achingly clear? Wouldn't it keep you up at night, your thoughts consumed with plot and characters and setting and words that will flow when the sun rises and you drink your 8th cup of coffee? Isn't this what happens to "real" writers? Sometimes I wish I was just a simple farmer.

I gotta stop trying so hard. And thinking so much. And worrying and apologizing and doubting and leaving broccoli in hot cars. There are a lot of things I have to stop doing, but there is only one thing I have to start doing: Writing. Write away the worries, the apologies, the doubts, the broccoli. Write until I figure out the answers -- If this is true, I may never stop writing.

refraction

Hey! I'm really happy right now! I am glad I never finished the post I started this morning because it was pretty bitchy and it was all about why I cannot stand a certain girl from my past. Blah blah blah blah blah blah and so forth. I should still finish writing it, but in a private journal. A private journal! Sounds so scandalous, but it's really just a cheap notebook mostly full of to do lists and the occasional philosophical musings by a part-time philosopher KIDDING I'm not a part-time anything, not even a part-time Tweeter. I am full-time. I am definitely a full-time Tweet machine.

Tonight there was a rainbow. Faint, but it was there. Tonight there were clouds which I have dubbed "Jesus clouds." Sometimes they are "Jesus, clouds!" Tonight there were flashes of insight I forgot to chase down and capture in a Mason jar. Darn. That's okay, though, because tonight there was also forgiveness. Forgiveness to myself for myself. Forgiveness for my forgetfulness, my very frequent moments of head-in-the-(Jesus)-clouds. Forgiveness that never needed to be given, but was, and it was what I needed in order to fully be there with the rainbow, the sky's flirtation with rain, the closing of what was a pretty emotionally stable day. I feel open, or at least beginning to open. I feel a connection I thought I had lost long ago. I guess all things are bound to return, hungry to make their way back home.

access

I began writing to you, Blogger, while on my vacation. I can't remember exactly what I was writing, but it was probably something like, "Greetings from the coast! I've had soooo muuuuch caaaaaffeine!!!" Something like that. Unfortunately I did not get to see much of the coast... Or Portland, like planned. I did, however, get the opportunity to sleep on a motel floor for two nights, letting the sweet scent of stale cigarettes lull me into a deep, deep sleep where I kissed exes in dreams and wore elephant tusks as an accessory. I had all of the feelings yesterday about my trip. All of the feelings and all of the mascara tears. Today? Not so much. Why is that? Did I dissociate that quickly? Am I just tired? Am I just going to use tiredness as an excuse for the rest of my life? Who's to say. God only knows. The nose by any other name would smell just as sweet. Sweet or salty? I'll take salty any day.

So maybe I'll write more about my trip when/if the feelings return. OR NOT. Maybe writing about it in a highly emotional state is not the wisest decision. Then again, who am I to make wise decisions? I'm beginning to suspect that I make decisions based on how mortified I will be later upon reflection. Like, "What were you thinking cutting asymmetrical baby bangs two days before your sister's wedding, Meghan?!" or "White platform flipflops may have not been the most practical choice for that nature hike." Nature hike! Hahahaha. I guess there are hikes through cities. The city is nature, in its own perverse way. Speaking of perversity, a drunk professor of mine told me 11 years ago that my writing was "so perverse." I am still trying to figure out what she meant by that. I take it as a compliment, though.

Okay, going back to the trip. Here are a few thoughts I thought while trying to maintain my sanity in the great state of Oregon:

*I should dedicate my life to surfing. It's not too late! I'm not too old! Uh... Reach for the stars! I'm desperate. All I need is LASEK and swimming lessons and then I'm set. Look, I don't need to be Laird Hamilton. I just need to be able to stand up and ride one single wave in my lifetime. That's all. And look really cool and effortless doing it as well.

*I have grown very, very fond of my Twitter friends. This may not be healthy. This may be borderline delusional. But I really think of them as friends! They are tiny little pictures on my screen, but I follow their words and their lives everyday and I feel as though they "allow" me to be as grossly open and honest as I want to be with only a little bit of judgment. I believe these things add up to a fine friendship, folks!

Well, those are only two thoughts. I have run out of steam. I know I had more substantial thoughts on the trip, but I'll get to those later. I'm always getting to things later, aren't I? Problem is, I never get to them. I get too distracted by surf videos shot by drones and my own perversity. Hang loose.

sitting

I am still in the depths of the past, which is just a fancy way to say I am still cleaning the shit out of the basement. Okay, I only clean it about 20 or 30 minutes a day because that's about the maximum amount of time I can spend wandering around in Nostalgia Land. I am not even that nostalgic looking through these boxes from eight or so years ago. Nostalgic isn't the right word. I am more... Heavyhearted? A little ashamed? Embarrassed? (I am usually embarrassed about most things relating to me, truth be told.) Heavyhearted is a good word. That's what I feel above all else. The people I left, the people who left me, the person I was, the person I never became. All compacted into a forgotten shoebox in the corner of a dark basement. Needless the say, I have placed most of these relics into the recycling bin. May they be reincarnated into something beautiful, like an empty shoebox. (My goodness, if you want your brain to feel slightly weird right now, look at the word "shoebox." Or just the word "Shoe." Or look at a photo of Elisabeth Shue circa Adventures in Babysitting and try to tell me you aren't super attracted to her, especially when she sings the babysitter blues.)

Three images I love today, right now:

collection

This is probably the worst time for me to write a post because it's the time of the day when I feel my worst. And feeling bad = very emotionally charged words, words which may not be the best to put out there for the whole world to read. Hey, what if the whole world actually did read my blog? All 7,000,000,000 +. But they don't. There are about five of you sweet souls who do and for that I thank you. Anyway, 5pm, man. It's the roughest. Catch me around 1pm and maybe 8pm. THAT'S when I'm at my best. Best, worst, hot, cold, up, down, welcome to the world of a borderline! A borderline who is also bipolar and bulimic. I only have illnesses that begin with a B. Well, I also have anemia and anorexia. So As as well. (As As?) I figure I am attempting to have at least one illness for each letter of the alphabet. So far I'm only on the Bs, but the beginning of the alphabet sure packs a punch. It's, like, some people collect buttons and baseball cards, I collect mental illnesses. Not that anemia is a mental illness. Guess I have a few collections.

I made a few notes in my phone today to remind me of what I wanted to write about in this li'l mess of a thing. Something something about family and how my dad probably wishes I had been born a boy and how my mom probably wishes I was a good Mormon with children of my own. Something something about how I wish I had put more energy into my female friendships back when I was in my way-too-talked-about 20s. I wish I hadn't been so enamored with all of the wrong people. Something something about how I'm on the lifelong search for a set of morals. Leading a secular life can be "hella tricky," but it can be done and it can be, in many cases, more authentic than blindly going along with whatever you are told. Like, I know He's watching, so I won't do this or that. Instead wouldn't it be better to do (or not do) something based solely on your compassion and love for humanity? Not just out of fear? Anyway.

Remember when I was on Adderall and all of my posts were all over the place and bordering on manifesto-ish? And I got really into conspiracy theories during that time, too. And I posted a lot of pictures and thought I was JUST THE BEST. I was also a monster who thought of murdering strangers (like, sorta, not really, but sorta) and never ate and developed intense pain in my extremities and stayed up late and isolated myself even more than I do now (it's possible!) and and and. And I think it works for a lot of people. And it will always be a temptation. And I don't even like discussing it because it makes me anxious. I can't help but miss it sometimes. Not exaggerating, but it's how I imagine an alcoholic misses a glass of wine. It is an addiction and it always will be, but I have to keep reminding myself daily that it caused me far more harm than not. Sure, I could read War and Peace quickly and organize shit faster, but is it worth it? Sometimes I honestly don't know.

Riding the wave out, people. This wave of depression that hits me for a good portion of the day, everyday. It takes the energy I do not have (thanks, anemia!) to make it through each day. It may sound trite, but Twitter helps a lot. I connect with people, most of whom I've never met in real life, who are understanding, sympathetic, supportive, and just as messed up as me. It's comforting. The next step I should probably take is to actually interact with humans in whatever this is that we call "real life." I do want that. I think it will happen more often when I live on my own, whenever that will be. <--- I believe it will happen soon. I hope so. I obviously love and adore my mom to no end, but living on my own will give me the autonomy and confidence I so so so desire. All desire leads to suffering! I get it, Buddha! But I also get that I need some desire. Moderation in all things, even desire/no desire. No duality, either. I'm now confused.

I can't remember how to tie things together and conclude in any sort of orderly manner. So I am just going to end this with a few of my favorite pictures from this week. Enjoy or not enjoy -- do what makes you pleased as a peach!

this

I must power through this awful time of the day. It's actually a really beautiful time of the day. The clouds are comically puffy, the sun isn't beating down on me as much, and the mountains look like a painting by the late great Thomas Kinkade. Psych on the late great part -- well, at least the great part. Hey, he did what he did and he did it well. Paint some cottages and bridges and sell them in the mall. Okay! Okay. It's all okay.

This is around the time I should be driving home from my full-time adult job. Not adult as in I-work-at-a-strip-club adult (which I am NOT knocking), but adult as in I-can-handle-responsibility-and-pay-the-bills adult. But I am not returning home from my full-time job. I am returning home from the library, where I wandered around sleepily looking at sleepy books on various mental disorders and French philosophers. Then I walked home feeling like a piece of crap because I haven been too lazy today, too unproductive. Buuuut Meeeeg...

Today I have done the following: Went on a 2-hour walk and read Don Quixote, cleaned the basement for almost an hour, went grocery shopping, was nice to strangers at the grocery store, searched for jobs/A PURPOSE IN LIFE, ran 12 miles, said some sorta funny things on Twitter, vacuumed the house, took a shower, cried to a few Jenny Lewis songs, did the laundry, walked to the library, wrote in my goofy journal, read about capitalism, and then walked home in this beautiful weather feeling like a real loser.

The reason why I typed all of that out was to SHOW myself that I do do (do do! hilarious! do do!) a lot, that I do more than "enough," that I deserve to give myself a break every once in awhile. Just because I am not clocking in/clocking out doesn't mean that I don't put in hours attempting to improve myself mentally/physically/spiritually. Point is, I'm trying. I try so hard. I just started crying after I typed that last sentence. I really do try hard. And every night I go to sleep feeling like I'm not getting anywhere, that my whole life is on pause.

I don't really know what to tell myself. "Hang in there"? Does that work? Hang in there, kiddo! Things'll get better! It's all roses from here on out! Up and up! You got this! You can DO THIS.

Maybe. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I need to figure out what "this" is first -- and if "this" is all worth it. And what is "it"? And what if I could turn my brain off for one second? One golden minute? What if I could allow myself to see the painted peaks and see that it is enough, that I am enough?

base

I have a difficult time knowing how to begin and how to end these posts. But I sure know how to fill in the middle! I fill it in with feeeeelings. Just a lot of oh-man-life-is-weird tales. Just a bunch of steam-of-consciousness holy bullshit. Just a couple of recipes for killer dips for your Super Bowl parties. Is today the Super Bowl? Like, Super Bowl Tuesday, right? How does life work again?

About two hours ago I was feeling all edgy and what some might call super damn frustrated. I was thinking, "MAN OH MAN! AM I GONNA WRITE AN EMOTIONALLY CHARGED POST WHEN I GET HOME!!!" But I just took a shower and a chill pill (Holy Basil) and I don't really feel that super damn frustrated edginess anymore. Thankfully. I guess. Sometimes that edginess gets shit done, you know?

As I have maybe mentioned recently, I am cleaning out the basement. The basement is where all the lost love letters go to die. The basement is where all the books-I-meant-to-read go to get all mildewy. The basement is the graveyard for everything in the past I abandoned. I also have unopened boxes of tampons for that day three years ago when I thought old Aunt Mary had come to pay a visit. False alarm. These dusty items and buried dreams are giving me all sorts of weird and vivid dreams lately. They aren't unpleasant per say, but they aren't entirely welcomed either. The reason most of these things have been relegated to the dark corners of the house is because a) they do not hold much value for me anymore, b) they hold too much value to me and I would rather forget them, c) a little bit of both. So it has been fun sorting through reminders of failed friendships and unfulfilled promises only to have them haunt me later on during my insufficient hours of sleep! Yeah!

Oh yeah, I wanted to write about how abandoned I feel by most of my family, but maybe I should save that topic for either a private journal or when I am feeling really super damn frustrated edgy again. I should probably keep it in a journal and on Twitter, huh? Okay, not on Twitter. I don't know what it is about presenting my problems in a public forum that is so satisfying. Maybe being open and vulnerable feels good? Maybe having other humans related to you is rad? I don't know.

BUT I DO KNOW that I should put this energy drink far, far away and not take another sip. It does not make me a rock star or even a monster (most of the time). It only makes me a jittery mess who sweats taurine. I think I will take my jittery bones to the library and read Don Quixote (a very funny book! recommended!) while trying to avoid the contents of the basement to creep back into my consciousness. Out! Out!

let

Look, I am an adult and that gives me the right to comment on the weather whenever I want. And I want. I want to say how lovely glorious calming inspiring soothing this rainy cloudy overcast (not in that order) day is. It is. I said it. I want it to stay like this forevvvvvver! But it will not (or it could! weird things happen all the time!), which is a good thing. If I don't have shitty sunny summer 4th of July days, then I'll never fully appreciate the opposite. And if there's one thing I wish to do in my life, it is to appreciate things not halfly. Fully all the way, kids. You are not kids. No kids read my blog. Do you allow your child to read my blog? If so, I would rethink your parenting skills. Kidding, let your kids do whatever the hell they want. Do not become a helicopter parent!

One of my least favorite things is when someone responds to a sincere question you have asked with "LOL." I hate it for two reasons. One, LOL is so dumb. Two, I do not fully or even halfly appreciate you making me feel like an idiot. I am not an idiot. If anything, you are the idiot for relying on LOL when you are well into your 30s. Think about it, bozo.

COFFEE is the explanation for my sudden edginess. Gonna take the edge off with a nice swig of whiskey. I joke (again again). But I guarantee that when I become a cattle farmer in Wyoming, I will take swigs of whiskey every 20 minutes or so. It's just the kind of life I will lead.

This morning I woke up brave and decided to begin the monumental task of cleaning the basement. All-in-all I was pretty productive, although my bravery faded a bit after finding four curled up spiders and one very alive earwig. But I did get to get rid of a bunch of junk I hoarded during two failed relationships. Or maybe three? Who's counting. (I only count spiders, not relationships.) It's as if I wasn't having my needs met in either relationship, so I ignored that and instead purchased a ton of shit almost every single day to be, like, "Hey! I am so lonely and frustrated and avoiding the inevitable crumbling of this shaky-from-the-start relationship, but I DID purchase a really cute leather bag and kitschy kitten lamp from Savers today. So, like, things are cool everything is alright nothing is wrong I will never die I am invincible we are stars we are tragic we are poets we smoke cigs out bathroom windows we will live forever here take my picture let's hang on hang on hang on."

Have I mentioned how good it feels to let things go?

I am letting go of a lot lately. I am letting go not only of spider-infested vintage leather bags and broken lamps, but I am letting go of expectations -- both for myself and for others. (I believe letting go of the impossibly high expectations I have for myself is the better of the two.) I am letting go of stubbornness. I am letting go of caffeine <--- JUST KIDDING NEVER!!! I am trying my hardest to let go of nostalgia because nostalgia wants nothing more than to seduce us and then reduce us to a shaving mess in the fetal position. I am letting go of hating where I am and learning to love the subtleties. I am letting myself feel again.

What are you letting go of today? What are you hanging on to? Do any of your attachments end up trapping you like a fly in a web? If so, maybe it's time to confront the spiders and clean out the basement. Hang in there.

more

Did I put myself in hot water with that last post? Maybe I put myself into cold water? Maybe I am a cold, frigid bitch who will never learn how to love another human!!! Because I am a robot!!! I am joking. Joking my life away. But let's be honest, I am not a cold, frigid bitch. Being a bitch ain't a bad thing, though. I wish I was more of a bitch. I wish I had more of an assertive takes-no-shit-from-anyone attitude in my 20s. I would have saved myself from a lot of trouble/terrible dudes.

I am good at "moving on." I can essentially forget about a person in a matter of half a day. This isn't necessarily a strength, but it has served as a form of protection. I am not good at sticking up for myself, but I am improving. For example, if I ran into that person who terrified me yesterday (in public, not in some dark alley, of course), I would probably be polite and all, "Hi! How are you?" Small talk crap which I hate. I would leave quickly, though, because I am excellent at escaping situations. Being polite and courteous is nice, yes yes, but when will I realize I don't owe anyone anything? I mean, I'm not going to go around smashing objects and grabbing things and claiming they are mine. I am not a toddler. I am not, like, "GO TO HELL! I DON'T OWE A SINGLE PERSON ONE DARN THING! OUTTA MY WAY, LOSERS!!!" No. But I can, without fear or guilt, stand my ground and... get ready for it... do more of what makes me happy. I have a magnet that says just that, actually. Given to me by a dear, distant friend. I will. I will do way-the-hell more of what makes me happy.

So what makes me happy? First and foremost, spending time outside. Even if it's in crappy Orem at a crappy tree museum with crappy kids zooming past me on their spectacularly crappy razor scooters, it is still outside. Ideally I would be spending time outside in some quiet canyon... So... Maybe I will do that. Maybe I will make it a priority to go up into the canyons at least once a week. It's my temple, people! A canyon of ghosts, a river of repentance.

Books also make me happy. But NO MORE hoarding books, okay, Meg? Because the other thing that makes me happy is giving things away, simplifying my life, decluttering. All I seem to talk about these days is decluttering. A sure sign I am getting older is that I find pure joy in dusting.

I will not overwhelm myself right now with a lengthy list of things that make me happy because then I won't know where to start or on which area to focus. So to recap, the three things that make me happy: Canyons, literature, minimalism. I will go into the canyon, I will immerse myself in a book, and I will not buy more shit. Perfect.

Thanks for continuing to read what is basically just my brain vomiting onto a screen. You keep me writing.

stand

Today has been... Uncomfortable.

Around 10:30 this morning I was all set to write a blog post. You know, something lighthearted and all-over-the-place and rambling and... And you get the point. But then I get a knock at the door. My mom answers it and immediately I know who it is. It was an acquaintance of mine who was in town for the week. I had cancelled getting coffee with him for myriad reasons, mostly because I had a "bad feeling." I don't know if that bad feeling was the spirit, women's intuition, or merely indigestion, but whatever it was it was strong enough for me to back out. No big deal, right? I mean, it's coffee. People cancel things like that all of the time. And sure, I could be called a bit of a flake over these past few... months? Years? But that's my right. I can say no, I can back out, I can take the time I need to take to recover and be okay. Radical idea, huh?

Anyway, here is this guy, at my door, unannounced. Already I am freaking out. Does he stay outside on the doorstep like virtually anyone else would? No. He forces his way in and gives me a gift. I take it and am nicer than I should be. I say all of the expected, "Oh, you shouldn't haves" and "Thanks!" But I am clearly ill at ease. He is clearly ill at ease as well. He looks as if his heart has been ripped out of his chest. That makes me even more uncomfortable. The reason for this discomfort is, well, I hardly know him. We did exchange emails a few months ago and he was a great listener, a good support, a nice new friend to have. Nothing wrong with that! I have a lot of Internet friends who have stuck by me and helped me through difficult times (I hope I have also helped them, hence the definition of a friend). Then I could sense that he was seeing me as more than just a friend. That he saw me as that damn "manic pixie dream girl," a creation of his own. I backed off big time after that. I tried my darnedest to not disappear and leave him with a giant question mark over his head, which would have been the "Classic Meg" thing to do. I decided to explain to him what I was (and was not) feeling and how I need to create some distance and space between us. He took it hard, but after some time he seemed to be okay.

And then I could feel him becoming attached again. I might be wrong, but when you end text messages to people with "mwah!" that might cause someone to take note. I began putting a shield up again. I was tired of having to say "I am not interested in a romantic relationship," so I just backed off. Then he mentioned he was coming out to Utah, which made me nervous. I could be wrong, but I felt like he expected me to hang out with him, he expected me to make time for him. He expected me to be someone who would show and give him attention because I had in the past, because he had purchased me gifts, because he was only here for a week. Well, even if you are a best friend and I am going through an emotionally difficult time the week you are out here, then... Bad timing. Okay, if you are a best friend I would still make an effort to see you despite my depression and anxiety. BUT if you are not Laura (hi Laura!), I juuust might have to cancel our coffee date. I don't mean a date date. I mean a casual, very casual, hang out. I know it sucks to have someone cancel, but sometimes that happens. You feel whatever you feel (frustrated, angry, disappointed, sad), but you feel it without seeking that person out and demanding an explanation. And you don't force your way into the person's house and refuse to leave. THAT, sir, is grounds for me calling the police. I am serious. I won't put up with being threatened. I won't put up with an unwanted person invading my sanctuary. I won't put up with being put up on a pedestal and forced to adhere to your fantasy. I have the right to say no without feeling guilty or being forced to offer an explanation. It's a right. A basic basic basic right.

Looooook. Deep sigh. I do not mean to hurt others. I do not manipulate others into giving me attention and gifts and then maliciously abandoning them after I get what I want. My only "problem" is that I do not know what I want. At least I haven't known in the past. And that not knowing has led me to involvement in certain situations that upon reflection were a bad idea. I didn't know that at the time, of course. But when I realize it is not a path I want to go down, I stick up for myself and turn around. Changing one's mind is allowed. But not everyone can see that or accept that. And I cannot accept that.

I feel sick. I am frustrated. I am scared. I am frustrated. Did I mention I am frustrated? I am frustrated that my power was completely stripped from me for a few minutes. I am frustrated that I still felt a little guilty after the encounter, like it was my fault. I am frustrated that I was told by someone very close to me that essentially "boys will be boys." I am frustrated that women all over the world are threatened in ways like this and much worse every single minute, most of the time without even knowing their rights, without the ability to stand up for themselves. I am frustrated that we cannot live in a society where one's decisions, no matter how difficult and confusing they may be, are not respected. If my decision does not threaten your life, then drop it. Drop the story line you have about me and how I "should" fit into your narrative. Drop the expectations, the persistence, the demands. Drop it, all of it, and let me live my life how I choose, free from fear.

I didn't mean to air this dirty laundry. I didn't mean to shame or embarrass anyone (which is why I didn't mention his name). But I do wish to remain open and honest with you. I do not want to allow this person to scare me into silence. I will speak, I will hopefully be heard, and I will survive, I will thrive.