path

A few months ago when I began working at what I call my "second job" (cuz, you know, I have two jobs), I had what might be considered a slight crisis. All of my coworkers were at least a decade younger than me. They all had more money than me. And more motivation. I felt, to put it mildly, wildly inferior. I felt (and still feel to some degree -- probably always will) out of place. I began beating myself up for being "nowhere" in my life. Here I was, a 31-year-old with a college degree, working a part-time job for almost minimum wage. Most people my age seem to have three kids, a loving spouse, a house of their own, and enough cash in the bank to take Disneyland vacations once a year. Oh yes, and they have careers. And a purpose. And peace of mind. Right? Okay, that might not be entirely true for everyone. And even if it is true for some people, it probably just looks that way on the surface. There will always be the not-so-shiny stuff underneath. It's in my best interest if I stop assuming -- and comparing.

At the risk of sounding cliche, I will say (declare! exclaim! shout as loud as I can with laryngitis!) that I am simply on my own path. I do not know why I place so much value on employment anyway. Who cares how one pays the bills, so long as it does not harm yourself or others. I believe what is more important than an income and a title is doing what you love, even if it takes you decades to pinpoint that passion. I am still finding that love. I am proud of myself for searching. It may take me longer than most because I am determined to be as honest as I can be with what I dedicate my time to. Well, whaddya know? I AM determined. I am not a slacker (well, for the most part), I am not a loser (well, only sometimes), I am just walking through the forest and taking time to look at each leaf on every tree.

circumvent

Goodness, I had a lot of feelings yesterday. Then again, when don't I have a lot of feelings? Oh right, when I am over-prescribed by dumdum doctors. But aside from that, I am a fairly emotional being and sometimes/most times I allow these emotions to rule all of my decisions... That makes for some pretty bad decisions. I end up being a bit of a monster, to myself an others (mostly myself). I know we are made up of light and dark and that both serve a purpose, but I am ready for the light side to come out and play more often.

I won't go into much detail right now, but let me just say (let it be known! hear ye! hear ye!) that the "situation" with the kiddos upstairs has significantly improved. It had been such a huge burden and now it is a huge relief. I am amazed at the power one conversation can have -- and I've been reminded yet again how avoiding things never ever turns out well -- I mean, unless you are avoiding a shark or something. You should probably avoid sharks. And the bird flu. And large birds, especially when they have sharp beaks. It would be best to avoid acquaintances in grocery stores and to avoid grocery stores around 5pm and liquor stores around December 31st and any store that advertises modest being the hottest and stores in general. Except general stores. I like general stores. They are so old timey and quaint. I always half expect to see a horse and carriage out front and maybe even a shoe shiner. Shine my shoes, win my heart.

Anyway, I vow to not be such a passive aggressive shithead who avoids the uncomfortable. Guess what? It will only remain uncomfortable (and usually get much worse) if you remain stagnant and do nothing about whatever it is that you are avoiding. And here's a secret -- most things/people/places are not as bad as you imagine them to be. Congratulations! You have an overactive imagination! It may end up disrupting your life if you let it! Don't let it! Write stories instead of avoiding situations! Make that weird imagination of yours work in your favor.

WORK. I must work now. I must not avoid it. I must untie my horse and head into town. Hope I don't run into any sharks.

larynx shmarynx

Quick! Someone make plans with me so I can cancel with a LEGIT excuse and not feel waves of guilt! My excuse is that I have laryngitis. It is the truth, too! Isn't it great? Hey, I may even call in sick to work tomorrow and then just chill the frick out, drinking honey tea and coloring one million mandalas. Last time I had an inflammation of the larynx, I was at the Happiest Place on Earth with the Lamest Rich Children Ever. I shall not say which famous politician was the grandfather to these children, but some of you already know. Who cares, doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am under no obligation to hang out with one single soul for at least the next two days! Hoooooray!

Work is a little bit better. It's calmer. Calm is, in the long run, better than chaos. My roommates, however, are still a pain my cute, nicely shaped ass. They sneak into my damn bathroom while I am away at damn work and use my damn toilet and damn shower and who the damn knows what else. What really gets my goat is that they are sneaky about it. It's creepy. But not the good kind of creepy. I am thinking of being the good kind of creepy and leaving doll heads hanging from my bathroom ceiling and riddles written in fake blood in the shower so that the next time the upstairs goofballs get the goofy idea that they want to be highly disrespectful and march into my bathroom, they will be shocked! Horrified! On the verge of vomiting! But vomiting in their toilet -- you know, the toilet that they are supposed to be using and which I would never even think of using. Because I am polite. Because I know better. Because I'd rather look into the soulless eyes of a doll while I urinate thankyouverymuch.

Five minutes until I have to wrap up this post and go to my job where I feel like a nameless peasant. Rich people, man! They have boring kids (but not the ones at my school, just the ones who have politician grandfathers) no desire to acknowledge you if you aren't a member of their exclusive country club. Nice feelings. Three minutes! Do you think three minutes is enough time for me to rip the heads off of some dolls and dangle them from some chains attached to the ceiling? Probably. It's at least worth trying. Have a spooky, inflamed larynx Wednesday!

blanket

It will take too long to explain and probably won't make much sense, but trust me when I say that things are topsy turvy for me at work. In short, the director of the school had me switch places with a coworker because I am CPR certified and she is not. My duties now are easier, but lonelier. Naturally I grew attached to the children I had been working with and now -- poof. They are gone. They were sincerely my pals and I loved spending an hour a day with them. And to be honest, they loved me a shit ton. I do not believe the director made a wise decision and I am hella struggling with the change. If you've been a faithful reader of this roller coaster of a blog, you know that change is a weeeee bit difficult for me, especially sudden, unforeseen changes. But but but (butt butt butt), it will be okay. I am not terribly distraught, although it has been taking up a majority of my thoughts (and dreams). I may have to get way out of my comfort zone and even tell the director my honest feelings about the change. Or maybe I'll just quit and disappear into the desert with nothing but a notebook, pen, and sunbutter an jam sandwich.

I didn't want to write about my job. I wanted to write about my eating disorder and my current struggles. But I wasn't prepared to dive into that rather heavy subject in the 15 minutes I have given myself to write. So I will put that off for another day. I will say, however, that I am in a much better spot than I have been in quite some time. When I say "current struggles," I mean that I am making healthy changes and am having to confront ED head on. That is a struggle and always will be. I am not a confrontational person -- and confronting something that has been a security blanket (a security blanket that ends up suffocating me, of course) for over two decades ain't a walk in the park. But I am strong.

I think I'll end this post here. I know there are more things I want to discuss, such as MY BIG PLANS TO BECOME A FARMER and WHY I LOVE CRYSTALS SO MUCH and HOW BADLY MY CHAKRAS ARE BLOCKED (someone call the chakra plumber), but I will wait to write because... Just because. Sometimes I don't need to explain everything. Sometimes "just because" is enough just because.

eeeeeeee

white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise white noise

Great, great book. And also totally necessary in this sad-cave-of-an-apartment. I can't wait for the day when I'm not buggin' y'all with my housing complaints. The day is coming, I promise. In the meantime, I'll crank up my public radio to drown out the cacophony upstairs and google spells on how to get rid of my bad attitude.

Okay, I wrote the above on Saturday when it was, naturally, a bit too loud for my liking upstairs. I'm in a less bitchy mood right now because a) it is quiet and b) I've decided to be less bitchy. Yes, as it turns out, I have no control over what the folks upstairs (or anywhere eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee else) do, but I have quite a bit of control over my own actions and reactions. By the way, that train of Es was from me cleaning the jam off of my E key. Now you know. Now you know that I absolutely eat while on the computer. Who doesn't? Just people with kitchen tables and families.

My slightly more positive attitude about my living situation does not mean that I won't still look for another place. I will. And I have. And I need to make some phone calls first. It's kind of a bummer because I really do like this area. I'm close to lotsa cool places, specifically CRYSTAL SHOPS and MAGICAL PARKS WITH MAGICAL CREEKS AND MAGICAL ROCK AND EVEN THE OCCASIONAL MAGICAL SNAKES. Maybe I can stay close to this area. There is a home two streets over for rent. Could I handle having roommates? Probably, if they were quieter and had jobs and let me live in a room with a lot of natural light. But ideally I want a cat and a ghost to be my only roommate.

WHY ARE YOU STILL READING THIS. I just reread what I wrote and my oh my this all belongs in a private journal, not online. It's just me blah blahing, saying the same old junk that probably doesn't matter all that much to you. As I've mentioned before, I might need to find a theme for this blog aside from petty complaints and dick jokes. Fine, I haven't made any dick jokes, but that doesn't mean that I'm above such jokes. It just means that the opportunity has yet to present itself. But it will. I can promise you that, wiener face.

Well, me and my sunnnnnnnnny (more jam) attitude must be on our way to work. Isn't it cool that I work at two private schools with a bunch of rich kids who will never know the joys of stealing packets of ketchup from a fast food establishment in order to make tomato soup over a fire they built in a trash can outside of said fast food establishment? They, in their tiny Patagonia down jackets, are missing the hell out.

budget

Here I am, rushing around so that I will have enough time to write before I have to go back to work, but when I sit down to write, I draw a blank. I don't literally draw a blank because I can't draw so well. <--- Not my best joke. Anyway, I do not want to make this blog just a place where I come to complain about roommates, coworkers, construction, and noise. Should I have a theme? Blogs have themes, huh? I tried that out back in my vegan days. You know, a vegan blog. I had pictures and recipes and la-dee-da look at me. Now my blog seems to simply be a dumping ground for my dumpy (and sometimes brilliant) thoughts. And I guess that's alright.

I remind myself and everyone else on a daily basis that I am 31 and old. Old is okay. Crones are old and I love crones. Speaking of crones, I want to buy a cape and a broom and most definitely a black cat. I need to save up some money first. Being an elderly woman, I should know how to budget my money. (Isn't "budget" a dumpy word? It must be the "-dge" sound.) Hmmm. Now I'm figuratively drawing a blank again. Interesting how I have no problem writing when I am complaining or eating a vegan diet. Guess I should grab a block of tofu and start bitching.

Quick mind dump: I want to be a farmer, why are saltines so perfect, I call saltines "salt crackers" and yellow lights "orange lights" and socks "foot puppets," I will be eating soup in less than 20 minutes, it's free soup, it's soup at work, we get free meals, I am using commas incorrectly and it might be driving some of you loonies looney, is using the word "looney" not PC, it's been about a decade since I've had a hard shelled taco, I have to go now, I will write more later, I can't make any promises, I can't budget my money.

lavatory

I am going to tell you some things you may not know. Because that's why you've come here, yes? To learn. To expand your mind. To see the seeds of knowledge sprout and grow. Reap what you sow. Just "sow" you know, I am not going to be telling you anything you didn't already know. All of life's wisdom is already within you. You are god. You are GOD. You are also a lucky bastard/bitch/bitchy bastard if you have showered today, which brings me to my first nugget of knowledge...

Did you know that having running water is a luxury? I didn't know this until about 20 minutes ago when one of those camo men from a few posts back informed a very-sweaty-from-the-gym me that my water has been shut off. Should be on in half in hour! he said, confidently. Well, sir, you may be confident about the water being turned back on, but I'm sure not. I've been fooled in the past! I've had my fair share of disappoints when it comes to showers and sinks. May this whole house go to hell -- after I move out, of course.

Second whisper of wisdom: Cats are magickal and you know it and stop denying it. And yes, "magickal" with a k. Dumb superstitions started by a bunch of losers have stuck around and have made it so black cats are the least adopted at shelters. It's a shame. Like I said, cats are magickal, especially black ones. Back in the day, black cats actually used to be a sign of good luck. Imagine that? I wonder if male black cats can hold the priesthood. More like PURR-iesthood. Anyway, I have this black sweater next to my bed that I like to pretend is a cat at night. I'm lonely, okay?

Third, and final (FOR NOW), trinket of truth: Brown lipstick looks real good on me. REAL good. Gives me a bit of attitude/cattitude as well. I don't know why, but it does. This is the most important truth that I could ever tell you, to be honest. Honesty is my top priority after finding some way to take a shower with no water. So far I've only come up with wiping my body down with Handiwipes and dousing myself with perfume. Maybe I can rub some dryer sheets under my pits. I'm a monster.

PURR-iesthood. Yeah, that was genius.

centaur, part 1

Yes, the troll is back. Yes, the construction workers are attempting a peace treaty with said troll. Yes, it looks promising, but as history has shown, anything -- especially the unexpected -- can happen. Maybe I will fall in love with the troll? Maybe my kiss will transform the troll into Tilda Swinton or Jonathan Taylor Thomas and we can jump onto the back of a centaur or whatever and ride of into the sunset/towards Del Taco. Look, they've got a decent bean and cheese for chump change.

So anyway, I am writing this on my phone right now. Like, not ACTUALLY writing directly on my phone screen -- I am typing it in an email to myself because my computer decided at the worst time to be a damn troll and begin an hour-long update. At least an hour. LOOK, this girl doesn't have an hour! In fact, I have less than 9 minutes before I have to hop on my centaur and go back to work. Eight minutes now. Wonderful.

If a slow computer and a magical troll are the only two things I have to worry about, then goshdammit, my life is pretty wonderful. Except I have more things to worry about, which means I will avoid thinking about or dealing with any of them until it gets to the point where it's impossible to not address whatever the issue may be. I will then realize for the millionth time that, "Oh! So it turns out it WASN'T that bad. Huh. Wish I would have dealt with it way earlier." How fun, these self-destructive patterns are. Shrug shoulders. Shrug shoulders forever and ever until I develop neck pain.

Oh cool. My computer is starting right when I have to warm up the centaur. Great timing, Universe! JK, whatever. It is what it is. Footprints in the sand. God don't make no junk. Please wait while your computer updates. Ad infinitum.

Writing a blog post on my phone is sorta tricky. I really wanted to talk about self-compassion and how I'm beginning to like myself way more. But now I have no time! This post took a nosedive from the very beginning. Would you forgive me if I end this with a cute photo of me and then a cute photo of a cat? Thank you. Thank you for your patience, forgiveness, and tips on how to properly wash a centaur. Stay tuned for part 2.

camouflage

There are a trillion -- or at least 3-7 -- things I wish to discuss, but I am "hella" distracted. There are three men in University of Utah beanies and camouflage jackets digging right outside my window. All I see is dirt. Dirt and school spirit. What is going on? Why are they doing this? Who did I offend? I must have pissed off (that's French for "offended") someone at some point and they said, "You know what? I'm going to send three men in beanies and oddly attractive camouflage jackets to your house riiiiight when you want to start writing. It will be a distraction! You will not remember the 3-7 things you wish to discuss! I hate you, but I also love you so much. Please marry me. I will make this up to you." Well, guess what? I don't feel like getting married, especially not to such a reactionary person.

Anyway. My apartment. I know I've been meaning to discuss/vent about that. In no way has my new home exceeded my expectations. In fact, it has helped me to cry myself asleep on a handful of occasions. I've also had to pound on the ceiling when the video games upstairs get too loud (at least 6 nights a week), so that's fun. At least I'm becoming more assertive? And used to the showers at the gym. Have I mentioned that I have to shower at the gym a lot? Because there is a troll living under the house or something and he (she? they?) keep messing with the pipes. Ohhhh... So maybe that's what these three handsome camouflaged gentlemen are doing... They are fixing the pipes? Making a deal with the troll? Answering three riddles? Trolls don't ask riddles, it's wizards. Trolls trick people. And clog shower drains.

Okay, I'm beginning to remember the 3-7 things I wish to discuss. That's what happens when you chill out and ignore the troll outside your window. I wish to discuss my coworkers. OH BUT I CAN'T. I mean, I can, but I shouldn't. Not that they read my blog... Yes, I did post a link to this creepy blog on my Facebook, and yes, I am Facebook pals with most of my coworkers, but let it be known that they do not give one shit about me. If any of them read this blog, I promise to donate 3-7 trillion dollars to Trump's campaign. Hey, coworkers, wanna make America great again? Read my blog.

As always, I wish to discuss food issues and body image issues and issues about having issues. It is, and forever will be, an ongoing battle. Where is my sword? Would a sword even help? Maybe I need a troll. A troll to trick my eating disorder into disappearing without a trace. Things have been better, though. I am beginning to replace some of my negative habits, routines, and thoughts with slightly more productive and healthy activities, such as writing and buying a crap ton of crystals. Right on, Meggie. Keep it up.

Okay, so I have sort of discussed three things. That's good enough for now. It has to be good enough for now because I have to go back to work. My coworkers at Rowland are all pretty topnotch, even if they fail to read this fantastic masterpiece blog. That's alright, I'll forgive you... But only if you can answer these three riddles...

floodgates

THE FLOODGATES ARE OPEN.

Hi! Hello! WHERE THE FUCK DID I GO?!?! Pardon my French, Mama. Excusez-moi. But I have French in my blood and in my bones and in my skin and in my mouth, so the occasional F bomb will be dropped. Enough about bombs. More about ME.

I have about five minutes to write. To type. To let the water flood this great land of the Internet. Does anyone still read this? Did you check it occasionally a few months ago and then gave up after you saw a couple of tumbleweeds and heard a few crickets? Well, come back. If you want. I'd love to have you. I'd love to have me. I'm glad I'm back. BECAUSE I AM.

Transitions, as it turns out, are not the easiest for this creep. I say "creep" lovingly, by the way. PS. FYI. It has taken me weeks and weeks and weeks to go from a pile of confusion, anger, and fear to a pile of acceptance. I am a creepy pile who accepts and sometimes even welcomes the challenges that have arisen from moving out on my own. Cool, huh? Way cool.

It has become apparent that maybe my writing has suffered a bit over these past couple of months. That's to be expected and I accept it. I don't quite welcome it, but I will welcome the opportunity I've given myself to write daily. Here's a real step forward: I've cut down my exercise routine in order to fit in some much needed writing time. Pat on the back. Excusez-moi -- pat on the fucking back.

I'm finally finally finally beginning to realize that I have control over who I am, where I want to go, and how I wish to feel. It's nothing more than a switch of perspective... And maybe a few purified crystals and bundles of blue sage.

I will keep this up -- my improved attitude and my daily blogging. BLOGGING is a silly word, yes? I wonder what the French word is for blogging... Well, Google just told me it is "le blogging," which I fully believe. The "le" makes a difference. The le gives it an air of sophistication. Plan on checking this le blog daily, you creeps. You lovely, lovely, magikal creeps.