Friday, September 23, 2016


Hey! Guess which restless neurotic foggy blogger is actually sitting down right now! And in a fairly okay mood! And running off of the fuel that food has given to her as opposed to fumes and caffeine? THIS foggy neurotic! Give me a medal! Give me a sucker! Give me a pat on the bag and a bucket of ice to chew and a gallon of hot tea to drink and a yurt. Please give me a yurt. My restless neurotic foggy blogging soul yearns for a yurt; always has, always will.

Yesterday I was a MONSTER. I don't know what in the world brought out my worst side aside from, sure, lack of sleep (but that's nothing new!!!) and Mercury. Yes, Mercury. Mercury in retrograde to be exact. I'm not exactly sure what any of that means, but I am 100% willing to place the blame on anything or anyone if it means protecting my precious ego and sense of self. Is "sense of self" synonymous with ego? Aren't the ego and the self the same thing? Why do I get hungry for frozen waffles anytime I type "ego"?

Today, thankfully, Mercury is going in the right direction and so am I. Well, I'm not necessarily going in any direction, but at least I'm not spiraling downward like I was a mere 24 hours ago. I believe a part of my not-horrifically-horrible mood today is due in part to the fact that I was BRAVE and went to the doctor's to get my blood checked. I also got a flu shot, which is almost as good as getting free frozen waffles. I was productive, I took care of errands, I did not stay holed up in my head all morning or afternoon. I will, however, stay super holed up in my brilliant head tonight because that's just what I like to do on Friday nights. That and defrost waffles.

The weather. The weather is also perfect. It's the right amount of rain and the right amount of chill and the right amount of fall. Bundle up a little, grab your stupid umbrella, and head out the door. Pretend you are in Portland walking to a local coffee shop in a gentrified neighborhood. Pretend you are going there to sip your skinny chai tea latte with organic unsweetened cashew milk while you write character sketches in your Moleskine for that screenplay/masterpiece you've been working on since graduating with an English degree over six years ago. Pretend you are going to sell that screenplay and make your millions and make your mark on the world by being the first screenwriter to win both an Oscar and a National Book Award and a Nobel Peace Prize and the New York Marathon. Pretend you are glowing. Pretend you are the muse. Pretend you are invincible and visible and on the verge of levitating. You are it. You are what we've been waiting for. You are glad you grabbed your umbrella.

Now where was I? Oh right. I was and still am right here. I have to remind myself of this every 45 seconds or so. Hey! Meg! You! Are! Here! Got it, thanks. I made a note of it in my Moleskine. Maybe you should, too. Maybe we should hug, eat waffles, and worship Mercury together. Think about it and get back to me. <3

Monday, September 19, 2016


Hi everyone! I've wanted to write for the past few days, but I stop before I even start because I hold myself to such impossible standards. Lower your standards, Meg! Lower your standards and up the iron in your diet. Lower the stress and up the, uh, fun? Yeah. Fun. Lower your eyes and up your chances of not slipping on a banana peel. I could continue with this lower/up thing all day, but I won't. I won't because I have some strawberries that need washing and nails that need filing and trees that need hugging. In other words, I'm too busy to entertain obsessions.

I am not sure I have anything new to say today. I suppose I always have something new to say -- we all do -- but it takes too much self-reflection and careful thought to come up with these new things. So that leaves me with... old things? Old things to talk about? Old isn't the right word. The more appropriate word would be constant. Constant things. They are the things (and people) (and places) (and probably poor ideas) that occupy most of the space in my wonderful, weary head. The constants are: food, my life's purpose, food, the eternal search for my origins, breakfast/lunch/dinner/snacks/food, books, Buddhism, burritos and/or virtually anything edible.

See. Nothing new. I've written it all before. What a chore. A chore to read, a chore to write, I joke IT'S NOT A CHORE. It just rhymed. I'm not a fan of rhymes, though. I dunno. They just seem kinda cheesy and forced. Mmmm. Cheesy. Mmmm. Forced cheese. Mmmmaybe I should go eat.

Eating has been rewarding yet challenging lately, I must admit. That's to be expected, but that doesn't make it any easier. Still, I have to eat in order to think, and, funny enough, in order to survive. So I think I'll keep it up. I have to learn how to stop fixating on food, though. The interest in and excitement for food and cooking is very welcomed, but I also want to learn how to simply make and eat a meal and then move on to other things. I guess I need a job/hobby/spouse/family/dog/cat/crossword puzzle. I guess I just need to be open.

This isn't complete. I had more to say, more to write, more to reveal. But I am tired and I want to eat a salad and I want to publish this now so that later I will feel like I accomplished something today. Okay! Okay.

Thursday, September 15, 2016


Guess which neurotic blogger just sat outside for a few golden minutes? If you guessed this neurotic blogger, you'd be mostly right except I don't consider myself a blogger. And I'm probably not as neurotic as I think. Or am I?!?! I don't know! I feel so unstable, unbalanced, maladjusted! Okay, kidding. For the most part. For the most part I feel fairly balanced these days, whatever "balanced" means. To me balanced means occasionally sitting outside instead of compulsively walking for hours. It means eating a burger for lunch instead of three trays of ice cubes. It means saying "okay sure fine I guess so" to a situation instead of a firm and unwavering "NO WAY NOT A CHANCE, BUD." It means learning to fill up the glass at least a little when it has been bone dry for decades. It means those things and probably more, which I'll have to discover on my own.

Today I have felt like a robot. I guess I have to feel like a robot in order to balance out the vibrant and totally alive version of me yesterday. I don't think I "have" to feel this way, though. I just do. And that's okay, so long as Robot Meg doesn't stay too long. I don't even want her to visit, necessarily. She can stop by and stand on the welcome mat for a few minutes, but that's it. I do not want any robots to feel too comfortable in whatever house this is that I occupy.

Ways to say goodbye to Robot Meg:
*Eat. I mean, come on. It's almost an instantaneous way to shoo any and all robots. You've tried it before and it worked marvelously. Keep trying it.
*Sleep. Copy/paste what I wrote about eating here.
*Stay hydrated. Go drink a glass of water. Now. Like, right now now. Not in-five-minutes now. Good job.
*Don't forget how vital it is for you to remain connected to and in awe of nature.
*In-person contact with persons, preferably persons you enjoy being around. Be around people. Occasionally. Hermits sometimes take on the shape of robots, FYI.

FYI, I gotta get back outside. My bones call for it. Thanks for listening.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016


I believe burgers turn me manic. Or at least the hamburger I had today (!!!) seems to have had a strange and mostly welcome effect on my mood and body. I guess that's what food does. Food kinda, you know, gives us fuel. Who knew? Apparently I didn't for 15+ years. Has it been 15 years since I first failed to remember the purpose of food? Longer? I am going to go ahead and say longer. I'm older than I realize. There have been a lot of realizations happening in my life lately, no? Yes.

Yes. Yes is a word and an action I will start saying and doing more of now. Mostly because I need to balance out all of the nos I've allowed to pile up in my life. (I guess if there's clutter, I should discard instead of balance... But maybe the yeses are housekeepers of my life? Imagine whatever I am writing right now makes sense. You'll be doing both of us a favor.)

I will say YES to the following:

*Food. Just any and all food right now. I cannot place restrictions or limits on my food choices right now until I have developed a healthy relationship to food. I have to put a stop to the food police -- in fact, it would be best if I just shut down the entire food police department. Can one seemingly quiet girl take down an entire institution? Yes. Just watch me.

*Travel. I didn't quite grasp how much of a grasp my eating disorder had on me and virtually every decision in my life I made until very recently. Bummer. It has prevented me from taking chances, from being spontaneous, from going and seeing and doing and, well, living. I ask myself what I would do if I didn't have an ED and one of the first things I think of is travel. Travel to places that might not have a Planet Fitness, places that might have rich, decadent dishes, places that might (and should) shake up my schedule and throw me headfirst into new situations. So yes, buy me that train ticket and get me outta town and outta this suffocating comfort zone.

*Relationships. Now let me be clear that I'm not talking exclusively of romantic relationships. In fact, at this point I'd rather develop strong, solid friendships before I jump into that blackhole world of dating. No longer will I isolate myself in a rigid world of pointless rituals and harmful habits. Humans need interaction with other humans in order to, well, survive. And I'm totally all about surviving these days.

OKAY! MUST GO OUTSIDE! I end every post in a panic about getting outside. I realize this. I will also not apologize for this.


Tuesday, September 13, 2016


I am distracted by the clouds. Of course I am. I always am. If anyone ever wants to rob me, just show up with some clouds and I'll be totally unaware of you rifling through my drawers, searching for my pearls. Well, guess what, bozo? I don't own any pearls! That's right! Despite the title of this struggling blog, I am not the owner of any fog or of any pearls or of anything of value except for my dignity. I still have my dignity while you are nothing but a lying thief. Thanks for the clouds, though! They are a perfect distraction for my spotless mind.

As I wasn't saying, the clouds are bringing the rain. (The first book I ever read on my own was Bringing the Rain to Kapiti Plain. Reading it was nothing short of a transformative, magical experience. The world -- or maybe another world -- opened up.) It's going to rain any second, I just know it. I don't know it, I suppose, but I feel it. And my feelings are usually just as good as knowledge. I gotta remember that. I always forget my intuition is nearly infallible.

Weather always has a strange effect on my mood. Sometimes on my joints, but mostly on my mood. A lot of people claim this, right? Is it true or just a convenient way to place blame on bizarre behavior and scattered thoughts? Who knows. Someone knows. Maybe that someone is the wind and the answer blew past me. I failed to notice because I was too busy looking down at photos of clouds on my phone. Make a note to be more present, more aware, more disconnected in order to be more connected next time. Noted.

I am headed outside. Of course I am. I am always headed outside. If anyone ever wants to rob me, just show up with the door open wide and I'll totally flee, leaving you to see the pearls that are not there while the fog creeps in to play with your hair.

Monday, September 12, 2016


I am writing this during the time of the day when I feel like a zombie, so just a heads up. I realize I don't have to write right now or ever, but I am such a brainless zombie that I can't think of a single other thing to do. Read a book! No, not right now, I've been reading all day (which might explain my tired brain). Take a walk! I will, I will, relax. I just need to, well, relax for a minute or 37. Clean! Shop! Volunteer! Eat! Oh yeah, eat. Remember that? I do remember that and I did do that and I bet a big part of why I am tired is that I am constantly thinking about eating disorders and complications from eating disorders and recovery from eating disorders and possibly writing a memoir about my experience with eating disorders and I juuuust need a break. My thoughts want to be occupied by something, anything, else. Or better yet, let me get rid of all thoughts. Let me watch them float by like leaves on water, like white balloons freed from their string and blending in with the clouds. Let me let go and discover the vastness below.

So. Happy Monday.

And it is a happy Monday! Or just a regular Monday. Nothing entirely new, nothing entirely old, nothing entirely anything. Everything seems to be a mix of this and that and that's the way I think I like it. It's nice to not live in a black and white world. It's nice to open up the door and see color.

I just looked down at my hand and saw red marks all over. I had about 15 seconds of confusion and panic (often the same thing) where I thought I had developed a mysterious rash and now it was spreading and now I was dying and now I was really turning into the zombie I jokingly claimed to be earlier in this post. And then I remembered I had put on red lipstick a few hours ago and had since mindlessly wiped my mouth. I bet the red streaks are not only on my hand, but on my face. And whatever.

I might still be living in a black and white world. A self-imposed black and white world. I write of walks and skies and openness, but sometimes I think I live through my words rather than let the words sink in and spark some sort of action. In other words, there are other words I could use to describe how I actually live day-to-day, but I don't use them. I use what appeals to me, what I aspire to be, what I currently am not.

AM I MAKING SENSE?! I momentarily thought my brain had returned, but now I think it is still out to lunch. Lunch. Ah. Lunch. I had a peach today, it was so ripe. It was on the brink of being overripe, of becoming a rotten mess, but I saved it. I saved it by savoring it, by devouring it, by making it disappear like the magician that I am.

Sunday, September 11, 2016


Well well well, guess what the cat dragged in? Or rather, who the cat dragged in. Answer: Me. The cat dragged me in. And who is this cat? This cat is also me. I dragged myself in. In from where? I am not sure. Why are you asking so many questions? I don't know, maybe because I don't quite comprehend what you are trying to say. What I'm trying to say is that I have been gone from this blog for awhile and now I am back. That's all. That's all I was trying to say, that's all I'm ever trying to say. I try, I fail.

Hi! I'm back! Where did I go? (I promise to stop asking myself questions, maybe. I maybe promise. I can't promise.) I was back in Jackson for another week, but this time to vacay, not to daub the shit out of an old cabin for 16+ hours. I'll probably save all of my thoughts and feelings about the trip for my dear diary, a diary which I do not keep but should. I should keep and do and say a lot of things that I don't. Don't we all? Yes.

To sum up the week, it was good. There were rough patches, which is to be expected on any vacation, but overall it was seven days of purrrrfect weather, satisfying hikes, one hundred thousand moose, wandering conversations about philosophy and aliens and wormholes and ghosts. It was also a week of challenging and rewarding meals. The meals actually meant a lot to me, more than I'm willing to admit to some people (but I am totally willing to admit it to THE WORLD! Here on the WORLD WIDE WEB!!!). I ate a burger. A big one. One that came with a knife stabbed into the center. I ate a sandwich. A very big one. One that came with one hundred thousand pounds of turkey and avocado and a day of diarrhea. But it was so worth it. I almost had a bagel and was way pumped up about it, but plans fell through. That's okay, though. Plans fall, bagels bail, I survive. And I want to keep surviving. And thriving. And this means I gotta keep on eating meals like I did on my unintentionally moose-themed trip to the Big Tits. You know what, this is mission I can accomplish -- especially if it comes with extra guacamole.

I have been back for less than 24 hours and I am still adjusting. The transition from vacation mode to regular everyday same old same old mode is always a bit rough. So to help ease these transition, I am going to go outside and search for some moose. Orem has free roaming moose, right? I guess I'll find out.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016


My job is my blog. Not really. I can't even imagine being paid to write. I know I should imagine that because sometimes writing feels like the only thing in which I am competent, but I don't. Recently I've been "blessed" with a bunch of flashbacks from the two jobs I had last year in Salt Lake. They were good jobs. They were probably the best jobs overall that I've ever had. Buuut -- I kinda blew it at both of them. I won't go into the details of what happened or why or how or who or any of that. Nothing scandalous happened, unfortunately, so it's not that exciting of a story. Basically I think the winter and the shitassdumbasfuuu (sorry, mom!) apartment I lived in and the somewhat self-imposed isolation did me in. It kinda broke me mentally. Physically I was doing alright, which is odd because stressful situations like that usually trigger my eating disorder and other self-destructive behavior, but nope. (I did, however, have nasty colds constantly, but I blame that on being around those germ bags known as "children.") Anyway, I don't really know what I want to say except that now I feel like I would be much better employee and coworker and teacher -- not so closed off, more productive, friendlier. I dunno. I guess there's no point in wishing there was a time machine I could jump into. I guess all that I really can do is that whole "learn from the past" thing. Okay, okay.

I think it would be wise of me to, you know, work again. Preferably at a place that pays me money solely due to the fact that I am a consumer in a capitalist society and kinda sorta totally need that abstract thing we call money in order to do that thing we call survive. But more importantly than surviving is being able to connect with other people. Even stupid coworkers and the dumdum public. I've been on my own sabbatical-of-sorts for long enough and now I need to balance out all of this introvertedness with a few hours here and there of forced extrovertedness. Yes, I could just go hangout or join a club or something, but like I said I need the ca$h and the structure a job provides -- along with the satisfaction of productivity. I miiiight also be looking at everything through rose-tinted contact lenses. Jobs mostly suck, huh? Who would want one if they don't absolutely need it? I'm not sure what I need. I'm not sure I ever know what I need.

I probably need the open spaces of Wyoming again. Well, guess what, Meg?! You are in LUCK! You get those spaces in approximately two and a half days. Or two days? I can't think clearly, my brain is still trapped in the past. Anyway, I leave on Saturday. Damn. I have to pack. Maybe I can pretend like packing is my part-time job? And then I will pack with such precision and honesty. You don't want your packing to be done in a sloppy, shady manner, partner. No sir. Hmmm. I'll pack later. All I really need is a book and a journal and 17 flasks full of whiskey and probably my assless chaps and cowboy hat or whatever. Wyomin'!

I can tell I'm distracted by how lazy my writing became in that last paragraph. The fact that I ended it with "Wyomin'!" is proof enough that I've already checked out. I wanted to write about less snoozefest subjects, like the sea and sexuality, but I suppose my musings on such things will have to wait until after I locate that time machine and use it to return to the present. But for now I gotta clock in and make the boss proud. Employee of the week signing out.

Monday, August 29, 2016


Preface: I wrote most of this yesterday. Yesterday was Sunday. So when you come across the part where I say it is Sunday, just harken back to this preface.

I just heard what I thought was a school bus and terror filled my icy heart. (That would be a terrible first sentence of a book. Or of a blog post.) A school bus usually stops in front of our house around this time to drop off close to a thousand junior high creatures. It really is terrifying to li'l old terrified me. I don't know. Just the fact that there is a large unpredictable crowd of hormonal humans in close proximity to my body is not comforting. But guess what? Today is Sunday and if memory serves me correctly, kids don't go to school on God's day. So the only possible explanation for the sound of the school bus is that my neighborhood is being haunted by a ghost bus. This is very much okay with me!!!

What else is very much okay with me? I thought you'd never ask.

*Men's clothes. Okay. So. I forget sometimes and then remember that I prefer to wear men's clothing. Or at least androgynous clothing. (I am so pleased with myself that I spelled androgynous correctly on the FIRST try!) Basically, I want to be a blank slate. White shirt, black pants, sensible loafers. Or if I am in a more outdoorsy environment, give me flannel. All the flannel. Transform the skin I'm in into plaid.

*Eating lunch. Turns out eating lunch will make my stomach and mind feel better, if I let it. Sure, I my mind can also make my mind feel crummy about anything, and it often does. But I'm learning how to redirect my mind into a more positive pasture. Let my mind roam free in the meadow of contentment, in the valley of serenity, in the volcano of equanimity. I sincerely forgot what I was saying. Let me, well, harken back. Oh yes! Eating lunch! Redirecting the mind! Funny and super hard thing about eating disorders is that in order to overcome the fear of eating you have to eat and eat often. Your brain quite literally cannot function if you are in starvation mode. Once the brain starts getting the nutrition it needs, it starts to work again -- which is rad as hell and also hell. It's hell because when the fog lifts, you see things as they are -- no more hiding that head of yours in the sand! A plethora of emotions that you've suppressed for far too long also return. So yeah! It's a blast! But in the long run, I'd rather work through that gunk and learn how to deal with various aspects of life than hide and, well, die. My head's outta the sand and I'm ready for more sandwiches. And it feels very much okay.

*Tacos, stone fruit, solitude, gardens, the phrase "and monkeys might fly out of my butt," monkeys, butts, NOT monkey butts, live studio audiences, people raking leaves because it means they aren't using my #1 enemy the leaf blower, Winona Ryder, '90s nostalgia even though it KILLS me, denim, all denim, anything denim, properly functioning digestive systems, abandoned malls, recipes.

Today is not Sunday. Just a reminder. I'll talk to you tomorrow, which doesn't exist yet. Yesterday never existed, either. I have my doubts about the legitimacy of today, to be honest. Oh well. <3

Saturday, August 27, 2016


I am not sure right now is the best time to start writing. I feel sluggish and a little on edge. I was ON TOP OF MY GAME this morning, though. I have no idea where my overflowing cup of energy came from (note: not from a cup), but I had it and I used it alllll up. Now that cup is full of, like, three raindrops. Like. LIKE. LIKE ME!!! Accept me! Humor me! Backpack through Europe with me! But probably don't marry me because I think I want to be an eccentric old maid who wanders around abandoned parking lots feeding seagulls.

I think Saturdays in general just wear me out. Not that I'm out there doing any of the "traditional" Saturday activities, like mowing my lawn or ramming my shopping cart into whiny children at Target. (NOT that I would ever do that to a child, but I wouldn't hesitate to do that to their slack-jawed parents.) Maybe it's the pressure of the weekend that gets to me? The pressure to be both productive and relaxed, the pressure to be social and LIVE IT UP!!! The pressure to merely make it through the day without having a meltdown over the amount of activities going on outside. In other words, I don't do so well under pressure.

Except that's not entirely true. In certain areas of life I do extremely well under pressure. Examples: Writing papers in college, writing papers after college, writing in general. Maybe that's what's missing in my current writing life -- pressure. I need an outside source giving me assignments and deadlines. I get too comfortable and occasionally lost in my self-made schedules and routines. Sigh. I just need to get a damn job already.

Am I ready for a job? I feel like I am still recovering. I am still trying to heal and attend to my own needs before I take on the weight of "real" responsibility. For the love of... I sound so spoiled. I probably am so spoiled, at least when compared with a large chunk of the world's population. The current path I'm on seems to be occupied only by myself and I'm simply wandering around in a circle, distracted. I want my path to lead somewhere, I want to encounter other humans and creatures (and ideas and experiences and philosophies and perspectives and sounds and smells and tastes and) on this path. I need to be reminded the world is more than just a lonely dead end.

I am headed outside to, yes, look at the clouds, but also to walk to the library and see if I can find a book that tells me exactly what to do and how to do it. I'm joking, mostly. I am going to the library, but I realize that book doesn't exist. Books are guides, but they are not substitutes for living a life. I'm stuck. I'm not sure yet how to find my way out.

Friday, August 26, 2016


My fingers are sticking to the keyboard due to the perfect peach I made love to about an hour ago. Correction: I did not make love to it. Yet. The peach still needs to at least buy me dinner first.

Sometimes I wonder if I am a "better" writer when I am sufficiently nourished or when I am empty and amped up on stimulants. I probably think it's the latter, but all signs point to it being the former. But who knows. Maybe the amount of food (or lack thereof) in my system isn't the biggest factor in my aptitude as a writer. I do know, however, that food makes me a nicer human. And right now that's all I really desire.

That isn't true. I desire more than just being a decent human being. I desire, yes, figs. And donuts. I have never cared too much for the donut, yet for the past month or three I have been craving donuts. So why don't I just go out there and buy a donut? Many establishments sell donuts to the general public. I do not have to go to Jerusalem to purchase a donut. The answer is... I don't know. It's too spontaneous? Maybe I like the idea and dream of a donut more than the actual acquiring and consuming of said donut? My answers have become questions.

I desire a home in an open landscape where I have two roofs, one of which has surreal sunsets that feel like a personal gift to my soul. I desire a family in the distant future, a family made up of people or animals or who knows maybe both, all of whom I fiercely love and protect. I desire a way to make my nails grow strong -- and to just grow period. They have stopped growing and, as it turns out, fingernails are crucial when trying to open soda cans. Maybe quitting soda is a good first step on the path to perfect nails. Well, the first step should be eating food and then quitting soda. The order of things is so important.

I feel deficient in everything.

Do I sound melancholy in this post? I don't feel melancholy today. I feel centered and sorta focused and far less troubled by digestive woes. I am okay! I really am! I mean, TGIF, right?! My sweet mama is out of town, which means I have the condo alllll to myself. Friday night, house to myself... YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!!! It means I get to stay up watching nature documentaries alone with the volume turned up slightly louder than usual!!! I am legit excited. I desire this kind of Friday night.

I see the clouds moving around out there, out there in my not second, but first home. I should probably attend to those clouds right now. They need me, but not nearly as much as I need them.

Thursday, August 25, 2016


I have transformed into a rebel. I have started to do things that frighten me, which end up delighting me because HELL YEAH I JUST CONQUERED THAT FEAR. Sometimes I don't always conquer them, though. Sometimes I just quietly step over them and move on. These fears are small and subtle and sticky. They disguise themselves quite well at times, not even resembling the controlling fear that they essentially are. Bastards. Sneaky bastards. But as I've already mentioned, I am a rebel and the right kind of rebels always defeat the sneaky bastards. At least they do in my reality.

AND WE CREATE OUR OWN REALITY!!!!! WHAAAA?!?! It's true. I think it has something to do with black holes or quantum superposition or something. I dunno.

Here are a few people, places, and things on my mind:

*Figs. They are delicious and I love them and I think they are high in both iron and fiber and you know what? I don't think I've ever had a fresh fig. Where can I get a fresh fig around here? Do I have to go to Jerusalem to find a fresh fig? Because I will. I will go to Jerusalem for a fig.

*Madrid, New Mexico. According to a probably-super-reputable website, the teeny weeny former ghost town of Madrid is a hippie haven. I'll take it! Ghosts and hippies and the Land of Enchantment all in one location? If you tell me they have an abundance of fig trees, I will freak.

*Digestion problems. I SHALL NOT ELABORATE.

*Hair. My own hair. What do I do with it? Does it matter? Of course it doesn't matter, but at the same time it kind of matters. I feel like I could write a scholarly article on the importance of hair in various subcultures, but I won't. Anyway, I've gone back to perhaps foolishly parting my hair in the middle and although it's not my best look, it is definitely not my worst look. I'll settle for a comfortable middle ground with the middle part. For now.

And now it is time for me to step outside of my own neurotic thoughts and help other people. Turns out I kinda sorta totally like helping other people??? Especially if my various acts of selflessness are noticed and praised by millions. I kid! I kid!

Love you, fig heads.

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


I made the mistake of looking through my Instagram photos right before sitting down to write. It was a mistake because looking at old photos makes me kinda melancholy and leaves me momentarily trapped in the past. In other words, I am not fully present. But when am I ever fully present? I'll tell you when. When I am eating a peach. Peaches consume me, I do not consume peaches.

The fog of nostalgia is starting to lift a bit. Oh, did I say the fog of nostalgia? I clearly meant the fog and pearls of nostalgia. Name dropping my blog! The blog which you are reading right now! Awwww yeah! Hell yeah! Frick yeah! (My mom reads this blog, so I gots to keep it mostly PG-13. Gots? Gots. Gawts. Gahts. Ever remind yourself that language is a social construct and also a DEADLY WEAPON? I do. I do every minute of every day, even on the days when the fog and pearls are so thick I can't breath and pass out for an indeterminable amount of time.)

Should I get my college diploma professionally framed?

One thing I think when I look back on old pictures is daaaamn girl you were a babe. I was such a babe! And I gave my dumb dumb babe self such a rough time. I should have taken advantage of my youth and Baberaham Lincoln looks and married a billionaire with a dumb dumb yacht and a totally unnecessary private jet except it would be totally unnecessary because we'd use it to fly to Russia in the middle of the night to solve crimes and/or spy for the government. Wasted youth, wasted beauty, missed opportunities.

I don't want to get my college diploma professionally framed. I'm not even really sure where it is. I do, however, still want a graduation dinner at a fancy restaurant, dammit. Dam it. Dam this whole river! Our city needs electricity! (I don't know how we get electricity or where it comes from. It sometimes comes from dams, right? Don't correct me if I'm wrong. Allow me to live in the fog and pearls of my own delusions.)

Okay. OKAY. Okay, focus. I want to write nice things again. "Nice" meaning purposeful, linear, coherent. But I don't know where to start. I never know where to start. I can't come up with that one particular subject which will hold my attention for an extended period of time. I dunno. Sometimes I think I just don't care too much anymore about writing "seriously." Sometimes I think I just want to care about plants and rocks and lizards and moss and the direction of the wind and the way the day cracks open like an egg, spilling its yolk over the still mountain peaks.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016


A few interesting/crazy/sexy/cool things that have happened over the past day or month or decade or whatever:

*I may or may have purposely tipped over my neighbor's garbage can. Okay, it was not entirely on purpose, but it wasn't entirely not on purpose, either. And I believe my mom witnessed the whole thing from inside the house. Hi, mama! Sorry! But I picked the damn can back up. It's a long story. It's not worth telling. I have to start telling the stories that beg to be told. This particular story is doing the opposite of begging.

*A dude down the street skateboarded past me yesterday afternoon while I was on a walk. I was not in the best of moods. I felt weird. I felt fatigued and sweaty and thirsty and a little bit like a robot and just not super duper in the mood to have skateboard dude do a stupid trick on his skateboard, tell me I am beautiful, tell me (not ask! tell!) to give him my number, shook my hand twice (?), and I dunno, I zoned out the rest of the interaction. It was frustrating. It was frustrating because I did not know what to do in that situation. I am clearly not interested, so do I just tell him? Do I lie and say I have a boyfriend (or a girlfriend or a rabid dog that hates men or a warrant out for my arrest or leprosy)? Do I comply and later block his number? I did the latter. It just felt easier and safe, although it also felt like a defeat. I don't know what he would do if I said no. I don't want any kind of confrontation and, frankly, I didn't want to hurt his feelings (although blocking his number probably doesn't make him feel like a billion Bitcoins). I just wanted to keep walking, alone. Let's hurry up this uncomfortable situation, dude and be on our way. When I got home, I immediately started crying. I maaay have overreacted to the situation, but at the same time I am tired. I am tired of being a concept and/or an object and/or made to feel like I have to constantly be submissive and gentle and humble and eternally friendly and accommodating and passive and pretty and approachable and whatever else society decides I should -- have -- to be.

*I ate a nectarine.

*I began to seriously consider (again) getting my TESOL certificate. I gotta do something. I gotta do something because I am tired of talking and writing and thinking about doing something, but never actually, you know, doing that something. Whatever that "something" may be. I search and search and search for that something to the point of near-insanity. And it stops me. It stops me from doing much of anything. It's all thanks to overthinking. I have to start putting my brain on pause and start listening to that old heart of mine from time to time. And that time might be now. (So will I decide to teach overseas? Or go farming for a month on some groovy organic plot of land? Maybe work seasonally in a dear-to-my-soul national park? Who's to say? I guess I'm to say. And then once you say it, babe, do it.)

*I ate plantain. Well, I thought of eating plantain. Tonight might finally be the night I eat what I was thinking of eating. Eat your thoughts, wash it down with a cup of cognition, enjoy a slice of scrutiny for dessert.

Sunday, August 21, 2016


Yesterday I didn't write because I was sad, which is odd because sadness usually means I write way more, often words I soon regret once that li'l storm cloud passes. And it always passes, PS. Post Script. Except I am not in the post script part of my post. Or something. "Or something" is a good way to wipe the slate clean. Just say "or something" if you don't want to do anymore thinking or backtracking.

Backtracking. Take out the "tr" and throw in a "p" and that's exactly what I need to be doing soon. Not necessarily want to be doing, but need. Backpacking is a big old test to see if a) you can survive and b) prevent blisters. I like this test. "Like" might not be the write word. Any backpacking trip is immediately met with anxiety (because that seems to be how I meet anything/anyone in my life), but then stubbornness kicks in and I go, "Let's do this shit and let's do it right." Going on prolonged trips out there under the mostly unpredictable sky where you carry everything you need for your survival is a good way to cleanse the mind of all its petty gunk and to see what it is your need to see without any filters. Ideally. I (or perhaps my soul, if that is a thing and if that exists separate from the I) need this mental purification. Or at least a decent brain dusting and polishing. (Where to go and with whom and when and how and what and all of those are yet to be decided.)

HAPPY CHOCOLATE CAKE DAY!!! Or whatever. Or something. Chocolate cake is not my first choice. I want a Funfetti cake or an ice cream cake or even a German chocolate cake, but not just a basic chocolate cake. And if some bozo gives me a slice of chocolate cake I will FREAK OUT. Kidding! Geeez, I'll take any kind of cake -- who am I to be so picky? Eat your damn cake, Meg. (And also I love you, Meg.)

You know what? That paragraph on backtracking-minus-the-tr-add-the-p has sure distracted me. Now I just want to go outside, even though suburbia is slightly less thrilling than the Grand Canyon or whatever. Or something. Still, I planted that seed of being out in nature in my head and now it has turned into a ginormous redwood and the branches are sticking out of my ears. I have to take this crowded head outside and give it space to roam. The trivial things I was planning on writing will have to wait because I can't wait.

If you consistently read my blog, then you deserve a medal or a ribbon or a bow for your beautiful hair. You even deserve not just a slice of cake, but the whole thing. Or something.

Friday, August 19, 2016


Do you enjoy sitting down? Well, I have just the thing for you! It is called a chair and you can often find this object in many public and private spaces, both inside and outside. Some come with cushions, others come with arm rests, and there are even a few out there with built-in toilet chambers. And if you aren't sure if you enjoy sitting down, I can assure you that you do. You just have to try it once and you'll be sold. Chairs: In existence since at least the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt.

Hi! Good afternoon, happy Friday, and a very happy World Orangutan Day. I won't list what other holidays are today because there are too many and each one of them is pointless (except for Orangutan Day because maybe it raises money for wildlife conservation or whatever) and all of these meaningless holidays are just distracting us from something super scary. What is that super scary thing? I have no idea because I am too busy choosing the perfect filter for my perfect Instagram photo of a perfect s'more I made in celebration of National S'mores Day (which was August 10, but can also be every day if you want). I apologize, where was I? Oh yes. Hi!

Hello. I am in a much better spot today. That's a relief. It's also a bit of a bummer because if the pattern continues, tomorrow I will be back to being crummy. Every other day I am "in a better spot." Okay, life doesn't follow predictable patterns. Except sometimes it totally does. Look, I'm no scientist. Except sometimes I totally am. What I want to say is that I am attempting this whole "be aware of how you treat others, including yourself, and then adjust accordingly" thing. So far it's going alright! I mean, it's disheartening to realize just how often I react to others rather than respond, but self-examination was never meant to be easy. Worth it? I sure as hell hope so.

Other things I hope:
*I hope to have perfect vision one day. Someone shoot some lasers in my eyes already!
*I hope to visit Costa Rica and volunteer at a monkey orphanage and also learn how to swim and surf while I'm there and somehow become a world famous surfer with tons of endorsements that will essentially buy me my own monkey orphanage.
*I hope to get to a point in my life where I have enough money to go to the grocery store and not even worry about the cost of Cracklin' Oat Bran. Not that I desire to be a wealthy a$$ bitch, but not having to worry about every bitch a$$ penny would be rad.
*I hope I can start trusting myself again. Or maybe it's for the first time. Have I trusted myself for an extended period of time in the past? I sincerely do not know.

I DO know, however, that peacock feathers freak me out, apples should never be waxy, and all of the songs from the '90s will make me cry.

As I end this post, I challenge you to two things: One, trust yourself. Way more than you already do. Two, buy the dopest ass chair you can find and sit your adorable ass down and chill the eff out. It will feel amazing -- trust me.

Thursday, August 18, 2016


Webster's defines "opening sentence of a blog post" as "a line which is difficult to write so you resort to the embarrassing 'Webster's defines...' opening." Who is this Webster asshole anyway and what makes him assume he and Merriam are the experts on words? Okay, I just got back from doing a little research on Merriam and Webster and it turns out Merriam is not one person, but two brothers (George and Charles) and that Noah Webster was actually a kinda cool dude. He was opposed to slavery and a bit of a freethinker. A bit. But a bit is better than not at all. And why the hell am I going on and on about Merriam-Webster? Yet again, I've wasted both my time and yours.

"Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." The formerly all-knowing Internet credits that quote to about a billion different people, from Bertrand Russell to John Lennon. I'm sure somewhere someone credits it to Mr. Noah "Not an Asshole" Webster as well. I already wasted my time reading the Wikipedia pages for the Merriams and Webster, so NO WAY am I going to get to the bottom of this who-actually-said-it mystery. Not right now. I will later. Later when I am wide awake until 3am for no apparent reason, yet too drained to read a book or be "productive" in any way. Yes, I spend the hours while the rest of the world/house is sleeping in the deep abyss of screens. Is it possible to be in different abysses at the same time? I am lost in television while also lost in the Internet, both in an attempt to not get lost in head. Sometimes I need a break from being in my head. Sometimes I need to step out and step down into the abysses. Abyssi?

I actually did have an idea for something I wanted to write today. I wanted to write about how I feel so crummy. Not all the time, no. But the past few days I have just been feeling and acting crummy. Noah defines "crummy" as, well, I don't know how he defines it. But I define it as reacting over and over and over again to any slight or imagined trigger rather than calmly and mindfully responding to it. The reactions are never good, never helpful. Reactions are mere walls and armor where walls and armor are not needed. What's usually needed in these situations is space and openness and vulnerability. And compassion. Always, always compassion. I can't stress it enough just how vital compassion is to all of our lives. So I can't stress it enough, but do I live it enough? Or at all? Sometimes it doesn't seem like it. And for that I sincerely apologize.

Who am I apologizing to? I could list off at least three dozen names. But would my name be one of those dozens? Probably not. I am an afterthought to myself, which is probably the root of all this crumminess. Can one be simultaneously self-obsessed and self-loathing? Because that's how Webster would define me.

But I have the power to change this definition. All I have to do is write my own definition and paste it over the old one. Nothing in life is permanent, not even definitions, not even words, not even crummy feelings and crummy actions. Words and actions, however, hold consequences. I am beginning to sound like a moralistic asshole, so I'll stop. I don't feel as though I quite finished my thought(s), but that's okay -- it'll just give me something meaty to think about tonight before I select my abyss of choice. Thanks for listening/reading/scoffing. Wait, not scoffing. Stop scoffing. It's crummy. (But you aren't. You are more than okay. I promise.)