vanilla

I am really proud of my previous post! I put some effort into it! This post, however, will not be as thoughtful. It will just be full of thoughts. Sometimes the more thoughts one has, the less thoughtful they become. Lao Tzu Meg.

I smell. Like, stinky smell. Sweaty, post-gym stench. Funky, if you will. But I am postponing my shower to type up nonsense for the entire world to read. Well, most of the world. There are places in the world where the Internet is restricted or banned, yes? Look at me, Lao Tzu Meg who is also a professor of international relations. (I am not sure what international relations entails. Just, like, relationships with other nations? I'm a poet, okay? I'm not expected to be exactly smart.) In short, I'd rather spent my endorphin high on writing than on washing my body and shaving my legs. Shave my legs? Don't mind if I don't.

I purchased two Rockstars at the gym today because I am a maniac. The dude who rang me up went on to tell me how he had vanilla Coke last night at 9pm and was wide awake until 3 in the morning. The hell?! Maybe he meant that he had vanilla cocaine. Anyway, his tender wussiness was endearing. And I was, like, "I'll be blogging about this later, man!" Boy. He was not a man, but a boy. I will be the one to turn him into a man, ifyouknowwhatimean wink wink wink wink oh no there's something in my eye wink wink wink wink.

Rereading what I've written thus far, I'm beginning to think that I should spent this endorphin high studying international relations instead of writing. Why? I just typed "wink" eight times. Eight is a good number. It looks like the infinity symbol on its side. Or like the path of a figure skater. And if you divide eight by two, you get four and to me four is also a wonderful number because it means that each person has a partner. It's as if you are on a double date. But it's a double double date because there are eight of you, just figure skating your way to infinity and beyond. I am awesome. And maybe a savant???

Well, the endorphin high has petered out. Petered out! Hahahahaha. That sounds perverted. The endorphin high has whipped its peter out of its pants. SORRY, MOM. What I am trying to say is that a) I am proud of myself for not exhausting myself at the gym, thus giving me more happy chemicals in my brain and less depleted-of-all-energy sadness in my body, b) maybe I should try vanilla Coke to see if it has a magical, methamphetamine effect on me, and c) the odor of my body is not getting any better. In fact, it is getting progressively worse -- and at a rapid speed. I suppose it is time for me to end this thoughtful/thoughtless post here and get myself to a nunnery. (I refer to my shower as a nunnery.) (No, I don't.)

Smell ya later, lovers.

access

I always get this almost overwhelming urge to begin every post with, "It's a-me! Mario!" But I am not, last I checked, a squatty Italian plumber wearing blue overalls and sometimes a lab coat. What I wouldn't give to have blue overalls, though. They seem comfortable and practical, except for when you need to pee and LORD KNOWS I HAVE TO PEE OFTEN. Because I'm a girl! Shrug shoulders, lightly laugh while coyly avoiding eye contact (but apparently not adverbs). I could go on and on and on about Mario and the cultural importance of Nintendo, but I won't. And I won't even continue to write about my pea-sized bladder. Knowing that those are the two most fascinating subjects one could discuss, I suggest you stop wasting your time and stop reading.

Reading. I can tell I'm unemployed when my eyes have a difficult time focusing. (Is it my eyes doing the focusing or me? And what is this "me" I'm stuck with? Am I my eyes? Are my eyes me? Is Mario the apple of my eye? And do apples really have that much fiber?) My eyes become strained from all of the compulsive reading I do. Compulsive? I'd say so. Necessary? Definitely, although it isn't food or water or oxygen. Let's be real -- I could survive out in the Alaskan wilderness without a thick, pretentious book. So maybe it's not necessary. But it sure as hell feels like it.

Currently reading: The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol by Stephanie Meyer (psych), In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, and Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Barker. And okay okay okay, about a dozen other books. But these are the three I am focusing on right now and trying my damnedest to finish without abandoning them for something else that briefly catches my eye, which brings me to my next thought...

...I gotta stop starting and stopping people, places, and things. Specifically people. It's not that I have had any recent experiences with abandonment or heartbreak or what have you. I haven't. But when I'm not compulsively reading Russian short stories, true crime, or obscure coming-of-age tales, I am accidentally doing a lot of self-reflection. I can't help it. I can see now why people keep themselves busy -- so busy that they can't think about anything other than work/soccer practice/crafting/cooking elaborate meals/Mario Kart. I get it. Self-reflection is a doozy. Self-reflection is the flashlight with the just-a-little-too-bright beam. It reveals everything, both our triumphs and our tragedies.

My current self-reflection has focused in on my relationships, most of them failed. Or maybe not even failed; perhaps simply abandoned. I run away before anything with anyone can fully form. I see seeds being planted, but I never stick around for spring. I flee. Is it too easy to say that the reason I do this is because in the long run I want to be the one in control? The one who leaves rather than the one who is left? I think there's more to it than that -- we aren't two-dimensional characters (sometimes I think life would be easier if we were). But I think there's a lot of truth in saying that I let fear rule my choices and ultimately my life. Fear of the unknown, fear of unrestraint, fear of understanding the heart in all of its deep sadness and even deeper joy.

But now I'm bored. Or maybe I'm just more... Rational. Not to say that being rational means I am unemotional, but maybe it means I get less carried away with destructive emotions. Maybe I am ready to quiet down, to slow down, to open up. To be vulnerable. And isn't that what relationships and love are all about? Being raw, exposing oneself and one's heart to what may end up being despair, but could also end up in delight? Delight never lasts, but neither does despair. I think the chance is worth it.

WELL! This post took a serious turn! Started out with a Mario-themed stream-of-consciousness and ended with gooey love shit. Hey, that's a-me! A girl with strained eyes and a longing for love and overalls. Peace, sweethearts.

stuff

Three posts in one day? Unheard of! I might be writing so much because I am procrastinating other activities, all of which have to do with going through and organizing STUFF. It's incredible how much STUFF I own, stuff which ends up owning me. I am so profound! I have found my calling in life: Be profound on the Internet and also troll the hell out of losers on the Internet. Both of those callings are jokes. You see, I do this thing where I constantly joke. Just kidding just kidding just kidding. I want "just kidding just kidding just kidding ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" on my tombstone. I am actually very serious about this. In life I am either very serious or very JK. There will never be a happy medium with this girl -- unless you are talking about shirt sizes then yes, a happy medium is what I wear.

I was going to write a poetic post tonight. Vague, but relatable. Heartbreaking, but hopeful. Buuuut... That's a lot of pressure for someone whose brain clocked out about an hour ago. I keep meaning to write poetry and I keep putting it off until tomorrow. What if I just claim my blog posts are poetry? Prose poetry, obviously. That's the rad thing about creative endeavors -- you make up the rules. You can even spell rules "rulez" if you so wish. Random, but isn't it effed up that I had access to a hot tub and pool for over a year and only used them twice? Yeah, way effed up.

It's time for me to stop worrying about writing for tonight. The more I worry, the less fun I have. AND SATURDAY NIGHT'S ALL ABOUT HAVING LOADS OF FUN. Barrels of fun. Buckets of fun. Crates of fun. Cartons and Mason jars and cardboard boxes of fun. The amount of fun just waiting to be had on Saturday night is almost overwhelming. In fact, it worries me! I can't have fun because I am worried about having fun. Welcome to my brain. Welcome to the jungle. Welcome to ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

unpack

So it has been a few hours... Have I unpacked every single last box? Not on your life, buster. BUT there are still hours and hours ahead of us. Of me. Well, of us, but it's me who has to unpack the boxes. You are welcome to come over and help me if you wish, but I wish you wouldn't. Not that I don't like you (I do -- in fact, I secretly love you A LOT), I just don't like visitors. Unless the visitors are bringing me books, which happened today. Two books. I went on a book buying spree a week or so ago. Each day brings a new outlook and a new book. Today's books: Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker and Thunderstruck by Elizabeth McCracken. Anyway, bring me books and I'll bring you into my home.

I figured I can clean more if I break it up into chunks. Twenty minutes here, twenty minutes there. Clean, unpack, organize -- and then I can take a break and read my weird Russian novels. It makes so much sense! So that's three minutes cleaning, unpacking, and organizing followed by two-and-a-half hours reading. Duh.

I guess blogging isn't really "productive," although you could say (and please do) that blogging is basically just me cleaning, unpacking, and organizing the thoughts in my head. If that is the case, maybe some of my thoughts should stay in boxes.

What are you up to today? Are you allowing yourself to rest and relax while also taking care of errands and whatever else it is adults do to feel semi-productive and accomplished at the end of the day? I know some of you may have to work. Maybe a few of you are still asleep? If that's the case, that is crazy and you need to wake up right now. But seriously, is this what we do as adults? I am trying to be a human who can do things and who is not paralyzed by her inner critic/neuroses. To put it plainly, I am experimenting. I am trying on different hats, both literally and figuratively, and seeing which one looks best. To be completely honest, I look great in all hats, especially top hats and -- dare I admit it -- fedoras.

Well, time to stop trying on hats and unpacking my thoughts and get back to scrubbing toilets and dusting shelves and whatever else it is you adult people do. Long live Saturday. <--- Will not delete that last sentence, despite how pathetic it was. <--- Making decisions, not backing down, no apologies. <--- Right on.

war/peace

It has been confirmed to me through Twitter that a couple of people felt strange yesterday. I know I sure did. This may not be the most eloquently put, but DUDE THERE WERE SOME WEIRD ASS VIBES IN THE AIR. I honestly think it had something to do with the approaching storm. A good chunk of my afternoon and evening was spent pacing back and forth, reading Chekhov, screaming into various pillows, and chewing on ice. I did manage to make myself a sandwich at 10:30pm, which I ate, which made me feel better, which came as a surprise but shouldn't. Dear sweet Meggie, when will you fully realize that food = fuel and that humans need fuel and that you, dear, are a human, not an alien or a robot. (Well, you may be an alien, but I shall discuss that in a future post which will never be written.)

Anyway, weird vibes. Yesterday. Today? Much, much better vibes. Maybe it has something to do with my attitude? I've consciously decided to be in a more lighthearted mood today and, as simple as that sounds, I think it's working. Turns out simplicity and sandwiches really do work. Now that the storm is here, I can finally relax. And isn't that how it goes? The anticipation is more often than not worse than the actual event -- even if the event is an exciting one. We make ourselves miserable when we aren't living in the present. CUE TIBETAN MEDITATION MUSIC.

I know this seems antithetical to what I just wrote above, but I plan on spending the day reading depressing Russian literature. I am nothing if not an absolute sucker for drama, mayhem, and topsy-turviness in my books. To disappear into another world and reemerge whenever you wish is the TOPS. Funny thing is, however, sometimes it is quite the struggle to reemerge. And that's okay. Just refer to me as Meghan Raskolnikov from now on. (Note: I did not nor will I ever murder an old, withered pawnbroker.)

I also plan on, you know, unpacking all of my boxes from my move a week ago. Hey! That's good for me! I only waited six days to unpack? New record. I guess I should also do something with poetry. Read it, research it, ideally write it... I mean, I did proclaim my undying love/lust for it yesterday. Can't abandon poetry, Meg! I won't allow it! So. To recap. 1) Read Russian literature. 2) Do not kill a pawnbroker. 3) Unpack my poorly packed boxes. 4) Read some rad-as-hell poetry by some rad-as-hell dead dudes and ladies. And some living people as well. Maybe even some aliens. No robots. 5) Write five poems, even if they are awful. Maybe try writing some love sonnets for Paul Simon! (See two posts ago.) 6) Harass a crush or three with texts later tonight and then instantly regret it.

Love you, remaining readers! Thanks for sticking around.

remain

Sometimes I think it would be best if I made my blog private. Or maybe I just need to keep a private journal and use this blog for, you know, well-written pieces. I keep going back to theme -- my blog needs a theme (no, it doesn't). I love the word "blog" (no, I don't). This approaching storm is driving me bonkers (yes, it is). You see? I'm all over the place when I write my posts. Why do I think anyone else would want to read these disjointed thoughts? It might be the height of ego. But most likely it's just being unaware. I write these posts because it feels good to type. The release of these thoughts also feels good. To see my words on a screen feels good. To sum it up, I am a dedicated seeker to anything which feels good.

Maybe it's time I rely less on the whole feeling thing and focus more on my other senses. Look around, take in the sounds, smell the page. I could even go so far as the chew on a few words, letting the dot from the i and the cross from the t get stuck in my teeth. "Excuse me, but there's something in your teeth." "Oh, it must be the 'it' I had for lunch. It was a light lunch because I had a big breakfast of 'itty bitty titties.'" I allow the pieces of words to remain, however, because I have run out of floss.

Then again, sometimes I think, "Who cares what I blog about? Who cares if not every post offers a life-changing lesson? Who cares if I embarrass myself on occasion and raise some serious doubts about my life as a writer? I've been reading about space and black holes and atoms and particles and waves and the Big Bang and let me tell you what -- my blog isn't even matter, so does it even matter? In the grand scheme of things, my blog has been a way to pass the time while simultaneously revealing myself to myself. Nothing more, nothing less. Let it go."

I will keep writing. I will worry less about what I write because the most important thing is that I continue to write. I have the right to write, I do not need to purposely leave anything out. At least not yet. Let my words out and then later I can figure out what to do with the leftovers.

To be honest, I'm not sure if I am talking about my blog anymore. I don't think I am. I am talking about something larger, something beyond this corner of the Internet. Something which is larger than a breadbox, but smaller than the universe. Something in between, something which I have yet to define.

compose

I LOST ANOTHER FOLLOWER. Maybe they were not impressed with my photo of dolls' heads a few posts back (notice I did not use the adjective "creepy" because I do not think they are creepy and also because I am trying to use less adjectives). Maybe they were angry at my many, many, far too many tangents. Maybe it was just my ex-boyfriend. And, most importantly, maybe I don't care! Not that I don't care about you because I do. I do care about you. And I am happy you are still reading this. Happy. Adjective. Shoot me. Not really. Gun control. Hot button issue.

Have I mentioned multiple times recently that I am "writing a novel"? I am sure I have. When I get stuck on an idea, I can't stop talking about it. It, whatever "it" may be, becomes an obsession for roughly a week and a half before I inevitably abandon it for another, newer, slightly more far-fetched obsession. It's kinda my thing! Abandoning things! And abandoning places and people and personas. Welcome to the life of a Borderline: Impulsively jumping from one project to another, desperately searching for an identity, getting hella hot and cold along the way. Join me. (Don't join me -- stick with stability, please!)

Back to me writing a novel. (I promise to curb my affection for tangential thoughts. But I can't make any promises cuz of that whole Borderline thing.) I have given it a medium amount of thought and, well, perhaps I'm not "cut out" to write a novel. I don't know if it's quite my thing. Yes, abandoning things is "my thing," but so is poetry! It has been for a long, long time, perhaps since high school when I would write love poems to Paul Simon in notebooks from Barnes & Noble with beaded covers and pulpy paper. Burn those poems. They are perfect blackmail material. Anyway. Poetry. I feel at home with poetry, although in many ways it is still a foreign land. (Home, I've decided, can be both familiar and foreign.) I am glad that I still feel like a student when it comes to poetry and writing in general. If I ever develop an ego big enough to think that I know everything, that I have mastered the craft -- stop me. Because that attitude will stop me. I wish to always remain a student, a novice.

So I will write poetry. I will read, eat, sleep, fight with poetry. I will call a truce with poetry. I will speak the truth with poetry. I will continue my relationship with poetry, dedicating the time I would have put into novel writing into poetry writing. I will weave through a field of words, picking a few wildflowers along the way to display in a vase on a page I have yet to create.

Poetry will save me once again.

dateline

I slept in until 9:44 this morning. THAT'S ALMOST 10:00. Like, 16 minutes away. (I pride myself in my math skills.) I still feel a tinge of guilt for sleeping in so late. Some of you night owls will be rolling your large, owl-ish eyes at me for thinking that 9:44am is "late." But when you have been getting up at 6am for the past several months, anything past sunrise is late. Sure, my body probably needed it, especially after watching four exhausting episodes of Dateline at midnight. Smart idea? The real question is, do I do anything that's not smart? I went to bed assuming that a masked stranger would break into my room, kidnap me, drive me out to Florida, force me to rob a bank, and then bury my body in a swamp. Surprisingly I had mild dreams.

So it looks like I am still adjusting to being home. Makes sense. This is only my second full day here. I gotta allow myself to feel weird, to not know exactly what to do, to regret leaving behind certain people/places/things. I don't really need to keep writing about my move or how I feel that I ultimately made the "right" choice, but ultimately I feel like I made the right choice. Let's just leave it at that. Let's just answer some unimportant questions I found on Tumblr. Okay.

1. Do you have siblings?
You bet your ass I do. Well, sibling. I have one sister, 8 years older than I. WHICH MEANS she will be FORTY YEARS OLD this year. I need to throw her a huge party for this life event, huh? Like, decorate a room with black balloons and black streamers and shit. Have a black cake that reads "OVER THE HILL AND OFF THE PILL," except I don't think she'll be off the pill. Anyway. I don't do parties. I know some really obnoxious people who do do parties, though. Do do. They do do throw parties for a living. Ugh. Imagine having that life.

2. How many kids do you want?
LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL
Actually.
Actually.
Actually, the idea of having children has kinda sorta regrettably been on my mind recently. Okay, not regrettably. It's important to think about these big life decisions. Sure, I physically cannot have a child right now (not because of the pill, but because of amenorrhea!!! hooooray!!! jk don't celebrate this!!!), but I could always adopt? Or marry some loser who already has children? Side note: I've been babysitting recently because I'm very poor. While I'm babysitting, I like to imagine that the kids are my kids and that the home is my home and that, yes, even the food is my food. For brief moments I will get that maternal instinct and feel like I have a "purpose." It feels... not necessarily nice, but a little refreshing. A little less self-involved. Kind of GROWN UP, if you will. But these moments do not last long. And that's a relief, to be honest. I don't know if having children is in my cards. I don't know what's in my cards. Do any of us? Speaking of cards, last night while in the middle of my third episode of Dateline, I considered a life as a card dealer in some dingy casino out in the middle of nowhere. At the very least it would make for an interesting few months and provide material for a short story. Why not.

OKAY, TIME FOR BREAKFAST. At noon. That's normal for a Tuesday, right?

Catch you kids later.

sloth

Hello, sun. It's interesting you show your face right as I am sitting down to write. Please disappear because I love you too much and cannot be with you right now. You are an obsession. I am trying to cut back on obsessions. I've been collecting obsessions since I was a kid and they are starting to take over every room of my mind. Gonna gradually let go of you, okay? It's not you, it's me. Actually, it's mostly you. But then again, I created you, so I guess it's both of us. Let's not place any blame; let's just part ways. It's time I start collecting something less emotionally debilitating. Rocks. And dolls' heads. And baseball cards from 1973.

I am being very serious about ditching my obsessions. My obsessions, my rigid routines, my set-in-stone schedule. My preconceived notions for how everything is supposed to go and how everyone is supposed to act. I don't have the slightest clue how to do this, so I'm going to experiment with faking it 'till I make it. I will pretend to be a far less anxious, far more go-with-the-flow babe and see if it sticks. Eventually it should, right? It's about changing habits, shifting perspectives, not getting carried away with the storyline in my head. Meditation/mindfulness is a great tool for this kinda stuff. It's a great tool for most things. Sitting down and not doing anything for an extended period of time is radical. I don't mean "not doing anything" as in watching television or looking up adorable sloth pictures online. Those still keep the mind distracted, moving away from whatever is happening now. No, I mean to sit down and be is so absurdly rare for so many these days that it might be worth a shot to experiment with it and see what happens.

But to be honest, I probably won't meditate tonight. I will collect words instead and unpack all of my poorly packed boxes and chase the sun for a half hour or so. I'll chew on ice, eat kimchi, watch the Democratic debates. Hell, I may even apply for a job at Home Depot. At least I'm aware that I'm trying my damnedest to distract myself from the ever-looming anxieties, yeah? Awareness is the first step.

See ya when we both reach enlightenment.

position

There is less than a week left of January. We can make it, you guys. You girls. You remarkably capable and astoundingly talented humans. I am so proud of you.

So 2016 is off to a great start. Quit job, move back home, break out in zits. But seriously, folks, it has been great! I mean, the first few weeks were a pain in the ass. But then I TOOK CHARGE OF MY LIFE and made a few huge ass decisions. There has been a lot of ass involved in January, apparently. And truth be told, the whole quitting-job-and-moving-back-home was what I consider to the right thing to do. For me. For my health, both physically and emotionally and maybe even spiritually. Who knows! Maybe I'll be ordained an Episcopalian priest by, like, November! If I'm not a priest by November, I'll give each of you 59 followers $476 in cash, which should be totally doable because come November I should also be a New York Times bestselling author. See -- these changes I recently made are sure gonna pay off.

Oh yeah, the zits. I haven't really broken out in zits, but I have noticed a few IMPERFECTIONS around my chin and on my left cheek (on my face, pervs). I know, what a bleak existence I lead. It's probably due to the fact that for a good chunk of time I said "fugg it" to washing my face at night and instead ate ice cream while reading gothic literature and watching Sailor Moon. Time to up my hygiene practices. Noted.

I tell myself that I have to write one blog post a day, but why? Why not tell myself I have to write one poem a day? That would ultimately be better for all of us, but I think I postpone poem writing because it pushes me to the edge of insanity and I end up eating all of the things in the fridge due to crashing waves of anxiety. Blog posts on the other hand? Hell, I can just word vomit all over the screen and call it a day. It's cool, I'm an adult, I have zit, I will be a priest. And so forth.

And how many people do I bother by my word vomit? And starting sentences with "and"? And asking so many questions that will never, ever be answered? You know what? I'll tell you what. I don't care! Not true. I care. Should I care less, though? Or care more? Or do something about these questions instead of immediately abandoning them to go read Frankenstein over my heater vent? Life is made up of choices. Choices make up a life. There is a cereal called Life, duh, but also a cereal called Happy O's. And you and also me and also everyone occupying space on this planet have the choice in LIFE to be HAPPY... O's. Or something. So let's do it! Let's just be motherhugging happy today. Let's remember to eat, let's remember to give thanks, let's remember to not pop chin zits because then they will bleed and leave a scar, let's be who we are unabashedly and brilliantly.

Okay, sure.

generous

Holy smokes/cow/Toledo/moly/holy holy, I did it. I did it! I successfully moved out of my apartment in, like, one weekend. Like. LIKE. I packed, cleaned, moved, and am currently in the process of unpacking. HOW DID I TURN INTO A SUPERHUMAN?! I will admit that I had a lot of great help. Thanks, Pa, for cleaning the Most Revolting Bathroom in America! And thanks, Tate, for having the Most Spacious Van in America! Make America Great Again! Buy Everyone a Van! Seriously, though, how generous of those two dudes for taking out hours of their time to help li'l old (I'm almost 32) me flee my cave and seek refuge in the warm embrace of my mother's pink and well-lit condo. Generous TO THE MAX.

I think I might be typing this in my sleep. I am so asleep right now. Lucid blogging. I couldn't sleep last night because I was hella anxious about the snowstorm and having to move in the snowstorm. I was, of course, picturing the worst scenarios in my head. Crashing on the freeway! My shit littered all over the road! Everyone sees my underwear! Well, surprise surprise, everyone -- that ain't my underwear. I don't wear underwear, sillies. Musta been the briefs of another unfortunate victim of the snowy conditions. (Note: Nothing unfortunate happened except for a box of books tipping over, exposing my love for pornographic literature. KIDDING. Well, I guess I DO like Anais Nin. Anyway, the snow sucked, but we survived and it didn't take as long as I expected and now my father and Tate are totally in a bromance. Get a freakin' room, you two! Or a van. Yeah, definitely get a van instead. It is like a room, but on wheels.)

I know it's probably too early to tell, but I am pretty certain I made the right decision moving back. I feel a huge weight off of my li'l old (I'm almost 32) shoulders. I feel freer, calmer, more inspired. THE WORD "FREER" LOOKS SO WRONG. I know I make living in that apartment sound like a tragedy -- but it wasn't. It taught me a lot, which I will explain in greater detail later. Overall, it made me appreciate the small things and to shrug off the things that don't ultimately matter. I come back to Orem with a new perspective and a deep appreciation for windows and ground-level living. I am happy. I am relieved. I AM AMERICA.

There is a big task ahead of me, though. I didn't move back to escape from life and become an even more stubborn recluse. Quite the opposite, in fact. To put it not-so-eloquently, I came back to figure out my life, to take a brief and necessary pause in order to move forward. I refuse(d) to stay stuck, to settle for less than I deserve. I am so proud of myself. And I realize the luxuriousness of my situation -- that I have a support system which allows me to take this break. I hope to remain humble, thankful, and to not take this valuable time for granted.

NOW to go on a quiet walk around a park and marvel at the milky mountains I missed more than I expected. Lucky, lucky, li'l old (I'm almost 32) me.

conduit

I believe writer's block might actually be a real thing. A physical block, probably between three to five feet high. High and heavy enough to feel the weight, that's for sure. And that's the only thing that I know for sure -- that writer's block can physically knock you out and pin you down. But if my occasional flirtation with Eastern philosophy has taught me something, it is that you go with the flow. You allow whatever is happening to happen because you don't really have a choice. At least not if it is in the process of happening or has already happened. The choice you do have, however, is what you will do with the situation, whatever that situation may be. So let it be. Let it happen and see what happens.

I am trying to write a novel. Who do I think I am? An unemployed Millennial with too much time on her hands and delusions of grandeur? In a word, yes. Or at least, probably. Probably requires less confidence and commitment. "Yes" and "no" are too final for me. My days are made up of probablys and maybes and a scattering of kinda sorta who knows. It has worked for me so far. Maybe not worked well, but it has worked. I avoid real work so I can live in ambiguity. I simultaneously embrace and fear the unknown. I I I. I want to give up the I. I want to see with eyes I do not claim as my own. I am rambling again. It's a feeble attempt to chip away at this probably-between-three-to-five-foot-high cube of doubt. At least I'm trying. At least.

Each paragraph has started with "I." Not this time. This time it starts with "each," which is one letter shy of "reach." The perfect paragraph is just out of my reach, the words and images taunting me from on top of that pesky block. But I am 5'6", am I not? I am. So technically I could reach my hands up and pull down those words and images with relative ease. Nothing comes that easy, though. Unless it does. But what am I supposed to do once I have those elusive words and images in my arms? Just hold them close? How am I supposed to take off my jacket or clean my apartment or gesticulate wildly with my arms full? Ah-ha. The protagonist has just encountered a dilemma. Now we're getting somewhere.

I will get somewhere if I don't stop moving. That's why I'm cleaning my apartment -- I am moving, naturally. Is it natural to move so often? Humans seem to seek out a home, not a house, not a month-to-month room with bad lighting and thin walls. Humans want somewhere to hang up the jacket they just took off. I've been hanging mine on a block for too long when all I want is to toss the jacket over a well-worn couch. No need for a jacket anyway; the familiarity will keep me warm.

I believe the writer will continue to encounter the block, be it physical or otherwise, over and over and over again throughout their life as a writer (which happens to be a lifetime or two). And maybe, probably, kinda sorta the writer does not need to concern themselves with chiseling away at the block or hatching a plan to get past it. Who knows. Maybe the kinda sorta probably writer needs to simply allow the words to flow around the block. It's not a dam, you know. It's merely a three-to-five-foot tall centerpiece that may very well one day become a conduit. The water keeps moving around it and so should you. Familiarity may keep you warm, but it can also cause you to sink.

capable

Hi everyone! How's your Saturday so far? Mine? Thanks for asking. Mine has been same old same old. You know, wake up, check my email (by "email" I mean "Instagram" and "Twitter" and there's no need for me to put those in quotations, I realize), do a load of wash, begin packing and cleaning for about five minutes before I become entirely overwhelmed by the monumental task ahead of me, put on a cute hat, take the trash out, walk up and down the street reading Chekhov, make some tea, do not drink it, chew on ice, write a scene for a novel you probably won't finish (BUT YOU NEVER KNOW!!!), blog. Think about work. Think about how, despite the fact that you no longer work at your work, someone from work may be obsessively reading your blog/tweets for a word that casts your former place of employment (and their current) in a negative light. But my problem isn't with the school. My problem was always with the people employed by the school. Definitely not all of the people. Of course not! Just the people who handle the paychecks and/or relay information concerning new hires and paychecks. BOOOORING. Point is, the school was cool, but people are imperfect. Who knew? Old water under the bridge, I say. I also say that sometimes there are trolls living under the bridge, trolls that... I have no idea where I'm going with this. I do know, however, that I am finished whining about work and all of the frustrating experiences that I experienced there. Turns out I also experienced a lot of rewarding things as well. And the kids. Sigh. They are special creatures with a place in my heart. They taught me a lot and I hope I taught them at least a little. That's the only thing that really matters, right? Right.

Long paragraph. Rambling. Surprised you read the entire thing, assuming you did. If you didn't, there is no blame placed upon your beautiful head. In fact, I say we all just stop blaming each other for one minute. Sixty seconds of living in a blame-free society. But when 61 seconds happens, blame away.

Remember those "powerful questions" I answered a few days ago? Should I ask/answer a few more? Should I keep asking you questions about what I should and should not do? Because I will?

Q: Do you find yourself influencing your world, or it influencing you?
Definitely the latter. I am far too affected by what happens around me. I absorb it all and then, mysteriously, abandon everything/everyone. I don't know why I do that. Defense mechanism. I observe and absorb because it is in my nature to do so. I justify my "nosiness" as nothing more than gathering notes for my novel. But once the going gets a little rough, I bail. What if I stuck around? What if I allowed less metaphorical bullets to penetrate me and instead shift my focus to giving back? And then comes the question of how do I give back? I suppose it doesn't have to be anything monumental. I could just be a less selfish, more compassionate human.

I don't think I understood the question, now that I reread it. I also don't think that allowing the world to influence you is inherently bad. In fact, it can be a wondrous and miraculous place if we know how to pay attention. I believe there is a balance that needs to be achieved; find inspiration in the world and then go do something with it. The end (but actually just the beginning).

I will only answer one question for now. Now I must remember the task ahead of me, the task which thankfully does not seem so all-consuming anymore. I can do this! Just put shit in boxes and mop a floor or whatever, right? Right! I got this! I am capable! I am influential! I am unemployed! Marry me, please!

novel

How many posts is this today? Five? Seventeen? Two? I think it's two, but it could very well be three. Speaking of three, I am going to write three novels. THAT IS A LIE (for now). I am only writing one novel. Over and over again I hear the advice to not tell anyone you are writing a novel. Well, whatever. I've never been one to always follow advice. That being said, forget that I've told you I am writing a novel. Please don't ask me about it all the time -- assuming you are wildly interested in every detail of my life -- and do not ask if you can read it. You cannot. Not until it is on at least its second draft. Yes, there will be multiple drafts, something I never thought I'd do. Maybe the fact that I very rarely revise is the reason why, so far, I have produced no novels. Or short stories. Or poems "of worth" in at least five years. Perfectionism is the perfect plug on creativity.

But enough about the novel! I haven't even revealed anything about said novel, mostly because I currently have no clue where it will go or what it is or if it will even be considered a novel. It might be more of a menu. A menu for LIFE and LOVE and TRAGEDY and, yes, even COMEDY. Seriously, though, enough about the novel, more about the biggest surprise in the world -- THE RETURN OF MY DESIRE TO WRITE. And the desire is stronger than my coffee (and today's coffee was wheeeeeee). To be honest, this immense desire sorta freaks me out. I'm also slightly worried that it could be a fluke. Don't let it be a fluke. I will give my right arm to let it not be a fluke. No, not my right arm. My left. I am right handed and, well, I need that arm in order to write my (plug your ears) novel.

Blogging is writing, sure, but this post right now is just distracting me from actually writing my top secret novel-like thing... So excuse me. I must go. I will be back because no one, not even people intent on ruining my name (long story), will keep me from blogging in this incredibly small corner of the Internet. But for now? Now I will disappear into a world entirely of my own creation. Man. Writers are delusional. Perfect.

potent

A few days ago I began answering 28 "powerful questions for a happy life." I answered three. Look, answering powerful questions should not be rushed. Put some time into it! Some thought, some effort, some run-on sentences! And that's what I did. I did all of those things and now I am back to prudently answer three more deeply, deeply powerful questions.

4. How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?
Twelve. Well, maybe not 12, although one of my BFFs is 12! She is so great. I connect with her better than many people who are my own age... My own, old age of 31. Thirty-one and a half. I do not feel thirty-one and a half. But how is one supposed to feel at that age? Maternal? Flirty? Oozing with confidence? I suppose in tiny ways I feel maternal except for when I have to change a shitty green diaper. Flirty? Not so much. Oozing with confidence? Excuse me while I guffaw for 15 straight minutes. I do, however, feel remarkably not-in-my-20s. I do not feel like partying or listening to breakup songs or being in indie rock bands. I do not want to stay up past 11pm. If I drink, I only want, like, two drinks max or else I will be a zombie the next day. I read more Kingsolver, less Kerouac. In other words, I have slowed down and mostly on purpose. I'm not really answering the question, am I? I guess in many ways I feel like I am close to 80, but in other ways I still feel like I am 16. I still feel like I am "figuring out who I am," which might be a Borderline Personality Disorder thing or perhaps just a human thing. Sometimes I wish I could still go through "phases" without seeming ridiculous and stunted. I feel the pressure to "act my age" and "settle down." But what is that age? And what does settling down entail? And why should I give in to any outside pressure? I try to answer one question and I end up asking a thousand more.

5. What one piece of advice would you offer a newborn child?
I can't say it better than Kurt Vonnegut, so I will just copy/paste his words: “Hello babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you've got a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies-'God damn it, you've got to be kind.'"

6. What is the one job/cause/activity that could get you out of bed happily for the rest of your life? Are you doing it now?
To answer the second question, no. The first question... THAT WILL TAKE A LOT OF SOUL SEARCHING. But if I answer quickly without overthinking, I would say that the one job/cause/activity that could get my beautiful ass out of bed in the AM would be something to do with the environment. Nature, people. NATURE IS NOT JUST MY HOME, IT IS MY SOUL. If I worked for a nonprofit dedicated to preserving this damn planet, I would be totes chill with that. Or if I worked for the National Park Service. Or if I was a nature writer. Heeeey... Maybe I should become my generation's Mary Oliver? John Muir? ED ABBEY, dammit. I say "damn" and "dammit" a lot, side note. You already knew that, though. Back to the job/cause/activity... I would be satisfied working with those who suffer from eating disorders/body image issues. Whether that's through counseling, writing, or both. Should I write a book of nature essays and then follow it up with a memoir of eating disorders? Will that make my life complete? Might as well give it a shot.

Phew. I am so glad I finished answering those three powerful questions. I joke that they are powerful, but turns out my joke is not a joke. They really did make me think more than I thought I would. I didn't think I would think, in other words. But I did, dammit. I did.

handle

Here I am, part three. What did I say earlier? That I would write six posts today or something? I can almost promise you that I won't make it to six, but three? I can handle three.

So how did I handle other things today? Glad you asked. Kind of glad you asked. I don't really know the answer, but let's try to find it together. Okay, so I didn't go the gym and compulsively exercise. I handled it better than I thought I would. The lack of anxiety over not running gives me anxiety. I did, however, go on a 4-hour walk. Part of it was because it was a balmy 45 degrees and the other part of it was that I felt like I was obligated to walk for hours since I skipped the gym. Really silly, I know. But also damn depressing. Still, I enjoyed the walk. But how to balance? I have yet to figure that one out.

Did I handle packing well today? Yeah, sure, sort of. I didn't really pack that much. How could I if I was outside roaming the streets for over four hours? But the packing didn't stress me out. That's good. I just didn't know where to start or how to pack effectively. Gingerly place items in random boxes. Get distracted. Tweet something or maybe three somethings. Wipe off the counters. Check on my laundry. Write a blog post. Take a selfie or seven. Repeat.

How did I handle my inevitable evening anxiety? Not well. Not terrible, but not well. The night is still young. Anything could happen. Meg, you can turn this ship around! You can end the day with a bang/burrito! It's true, I can. I purchased a burrito today for $0.88 at Harmons. I don't even want it. You know what I want? Conversation. I, the classic hermit, actually desire face-to-face conversation with another human. Please don't let any hormones get in the way of the conversation. I want it to be pure. I want to have no agenda, no self-conscious tics. I want to listen and to be heard. Let the frozen $0.88 cent burrito remain frozen; it's the thawed out heart I desire. <--- goofy sentence, yes. Maybe four posts will happen today. Don't count on it, but also don't not count on it. Also, I am glad I purchased that frozen burrito. It isn't a replacement for human interaction, no, but it is close. It is close.

will

Post Number Two! Here we go! Just brewed some very, very awful coffee, have my tray of ice cubes by my side, it's -- KNOCK ON WOOD -- quiet at my place, so... I'm ready.

Why am I writing? I've mentioned this before, but shouldn't my blog have some kind of a theme aside from "random thoughts and anxieties that pop up in my head and worry my mother and disappoint my employers and offend my exes." I need to grab a grammar book and review when to use "that" and when to use "which" and when to "not give a fuck." Language, man. It's what I live for and it's bound to kill me in the end.

So I'm gonna go ahead and stick with my weak blog "theme" and just give you my thoughts, okay? I am not offering any paleo diet tips or pictures of my weird children with weirder names. I won't show you how to throw a fabulous bridal shower and there's no way I'm reviewing movies/books/video games/restaurants/sexual partners. You have options, you know. You don't have to read this. You don't even have to put on pants, shower, wash your hair, or shave your armpits. I sure know I won't do any of those things. But I WILL do the following...

*I will start cooking my own food. How will I do this? By being a total goof and making each day a theme. Like, Meatless Monday, Taco Tuesday, Whiskey and Waffle Wednesday... Just joking about Wednesday. I don't even like waffles. (How about Whiskey and Wasabi Wednesday? Now you're talking. Except I'm the one talking. Now I'm talking. Now who's talking? Is it me or the coffee or the promise of whiskey on Hump Day?) (Am I still allowed to call it "Hump Day" if I am unemployed?)

*I will clean my own bathroom from now on. And often. I can do it. I'm an adult, I think. I changed a diaper-from-the-devil last night, so I think I can handle scrubbing a toilet occasionally.

*I will get over my fears of the dentist, the telephone, and the whole "dating" thing. I will give each of those three things a shot, but if I have even one remotely not-so-great experience with any of them, that's it! I'll give up forever!

*I will brush my teeth. Right now. I love brushing my teeth, actually. Even though I am afraid that they will fall out. But, like, there's more of a chance that they will fall out if I don't brush them, right? Tell me I'm crazy. Tell me I'm beautiful. Tell me I'm not allowed to drink anymore coffee today.

So I suppose I should end this second post and go brush my teeth... Only the ones I want to keep! I don't want my front teeth, but so help me god if I lose my canines. Okay. Okay. Catch you in a few hours.

declare

It's only 9:24 in the morning and I'm already ready for bed. NOT TRUE. I'm not ready for bed, but am I ready to "face the day"? I don't think I can ever answer a confident "YES!" to that question. But who can? Just delusional people. Or really brave warriors. I'm neither, except I'm probably the first one. Anyway.

I am taking today to clean clean clean and pack pack pack and repeat repeat repeat everything three times. Weird how I didn't repeat the word "three" three times, huh? Gotta keep people guessing. Gotta keep people confused. Gotta look at my phone because it keeps beeping and it is my master.

No! I will not check my phone. Not right now, at least. And since I'm declaring NO!, let me declare a few more NOs. Nose. Nobody knows my nose is so stuffed right now. Stuff it, nose. Get lost, nose. Come back when you get your life together, nose.

No: A declaration.

*No, I will not run today. Or walk for four hours. Or jump rope. Or do two-finger push-ups like Bruce Lee. No, I will rest. Rest! What a concept. Resting on what is known throughout Western civilization as the day of rest. Maybe it's even known as the day of rest throughout Eastern, Southern, and Northern civilization. On a related note, I don't think I quite understand what "civilizations" are.

*And by "rest" I mean I will still clean my entire "fuckin'" (sorry, mom) "apartment." So I'm not really resting, but I am taking a needed break from exercising. I know I have the most annoying problem in all of civilization: I exercise too much. Like, blah blah blah oh I'm soooo in shape poor me wah wah wah. (Turns out I'm not really that "in shape." If your body is breaking down and you ache all the time and you don't have a menstrual cycle, is that really "in shape"? Sometimes my heart beats too fast. Sometimes I don't produce red blood cells. Sometimes I want to rest and it appears to be the hardest thing in the world. WHY IS THAT.)

*No, I will not beat myself up for anything related to anything I've mentioned above. I will not beat myself up for not exercising, I will not beat myself up for being a compulsive exerciser, I will not beat myself up for not having my shit together, I will not beat myself up for too tight or too loose of pants. I will say, "Hello, sweet Meghan. I know how much you try. I know how much you struggle. I know how much you want to be that person who radiates compassion and calm. I know you are still a gentle person even though sometimes you let scary things turn you into a grump. I love you, sweet Meghan. Be kind, be kind, be kind."

*No, I will not say anything negative about work because what's the point.

*No, I will not dwell on my ex and his new locally famous girlfriend because what's the point who cares.

*No, I will not pick at the zit on my chin EVEN THOUGH this might be harder than not exercising.

I will be back. I will probably write at least six posts today in an attempt to distract myself from my anxieties and restlessness. Will it work? Should I stop trying to distract myself and instead face the uncomfortable aspects of life head-on? How do I not own a toaster oven? The answer to these questions and more coming up.

3/28

Somewhere on this great web, I found a list of 28 "powerful questions for a happy life." And I thought, "Huh." And then I thought, "Why not answer a few?" And then I asked, "What do I have to lose?" And then I remembered, "I haven't eaten breakfast yet. I've just had lots and lots and lots of coffee." And then I looked out the window and saw dumbass snow. It's so pretty. The dumbass snow is so pretty, but for the love of breakfast I hate driving in the snow SAME OLD STORY. We get it, traveling in the snow is lame. We get it.

I'm not answering all 28, just so you know. You know this now, so quit asking.

1. What risk would you take if you knew you could not fail?
Having a long-term relationship -- like, maybe even a MARRIAGE. I would move to foreign places and find work. I would try out for local plays. SERIOUSLY. I would submit poems to various literary journals. I would drive in the dumbass snow.

2. What are the top five things you cherish in your life?
A list within a list? WTF? I cherish relationships with other humans, I cherish any second spent in nature, I cherish poetry, even if I don't fully understand some of the poems, I cherish unfiltered moments (in art, in love, in words), I cherish slowing down.

3. What are you avoiding?
Calling my health insurance, paying bills, cleaning my hideously disgusting bathroom, the dentist, the snow, my ex, my ex's new girlfriend, making plans with other people, small talk, any kind of store at any time of the day.

That's all for now. Three questions down, 25 left to go. TWENTY-FIVE. I remember when I was 25... Kidding, I don't. That was, like, a century ago. Who was I? Who am I now? What is art? How is color? Why is time? And so forth.

grey

Is January trying to kill anyone else? It is sure having its sadistic fun with me. There are a few things that keep me alive during these grey days, however. And they are:

*Knowing that I will be moving out of my cave in less than two weeks.
*Dinner. I love dinner. So much.
*The Internet, specifically Tumblr and Twitter and websites about abandoned places. Great time killer.
*Cafes, coffee, bookstores, bundled up walks.

That's about it. The days are rough.

It has been extra rough this winter. I feel entirely out of place. I live in an area where everyone is wealthy and seemingly content with their families and dogs and frequent vacations to Mexico and Disneyland. I live in a house where the I avoid the people upstairs and they avoid me. I work somewhere where I feel undervalued, despite trying my very very hardest and actually doing a fairly good job. Maybe I am valued, maybe I am just paranoid. Everything since September has been a bummer. Not EVERYTHING. The park by my place has been a refuge. I've enjoyed being able to see my father frequently. More liberal minded folk? Yes, please. But that's about it. I'm sad.

I am sad, but I am hopeful. I am making the necessary changes to dig myself out of this depression. The changes have been absolutely not a breeze, but isn't that pretty much the definition of change? "Not easy, but necessary." Things, people, places -- they all change eventually because nothing can remain stagnant, not even one's mood, not even the grey days.

approach

I wish my bathroom wasn't so disgusting because it's really quite warm in there right now. Wow, that was a great way to begin a post, huh? Why do I even begin posts anymore? They just get me into trouble. Lately it seems like a lot of things I have done/said/written/painted have gotten me into trouble. (JK ABOUT THE PAINTING PART. For now.) And I swear upon all that is holy and beautiful that my intentions are never, ever bad. C'mon! Okay, maybe sometimes my intentions are slightly not great, but never full-on terrible. This is the worst opening paragraph.

Let me begin again. Yes, I could simply delete what I wrote above, but no, I will not simply delete what I wrote above because HEY! THIS IS ME. Like me or not -- and I know very well that some of you don't think highly of me -- I will be true to myself. Except for when I'm false. Sometimes you have to be false, like when you say to a child who can't master the art of skipping, "Wow! You are getting so much better!" (Look, this is from personal experience. I was a handicapped skipper as a 4-year-old. My legs and brain decided to not work together. But bless the teacher who lied to my face and told me I was improving.) Or when you see your ex and you are, like, "Wow! You are getting so much better!" See. Sometimes you/I just have to be false. But for the most part I will be true, even if that lands me in a handful of awkward and uncomfortable situations. I yam what I yam, in other words.

But enough about yams. Why are you still reading this? I promise there is nothing even remotely controversial ahead, so you may as well stop snooping/reading/skipping. I guess I can let it be known now that I am moving back to Orem for a hot minute. Well, it could be a couple of hot minutes, I am not sure. I am not sure about anything, which isn't necessarily breaking news. But I am fairly sure that I need to take a big pause and a) save up money, b) get treatment for my depression/anxiety/eating disorder/borderline personality disorder, c) swallow my pride, d) live a simpler, quieter, calmer life. And will a move back to Strip Mall City do these things for me? No. No, they will not do these things for me, because that's my job. A town can only provide an environment; it's up to me to do what I need to do in any given environment. And I have been given another chance, a chance to prove to nobody but myself that I can not only survive, but thrive. I wish myself the best of luck. Now let's get started.

cage

Greetings from prison! Oh wait, did I say prison? I meant "my apartment," but I also meant "prison." Yes, the past couple of months have sure been a real treat living here. Not that I do much living in this place... I avoid it whenever and however I can. So that makes sense, right? Pay for a place you hate? Okay, sure, sounds smart. But hold on! I am going to do something about this! I refuse to put up with crappy situations if I don't have to. And I don't have to. It has taken me three decades and two years to realize that I actually might have a say in my life. I might actually have a voice if I just flex those vocal chords once in awhile. (Do you flex your vocal chords in order to speak? And are they actual cords? Someone get me an encyclopedia that is in the form of Wikipedia!)

Enough about my apartment! (Just know that I will pretend I am in a palace until I move out and that, yes, I will move out and that, yes, I will be okay and that, yes, they are actual cords with tassels on the end of them.) More about random "shit" that is on my "mind," such as how I abuse and "misuse" quotation "marks."

I listened to John Cage last night and boy oh boy he saved my soul. Turns out I like listening to weird crap! And in no way is it crap, it is genius. And is it weird or is it that we have been conditioned to think that what Cage does is weird? Chew on that for a second. But don't chew on it too long. Spit it out. Now.

Lately I've been saying "fugg it" to going to the rec center during my break at work (I have an odd schedule, it isn't worth it to explain it). It has been a ginormous relief to not be rushed. I now run errands, sometimes, and get coffee, always. I read, I BLOG, I do my dishes. And then I go back to work, do whatever it is I do at work, and then after -- with all the time in the world/two hours -- I go to the rec center. I do not exercise for two hours, mind you, but I do spend two hours there because as you may already know, my apartment is a prison and I try to find ways to not be there. Kill time. Hang out in a public locker room with strangers.

Speaking of public things, I fully support public schools. Go to hell, private schools. I have my reasons for saying that! Reasons. Plural. Multiple reasons. The last thing I want (aside from spending time in my apartment) is to go into detail right now as to why I hate private schools, but just know that I do. I might feel the urge to explain my strong emotions at a later time, but now is not the time.

TIME! What is it good for? Kill it in a locker room, I say. A warm, bright locker room with little to no techno music and weed upstairs.

Time to pretend I'm a valued employee now. Kiss/hug (but don't touch me).

open

Hi! It's been a very rough morning. No, wait. It's been a very rough week. Yesterday was okay, though. Yesterday was passable. Am I being a bit dramatic? Well, yes. Being dramatic is sort of my "thing." So is avoiding any and all uncomfortable situations. I won't get into too much detail, but this morning I was confronted with something that made me go, "Ohhhhh okay. Okay, so avoidance isn't the answer." And then I became sad and embarrassed and frustrated and all of those emotions that will really flavor the rest of the day. So. So it's another gray January day and I am 100% ready to call it quits and just crawl into bed for the next 24 hours or so.

But I won't. Because that would be falling back into the same trap -- avoiding the uncomfortable, the awkward, the inevitable. I avoid because it is a wonderful short term fix. It's marvelous, in fact! The best! Out of sight, out of mind! Brilliant! But the brilliance quickly fades and then... dammit. I am left to clean up a bunch of unnecessary messes, some of which are small and tedious, others which have far more significant consequences.

I need a few things as well. (Funny how I, as a human, need things! Whaddya know?) I must acknowledge these needs and then actively seek them out. Here's a short list:

*I need therapy.
*I need less stuff. Less junk, fewer clothes, fewer books (!!!), fewer knick knacks and trinkets and so on and so forth and PLEASE just take all of my belongings to Goodwill. I will be fine with a notebook and a flashlight, I swear.
*I need space for my thoughts and my body and my heart.
*I need to get out more, but not push myself to be an extrovert. Why is there so much pressure for introverts to become what they are not? Introverts have value, people. It's time we all appreciate what the quiet ones have to offer.
*I need to rest, to stop pushing myself physically.
*I need to learn "adult" things. No, not sexy adult things, but boring adult things. Like, taxes, not titties. I also need to take care of my own adult things, such as regularly checking my bank account, changing the oil in my car, paying bills on time.
*I need to really, really take care of my eating disorder. Just because I've been looking "healthier" recently does not necessarily mean I am cured and not struggling. In fact, I struggle the most with ED during these bleak days and rough transitions. I need to seek help before I fall into apathy and give up.

I have a lot to consider and a lot to confront. No more sticking my head in the sand. I have a life I want to create, one that is ruled by compassion, not fear. A life I can be proud of, a life lived in the open with my eyes always looking up to the sky, remembering, remembering.

belize

I HAVE A LOT TO SAY. Bear with me. Bare with me? Definitely bear. But there should be a third option. Bear is too much like the animal, bare is too much like being naked and/or my Tumblr page, so... There needs to be a third option. Baer with me. Bhar with me. Bair. Baire. I like the last one! Baire with me.

I watched approximately 17,000 hours of television last night due to it being my last night of winter break at my mama's. As you recall, I don't have television at my cave-of-an-apartment, so I have to get my fill while I can. Anyway, I watched at least two House Hunters episodes -- the OFF THE GRID edition. Both couples bought eco-friendly homes in Belize. One of the homes was a freakin' TREEHOUSE. Tree house. Two words. Side note (because everything I say is a side note): One of the couples was (were?) (was.) (was?) a lesbian couple from Miami. Older. Owned a nice restaurant. Both named Cathy. The workaholic one was from France and kept kissing everyone on both cheeks. The other, quieter one was slicing watermelon in the last scene. All-in-all a wonderful duo.

Oh yeah, Belize. My point in setting up all of that was to say that I didn't even realize Belize (lize lize lize) was a place. I mean, I had heard of it, but had never really thought about it. But now that's all I'm thinking about! I want to farm in Belize this summer, meet a French Cathy of my own, and retire in a tree house with an excellent Internet connection and fresh watermelon (with or without seeds, not picky) on the eco-friendly counter. What would that counter be made of? Bamboo? Hemp? Definitely not hemp.

To be quite honest, Belize is not all I'm thinking about. Not even close. I have so many more things occupying big chunks of my mind. One thing is a secret, the other thing is worries over feeling homesick/returning to a cold and noisy cave, the other thing is eating disorder related because WHEN IS THAT NOT ON MY MIND. And, of course, the book I'm reading is on my mind. Great, great book. Plainsong by Kent Haruf. He makes me want to maybe kinda sorta try my hand at writing a novel. An unconventional novel with no quotation marks, but a novel nonetheless. The title of my novel will be A Novel Nonetheless: A Novel. The book will fail miserably and sell maybe three copies (thanks, mom, dad, and sissy!), so I'll turn to a life of blogging (very familiar) about my life in Belize with my French partner Cathy and our cat sanctuary. The blog will be called "Side Notes with Meg and Cathy and 1800 Feral Cats." But it'll be in Spanish or whatever they speak over there. Over here, for now, we only speak frantically.

Well well well, looks as if we've come to the end of yet another throwaway post. I am proud of you (all three of you?) for making it this far. You deserve a prize. Would a watermelon suffice?

new

I am about to state the obvious: It is 2016. And with this new year, I have come up with a handful of resolutions (despite my best efforts). Here they are, in no particular order.

*Begin putting things into a particular order.
*Maybe get married??? Or at least date someone. Or at least be open to the idea of dating someone. In other words, don't isolate yourself so much. And allow someone to hug you without squirming away.
*Accept yourself, which means be okay with the fact that you just might ultimately be a solitary soul who doesn't want that hug and doesn't want that marriage.
*But maybe you do want that hug and that marriage? And maybe you do want that hamburger and that day of rest from the gym? Be open to new people, places, and things. And burgers. Always be open to burgers.
*Volunteer more (like, waaay more), especially on holidays when you are susceptible to gettin' the blues.
*Be okay with getting the blues (they will never disappear permanently), but find healthy ways to cope with the blues. Take your vitamins! Drink your water! Get your sleep, meditate, try some damn yoga, and so forth. You know, the usual.
*Lucid dreams! Have them!
*Stop getting annoyed with people coughing. Most of them (roughly 87%) cannot help it. You are being a jerk for getting annoyed at coughs, by the way. But I still love you, jerk.
*Spend more time in my man cave, change my name to "Mike Hunt," eat a lot of cornbread (the real stuff with chunks of corn), become either Jewish or Catholic or Wiccan.
*Read tarot cards, read one book a week, read maps.
*Maybe write five poems a day. Develop a writing schedule/routine.
*Ease up on all of my other schedules/routines. Be more spontaneous, kiddo!
*Stop avoiding. Start embracing.

Amen and hallelujah. Happy happy new year, honeys. You are doing just fine.