strip

Have y'all ever tried this thing called "rest"? It's rather remarkable. Also remarkable: iron supplements, staying hydrated, Sherman Alexie, clouds, being unashamed of taking millions of Selfies, realizing the Self is an illusion, illusions, Buddhism, rental costs in Bulgaria, Fuller House.

Turns out I haven't seen Fuller House yet, I just assume it is remarkable. Remarkable and, yes, probably a dream. What if Fuller House is just a dream that we are all dreaming at the same time? I made a very, very similar joke about this over on Twitter, but why not use it here? If it's good, it's good. And I'm the only one who gets to decide whether or not my jokes are good. I'm also the only one who gets to decide whether or not I become my own mayor.

When I sit down to write, maybe I should have something to say. No, that's not true. In fact, I think I should approach writing in a completely blank state with a blank slate. If I have an agenda, I remain closed off. On the other hand, having a goal such as, "I want to write something to break and mend hearts" seems nice. I think that's okay. It's broad enough so that multiple paths stay open. Walk down some of those paths and be okay with any dead ends. Dead ends aren't always bad. Dead ends narrow your focus, allowing you to strip down to the essential.

Strip down! That's what I need to do right now. I sweat far more than I should at the machine prison/gym and now my sweat is turning me into a cold prisoner. What is this prison theme I have going on? Must be all of the Dateline episodes I watch. I. Watch. So. Many. Anyway, strip down and take a shower already, Meg. And while you're at it, make a promise to yourself that you won't write online anymore about how you need to strip down and take a shower. People don't need to know everything.

Will write later. Must go outside. Must conquer the world because I suddenly feel invincible due to rest and iron supplements and Powerade. And Alexie's short stories. And rain clouds and one hundred Selfies and the Four Noble Truths and the possibility of Bulgaria and the long lasting relationship of Uncle Jesse and Aunt Becky. Ciao.

om

I am drunk off of the sun and scotch right now and cannot seem to think straight. OKAY, not drunk off of scotch, but definitely feeling the effects of that celestial orb. Celestial orb. You heard me. Well, you read me. You also ignored me when I sent you that really long email explaining why I've been kinda bratty lately! Yes, I'm talking to my ex right now. I really should stay on good terms with people. Much easier that way.

What's not easy: Everything lately, especially running. Bummer bummer bummer. I always prided myself on being a fuggin' fantastic runner. Endurance! Speed! Got both of 'em! But not anymore. At least not right now. Don't get your hopes up -- I don't have a pulled groin muscle again. Knock on wood. I do, however, have hardly any red blood cells and they are surprisingly pretty vital. I tend to ignore my anemia, just like I ignore most uncomfortable realities, but it's apparent I can no longer brush it aside. I have begun taking two iron supplements a day AND I just purchased roast beef at the store. Hey, it's a start. I would be 1,000% happy with receiving iron infusions again, but I am not 1,000% happy about having to pay thousands of dollars. Or hundreds. Or whatever it cost last year. Can't remember. Can't remember a lot. Red blood cells contain my memory.

I do remember how important Buddhism is to me. I have been remembering it a lot lately. I think it's because I have been exceptionally anxious and out of sorts and perplexed about my future. These emotions rise and rise and rise until they boil over and I have what one may call a meltdown. But when you reach that low point, you can't help but see more clearly what is important to you and your well-being. And that, for me, is spirituality, specifically Buddhism. Nature and the preservation of the environment is also way way way up there on the list of important things. And relationships. Having and maintaining healthy, loving relationships. Interestingly enough writing isn't super high on the list. Then again, writing and I have a hot/cold relationship, to put it mildly. Hot. Cold. Mild. Which do you prefer? I prefer the mild because Buddhism has showing me that the middle path is tried and true and rad as shit.

What else is rad as shit: This weather. That celestial orb. The fact that I still have time to enjoy it if I leave this desk RIGHT NOW and make love to the hammock. If you need me, I'll be blissed out under the sun while simultaneously battling inner demons. Not sure how one can be blissful in such a state, but, well, life is full of contradictions, man.

<3

improve

What luck! Two nice days in a row? I'm talking about the weather, not necessarily my emotional state. Nice weather, mostly nice mood. I have my moments when I'm a brat, but don't we all. Not a question, it's a fact. For example, this morning I got super irritated (and visibly so) that this chick got on the treadmill right next to mine despite the fact that there were at least 30 empty treadmills she could have chosen from. Hold on. Let's examine this. First of all, who cares if she's next to me? She didn't stink or appear to be a visible brat like myself. Second, it's a dumb treadmill in a dumb gym and I shouldn't have even been there. I should have been doing yoga poses on top of an arch down in southern Utah or something. And then there are just a million other reasons why this whole scenario is stupid. In short, I wish I would have been kinder. I wish little things like this didn't "get my goat." So many little things get my goat lately. I think it might have something to do with adjusting to life back down in Utah County. That and not getting enough sleep. Same old same old.

Get my goat. Man. What a phrase. Goats, by the way, are sure to be a part of my future; or rather, my ideal future. Yes, I'm that obnoxious white chick who wants chicks (chickens!) and goats and yoga poses on arches. Yes, I want the farmers' markets and Patagonia jackets and rescued Golden Retrievers. Yes, I want overalls. Yes, I want a kale smoothie in the morning. Yes, I want to go glamping (but only once to see how it is -- otherwise, give me a tarp and the stars).

I need to begin nurturing that obnoxious hippie side of me again. I would rather be an obnoxious flower child than a irritated monster on a conveyor belt. How exactly do I nurture that side of me? I see the end picture, but I don't take the steps to get there. Head in the clouds? You bet. But it's time to get to work. I guess it starts with getting more sleep and leading a healthier lifestyle. No more seeing how long I can go without food. No more seeing how long I can run on that blasted conveyor belt. No more pushing myself in destructive ways. More patience. More sitting down and doing nothing. More acceptance. More overalls.

I hope this determination lasts. I hope I give myself a chance.

extinguish

Readership of this blog has drastically declined, which is A-OK with me. It must mean that my previous employers (NOT NAMING NAMES DON'T GET ME INTO TROUBLE OKAY) have stopped stalking my blog. Well, it's true. They were. Pish posh, no matter. Water under a bridge -- and then I burn that bridge! But good thing there is water. The fire quickly fizzles out and we can all go about our business. Speaking of fire...

What if I become a firefighter? Only because I like the sensation of sliding down poles. Kidding, kidding. Although I might? It's been probably forever since I've had a good pole slide. Anyway, I saw on the news last night that the U.S. Forest Service is looking to recruit women to wildland fire crews. I think it's because we look hot holding a massive hose? I don't know, but whatever it is maybe I'll do it. My mother is terrified right now! And you are all laughing at me! But what if it actually happens? Hell, I'm almost ready to go through police training in order to become a park ranger. And years ago I thought, for about 45 seconds, that the army might be a good way for me to attain a college education. And and and I sometimes fantasize about becoming the mayor of a very, very rural town. Like, a town so rural that I am the only resident. I am my own mayor. Order in the court (I also want to be a judge).

Let's see what else is new with me... I am determined to finish all of the many, many, way too many books I have started and failed to finish. Unless it was a terrible horrible no good very bad book, I gotta finish it. There's no real reason why I stopped reading them aside from ADHD stuff. You know, distracted! Distracted all the time! By everything and everyone and every forest fire that blazes my way. "Blazes my way." Good writing right there.

Turns out I am quite distracted and cannot continue to write at the present moment. I am also so extremely sweaty from running and the sweat is making me cold, smelly, and sticky. I suppose I'll have to get used to sweat if/when I am to become a wildland firefighter. But for now I am just a simple, future mayor and part-time judge who wants to take a simple, immediate, full-time shower. Catch ya later, hosers.

routine

I sat down to write, but here I am, empty of all words. Not true! I have a lot of words left in me, but they are just lost, wandering around the dark caves of my bones and long alleyways of my legs. They'll find their way out eventually. How exactly? Not sure I want to know.

I think I think too much about words. I know I think too much about words. I am bored with talking about how I think I think too much. Instead, I think I will talk about the minute, boring parts of my day. Not today specifically, but all days. All days blend into one long ass day when you are unemployed. Imagine having a long ass. There are people out there who, I'm sure, have what can only be described as a long ass. Long may they live.

I wake up at 8:30 in the morning at the latest. Even if I go to bed late, I make myself wake up at 8:30. I do the usual -- pee, put on clothes (THIS girl sleeps naked!!!), groan because I am still so so so tired. I then walk for about an hour (okay, one hour and one minute -- I time myself) while reading. I usually have ear plugs in. I chew on ice cubes. The one hour and one minute are up! Now I put in my eyeballs/contacts, put on red lipstick even though no one will see me except for my mother, maybe make tea, maybe try to write, definitely mumble and grumble because I am still so so so tired. Lately I have been going on a run in the morning, which makes zero sense because of how exhausted I am. Then again, running helps to wake me up, both physically and mentally. I come home, shower, braid my hair, sit outside in the sun, go on a walk, read, read, read, maybe work up the courage to go to the grocery store (but only if I am extremely desperate), read, write in my journal outside, go on a walk, go to the library if I feel like I can put up with a bunch of idiots (I'm so sweet), walk, talk to my dad on the phone, read, set the timer for some very important television programs (always Dateline or 20/20 or 48 Hours and then my Rachel Maddow mwah mwah), sit on my window seat, drink tea, chew on ice cubes, visit with my mom while I restlessly cut up vegetables and/or make Jello and/or boil eggs and/or make pumpkin bread. Get on Tumblr. Read. Walk. Get on Tumblr again. And finally -- FINALLY -- eat dinner. And watch my very important television programs. And then eventually, somewhere down the road, get into bed and watch ONE episode of some random anime series. Sometimes. Other times I just browse the Internet for stuffed animals and abandoned places. Then I fall into an interrupted sleep and do it all over again in 6 hours.

OMG, why'd I write all of that? I like using "OMG" sometimes. I have never used LOL seriously. I don't know why not. I think it's kind of stupid, that's why. I cannot answer why I am okay with OMG, though. There are no answers to some of life's most troubling questions. Life apostrophe s? Yes? Answer!

So tired. OMG. OMG, so tired. Will try getting at least 6 hours and 1 minute of sleep tonight. Minute by minute I'll become the world's best sleeper. Mark my words, but don't hold me to them. You get what I mean. <3

tortoise

I missed you yesterday! I was too preoccupied with babysitting anxieties to do much of anything except wander around outside, chew ice, and read to the point of distraction. (Isn't that the point of reading? Distraction? But also confrontation. And escape. And return. The act and love of reading is full of contradictions and that's what makes it grand.) And, of course, babysitting turned out to be fine. Overall. Sure, I stepped in dog shit while we were playing outside and sure, I have no idea how to give children baths, but nobody had to be rushed to the emergency room and the house did not burn down and I did successfully cook a frozen pizza and I did clean the shit off my shoe without gagging. So there. It was a success. A 65-dollars-in-cash success. More like $u¢¢e$$.

The children's mama asked me if I have found a job yet. You know, small talk stuff. I gave the classic, vague answer of "I'm just figuring out my next step... Maybe I'll do some copy writing or maybe I'll get a seasonal job with the National Park Service or maybe I'll go back to school or maybe..." I didn't say all of those maybes, but I sure didn't give a clear answer -- mostly because I don't know the answer. Well, I know the answer to "have you found a job yet?" But lord help me if anyone wants me to give an answer to why I haven't found a job yet. I think I have been letting a job define me -- like, if I am unemployed, do I even exist? And I have to find the perfect job which will give me not only a paycheck, but a purpose, an identity. It doesn't have to be that way, though. And it shouldn't.

I need this break from the game of adulthood to sort out my thoughts, to get my head in the right place, to regain my health (both emotionally and physically), to stand strong in who I am regardless of anybody else or any title. It is an incredible luxury that I am even able to take some time off. So many people, often in much more dire circumstances, cannot afford to do this. I can't waste this time. I also can't let it overwhelm me. I can make progress if I take everything moment-by-moment. I tend to look at the big picture, the "end goal," but I fail to plan out the steps to get to where I want to go. So my goal right now is to take steps, even if I have the urge to leap right to the finish line. I have to be the tortoise in this race. Slow, perhaps, but at least I'm moving.

Suuuuch a serious post. Should be put into a private diary. Or published for the entire world to read. Whatever. What's done is done. But what hasn't been done yet is googling photos of tortoises. I'll be right back. Okay, here we go. Enjoy.

map

Please do the impossible and remind me while I am typing this to not spill my tea today. I can spill it tomorrow, sure, but not today. Thank you!

One day closer to babysitting. I want it to come and go so I can be done with it and $60 richer. (I love the kids, by the way. They are maybe the cutest children I have ever seen? Like, they belong in movies and/or Gap ads.) I also want to not be babysitting at almost-32-years-old. I feel like a teenager in most areas of my life. I don't have to go over the long list of why I feel this way, I just do. Kinda bums me out. No, it actually really bums me out. I feel like my life hasn't started yet, but here I am at "early middle age."

Well, it doesn't have to be this way. I have waited for too long to have someone tell me the how what why when where and who. I have waited for someone to give me directions on how to live a life. It's crucial for me to not wait any longer. It's important for me to realize that the only person who has the power to give me directions is myself. And it's not "a life," but rather my life.

At the risk of sounding cliche, I will say that taking responsibility for one's life requires courage. And a lot of it. It requires a handful of leap-before-you-look moments, somewhat calculated risks, dumb mistakes, quiet successes. It isn't easy, but it shouldn't be. It is, above all, empowering. And there are great views as well.

I have a lot of thinking to do. Obviously. But the kind of directed, purposeful thinking -- no more of these unnecessary worries that take up every square inch of my brain. Those trivial matters only distract me and zap up energy. I gotta change my perspective on many things. Geeeez -- looks like somebody (ME) needs to go to Peru and drink some ayahuasca tea. Heaven help me if I spill that tea all over my desk while typing.

I'm going outside. I'm going outside to drink my non-ayahuasca tea and read my book. For a few minutes. And then I will run and think and try to put the pieces of my life together. And even if I don't get a full picture, not today or tomorrow, I will still be examining the pieces instead of sweeping them under the rug.

Cliches abound in this post. I hope you've enjoyed them.

thinker

No tea for me this morning. I've spilled it one too many times (once). I will just chew on these ice cubes and regret it immediately. Speaking of regretting things immediately, I agreed to babysit on Saturday. I actually don't regret it. I think I would regret it if I didn't accept the job. It's only three hours and THEY PAY EXTREMELY WELL. The only issue I have is that it will take up a chunk of my day since it is in Salt Lake and, you know, factor in driving time or whatever. And, overall, it will only be about five hours total. But I am such a stick-to-my-schedule-to-the-second kind of person... which is exactly why the whole topsy-turviness of Saturday will ultimately be good for me. There's only so long I can take up residence in my head and the world I've created. Eventually I'm going to have to step outside.

But enough about that. Babysitting is two days away and yet I have been fretting about it for the past hour or so. Meghan! Enjoy your morning! And your day! And remind yourself that you don't really have anything to worry about. I have this wonderful habit of finding something -- anything -- to worry about. I wonder if it's simply a way to keep me occupied, to keep me awake without the assistance of caffeine? Did it bother you that I ended a couple of sentences with "about"? Brush off the worries, brush my teeth, start the day, it'll be okay. Hey. That's not a bad mantra. It's not a great mantra, but it's not awful.

Two paragraphs dedicated to anxiety and babysitting. Seems about right. What else do I have to talk about? There I go again! About! About! About! I could talk about the weather (no), the book I'm reading (no one cares), babysitting (no one cares, yet you still discussed it), my ex (kidding! kidding!), nature (we know we know, you dig nature), or politics (oh yes PLEASE). I think I'll just refill the ice cube tray and call it a day.

Oh wait, it's only 10:09 in the morning. Too soon to call it a day. I think the downside to having a lot of free time is showing. I have too much time to think -- and to think that I am not thinking enough and to wonder why I'm not thinking enough and to worry about this and to worry about that and to think that I am stuck and to think of a way to get unstuck without actually attempting to get unstuck. And then I think, "Gee, I should use this ample amount of time to do something productive." And then I think, "Did I use the word 'ample' correctly? And how exactly do I define 'productive'?" You see the problem? If you see the problem, let me know. I can't tell if time is the problem or thought is the problem or thinking that there is a problem is a problem. What I would really benefit from is a nice meal and probably a part-time job. So. There you go.

chiquita

My first inclination was to begin writing about the weather. But we are not mere acquaintances, are we? No need for small talk. But seriously, THIS WEATHER!!! I know the unseasonably warm days are probably not a great sign. They never are. But who am I to take bad signs seriously? I ignore the uncomfortable and live in my blissful world where climate change isn't a thing and 63 degree days last for an eternity. Like all grand things, however, the discomfort finds its way in through the cracks. After a few hours of extremely nice weather, I begin to wish that it would rain and storm and that everyone would go inside and leave me to my books and dramatic wanderings with my dependable umbrella. Sunshine almost makes me manic. Sunshine makes me want to write 1,000 page manifestos. Sunshine makes me crave and cling. BUT I STILL LOVE IT SO MUCH DON'T GET ME WRONG. Get me right. And get me a banana.

I know you don't care, but did you know that I don't really love bananas as much as you might think that I do? Not to assume that you think about my fondness for bananas that often. It's not my favorite fruit, not by a long shot. I am still slightly undecided about which fruit is my favorite, but I can tell you it ain't the banana. I do like, however, the convenience of bananas. And they are consistently low in cost! My my. Oh, and if you spread sunbutter on a rice cake, top it with bananas, and then dip it in milk -- IT'S VERY DELICIOUS. So yeah, bananas are acceptable. Just don't think of me as Miss Chiquita. (Miss Chiquita's real name is Carmen Miranda. She was once invited to sing and dance for Franklin Roosevelt. She was the original Brazilian Bombshell!!! She sounds a lot like me.)

Do any of you struggle with thinking in the morning? I don't even mean thinking clearly, I just mean thinking period. My head is fuzzier than a kiwi before noon. A kiwi! Not my favorite fruit, by the way, but still tasty. I guess it's because my brain is still waking up? It must desperately want to remain asleep, wrapped up in dreams of me attending beauty school. <--- That was my dream last night! And it was depressing. Not because I was in beauty school (well, kind of), but because my classmates were all of the cheerleaders from my high school and because I got in trouble from the teachers for my tweets. Anyway, tired brain. Tired brain just wants sunshine, bananas, and uninterrupted hours of an altered consciousness. I never quite know how to end posts. I don't think it matters too much. I think I'll just abruptly end them from now on and include some somewhat amusing photos. (Let it be known that I just spilled my tea all over the table and began crying! Happy Wednesday!)

supreme

It's me! Just back from my performance at the Grammys last night. Oh, hahahaha, you know I'm joking. I'm actually back from a meeting I had this morning where I was appointed the new Supreme Court Justice. Looks like unemployment is a thing of the past for me, your new Supreme Court Justice.

Why am I writing these untrue words when I could be outside? Why am I writing about how I could be outside instead of being outside? Why isn't the outside inside of me at all times? Oh, but it is. At the same time, writing in the morning helps to center me. A little. Sometimes it completely sets me off balance, but such is the nature of writing. I could always take a notebook and pen outside (which I do), but my fingers want the click click click of the keyboard first thing in the day when the caffeine is hitting its peak. Can't help it. I've said "nature" and "peak" in the past few sentences and it is only a reminder of where I should be.

There are a lot of shoulds in my life; or rather, I give myself a lot of shoulds. I should not give myself so many shoulds, it's overwhelming. I should go to the gym, I should wear myself out at the gym, I should drink less caffeine, I should be more social, I should figure out what the hell I want to do with my life, I should not be so concerned with what I want to do with my life and instead just start living it, I should pay my bills (uh, I really should), I should get more sleep, I should take up yoga/rock climbing/knitting/miming, I should be productive, I should relax, I should meditate, I should apologize, I should ignore, I should confront, I should write a novel no a poem no a screenplay no a memoir no a letter to myself asking myself to drop the shoulds and pick up the pen. I should get a cat.

Not all shoulds are bad. Of course not. They can be great reminders, gentle nudgings. But when they become sticks with which to beat ourselves, they serve no purpose. ("with which to beat ourselves"? was that correct grammar? shut up, i don't care. rebel against the establishment! sorry for saying "shut up.") Today I am going to drop the shoulds like I should... And just see what happens. Meg, the experimenter and the newest Supreme Court Justice. I really should get a robe and gavel. Remind me.

will

Happy Presidents' Day! Here's lookin' at you, William Henry Harrison. What would your ideal Presidents' Day be like? Mine would involve a yurt, eggs, Anthony Bourdain, Tilda Swinton, cheek kisses, and a naked body painting party. If none of that makes sense, you are not a loyal reader of my blog or you are a logical person or both. But one thing you are not? A President of the United States. (Barack! Are you one of my 58 followers? A small, illogical part of me believes that you are. Your morning schedule consists of delivering a statement on the passing of Scalia, drinking coffee -- which I know you like black, very black -- and then checking out herfogandpearls.blogspot.com.)

I am currently reading a book that uses "by jove!" and that describes characters as "sentimental asses" and "poor wretches." It's fantastic. In my 20s I was all about those Beats and books from the 1960s that made you feel existential and validated in your sorrow. Now, well into my 30s (I'm 31), I am finding myself drawn to long, sweeping British novels/sleeping pills. And to think I avoided British literature classes in college at all costs and took way too many Bob Dylan classes (I took one, which was enough). I am about to type something very, very profound: Things and people change. Gasp.

But you know what doesn't change? The fact that William Henry Harrison died on his 32nd day in office. That sucks big time for Bill! Wonder if he went by Will, Bill, Willy, Billy, William, or will.i.am. I would go by Henry. Maybe I can still go by Henry. I do love Henry James... And, here's a weird connection, Henry's brother was William James and William James has the same name as our ninth President and 9 is a 6 upside down and if you divide 6 by 2 you get 3 and if you put 3 threes together you get the number 333 which is the year Emperor Constantine the Great pulls Roman troops out of Britain and abandons work on Hadrian's Wall. OMG!!!

Well, I'll leave you with that. Think about it. Think very hard about it and then continue to make these completely coherent connections to everything else you encounter in life. Hey, it's worked for me! I'm here, unemployed, very single, chewing on ice, watching anime at one in the morning. See? Who wouldn't want to be in my position?

cliff

Sunday! Quite possibly the best day ever invented. What would your ideal Sunday entail? Mine would entail using words like "entail," taking an early morning walk around a lake or through some enchanted forest full of magical woodland creatures, coming home to my yurt which has, for some reason, a sunroom. I'd sit in the sunroom with The New York Times and a coffee while Anthony Bourdain and Tilda Swinton whip me up a breakfast of eggs. Probably egg-in-a-hole. Egg-in-a-hole-in-a-sunroom-in-a-yurt. Tony, Tilda, and I would then sit down with our eggs and Bloody Marys and discuss politics, art, food culture, and rock-n-roll. After brunch, in a faint haze from the cocktails and a fierce buzz from the coffee, I'd kiss both sweethearts on the cheek and be out the door again. I'd spend the rest of the day exploring the outside and the inner self. I'd read poetry, I'd write poetry, I'd eat poetry for a late lunch while on a log by the lake. Poetry-in-a-hole. Maybe once or twice I'd get lost, but I'd find my way back home to the yurt-with-a-sunroom before sundown. Tony and Tilda would be in the kitchen AGAIN cooking up something or other -- can't decide what right now -- maybe an Indian dish? We'd eat our tikka masala while sipping/guzzling Pinot Gris and watching the sun do whatever it does in the evening. Set? Disappear? Become shy and hide for a handful of hours? Tony, Tilda, and I (known around town as The Tarot Trio because we read tarot cards for extra income) put on some funky ass world music and paint each other's faces and bodies and the walls of the yurt. Around midnight, we fall into a deep sleep brought on by paint fumes. We spend the rest of the night cuddling and dreaming of abandoned amusement parks full of ghosts and games we'll never win. So there you have it. My ideal Sunday.

Now onto something completely different. No transition. I could transition by saying, "Now that you know my ideal Sunday, here is a look into my ideal job." Okay, let's go with that transition. What-ever! So my ideal job: One where I am outside and alone for most of the time. You already knew that. I reflect on the times when I've worked with people, be they the paying public or the preschool demons (joke! they were lovely! most of the time! sometimes! depends on the kid!), and the times I liked the best was when I was off alone doing some task, whether that was stocking shelves or stapling papers. I don't want to become a slave to mindless tasks, but I do enjoy having something to accomplish and having the alone time to accomplish it. This is so boring. What I'm trying to get at is that maybe I'll become a mail carrier??? Yes, an interpretive park ranger would be rad as shit, but... But nothing, I guess. I guess I can look into both professions! Okay, so park rangers definitely interact with people. I should keep that in mind. And I will. I will keep a lot of things in this mind of mine, yet let very little of it out. Yes, these constant ramblings of mine are merely 2% of what's going on inside. And I'm probably overestimating here.

I hit a wall. The swig of caffeine has disappeared. I have nothing left to offer you right now! Except for pictures. I can always offer you pictures and a quote by Cliff Clavin, everybody's favorite mail carrier. "They did a study between postal workers and chimpanzees. They proved that chimps were 32% slower. Of course, they were better with public relations." Ba dum chh.

recommend

Did I lose another follower? Oh, who cares. It has become too much of a chore to keep track of the people who abandon me, leaving me to live a life as the town eccentric, complete with long fur coats and wacky hats. Might I also have a collection of dolls' heads? Yes, yes I might. My home will be a rundown Victorian at the top of the hill, the yard overgrown with weeds, the grass a fire hazard. But I will keep a nice pot of daffodils on the porch and a garden full of cabbage in the back. It's cabbage soup every night for this eccentric followed by a scorching hot bath in the clawfoot tub where I light mismatched candled and commune with spirits.

Hello! Happy Saturday! It is 10:01, which is only 9 minutes away from Fake Time. Fake Time = 10:10. If you've ever bought a damn digital clock in your damn life, you'll know what I mean by Fake Time. But isn't all time fake? Now don't you fret -- I shall not go into a lengthy musing on how time is a social construct and blah blah blah. I don't even know if time is a social construct because I'm not entirely sure what "social construct" means. Okay, I know what it means. I'm a genius. And an idiot. Idiots can be geniuses and vice versa. We live in a contradictory world.

Currently: Chewing on some ice, but I put on socks and made some tea. The tea is hibiscus something or other and it is very tart. I have become indulgent and reckless with my tea and have begun using two tea bags instead of one. Am I made of money or something?!

Currently: Reading Ian McEwan's Atonement. Gorgeous, cinematic writing. All I can imagine is Kiera Knightley in that green dress from the movie, though, and I really want to see myself instead. Do you ever imagine yourself as the main character in the novel? I try hard to do this, but I usually can't. Except for maybe in Franny and Zooey. Side note (everything seems to be a side note with me): I read Chopin's The Awakening yesterday and loved it. I read it back in high school, which was approximately 14,000 years ago, but it felt like I was reading it for the first time. Would recommend! Can I recommend some books for you right now? Okay, thanks.

Books I Want to Recommend to You:
Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck
The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven by Sherman Alexie
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
Thunderstruck & Other Stories by Elizabeth McCracken
Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker
Angels in America by Tony Kushner

That's sufficient. Now, if you are so lucky, you can grab a tray of ice cubes, a cup of two-tea-bag tea, some social constructs, and a good book. You are gorgeous! You are cinematic! You are an idiot genius! Bless you.

testudines

Anytime I sit down to write a post, I imagine three specific people reading my blog: my ex-boyfriend, my ex-employer, and my mom. I am A-OK with my mama reading my blog... So long as whatever I say doesn't worry her too much. And, frankly, I don't mind my exes reading, either. I doubt that they do. How dare I flatter myself! But if they do, that is juuust fine. I was actually on fairly okay terms with these exes for a long while until they read various, flippant tweets I wrote and, well, poof. There I go again! Ruining relationships in 140 characters or less. It's a well-developed skill of mine apparently. Anyway, I think it would be advantageous if I just wrote without first worrying about who will be reading these posts. Ignore the reader! Kidding. But at least ignore the fear -- or let the fear work for me rather than against me. Okay, deal. I don't know how to do that exactly, but it's a deal.

I have taken a few days off from checking my email. Probably not the smartest idea. Although maybe? Maybe disconnecting and not being so easy to reach isn't a bad thing at all. It's probably pretty healthy. Last night after watching my beloved anime series (for realz!), I googled how to live like a hermit. I already do, but it reassured me that other people do this as well and that, for the most part, it's okay. I mean, as long as you aren't off in a cabin making bombs or hoarding fingernail clippings or whatever, I think a break from society to partake in a life of contemplation sounds dynamite. (I guess I shouldn't have used the word "dynamite" after talking about bombs. Also, it is not 1974.)

I won't be a hermit forever. I like genuine human interaction too much. I think I go through periods, as we all do, of solitude. They are necessary. They aren't easy, that's for sure. These times of isolation are rich with both loneliness and insight. But if one can work through the loneliness, the insights will become clearer and more valuable and I have no idea what I'm saying anymore. I'm too cold to think. Thanks, tray of ice cubes I just chewed.

What I'm trying to get at is that I shouldn't feel guilty for "taking a break." I shouldn't beat myself up for not going to every concert, show, or party that comes my way. I know that's not what I need right now. I know it's just the pressure of the outside world telling me that I should "get out more" and "be social." Well, maybe everyone in the outside world needs to "get in more" and "read a book." Ever thought of that, hmmmm?

Well, I'm off to warm up my cold bones over a heater vent. I hope my exes and my mom and everyone else didn't hate this post too much. I hope you learned a lot! And if you didn't, let me quickly leave you with a few astonishing facts about sea turtles: The seven species that can be found today have been around for 110 MILLION years. Green sea turtles can stay underwater for as long as five hours. Most sea turtles undergo long migrations, some as far as 1400 miles. Our universe is lying on the shell of a sea turtle. I think.

strand

If I put as much energy into writing poetry as I do in running and going on walks and speed reading books and writing throwaway blog posts and checking Twitter and chewing on ice, I'd definitely be a damn Mark Strand by now. I mean, not a dead Mark Strand. Mark Strand when he was alive.

So, note to self: Don't forget about poetry! Don't abandon it quite yet. Not again. Another note to the same self: Read poetry. We know you already know how to read and that you like it almost too much, so now your assignment is to read and absorb every poem you can find. Dissect it, sometimes. Don't dissect it, often. Love it, hopefully. Hate it, hopefully. Hopefully whatever you do you will just feel things, these "things" being emotions. Remember how you cried in your bedroom and whispered "wow" after reading that one poem by that one French poet you've already forgotten? That was good. Aim for that.

But yeah, I had another banana today (see previous post, people!) before running and NOT AN OUNCE OF CAFFEINE and I was, like, a roadrunner. Ugh. Roadrunners remind me of New Mexico. Quick Google search tells me that New Mexico does indeed have roadrunners and that they are SURPRISE SURPRISE the state bird. Somehow I take this as a sign. Probably because I am delusional and look for/see signs in all things.

The fog has lifted. Now the smog is left, leaving me with more junk in my nose and throat than usual. Junk in my throat. I'm so sorry I typed that. No deleting it now, though. Sort of related in a few ways, but do you ever wish you were Catholic just so you could go to confessional? I would make up so many lies in that booth. And I would speak in a heavy cockney accent. But mostly I just wish I could be a priest so that I could listen to everyone's disturbing and totally wacky sins. We are all so disturbing and all so totally wacky and definitely so sinful. "So sinful!" she said cautiously as she bit into a red velvet cake pop.

SHOWER. Must must must shower now. And chug 7,000 ounces of coffee. One of these is a joke, you decide which one. And while you're at it, tell me all of your sins. <3

suspend

It's me! Your old friend Jernal. I think you'd have to be a constant and close reader of my blog to catch any of these not-that-funny jokes. But all obscure joking aside, hello. Good morning. I am giving it the old college try and attempting to quit caffeine. So it will be a slower morning, which is preferred. Especially with this fog. It is so foggy outside right now. Grays and browns and creams. The whole world/Orem looks like an Andrew Wyeth painting. Except for that whole eye sore known as State Street. If Wyeth had painted Orem's State Street, however, it would have turned out haunting and iconic. Just like me. Jernal: Haunting and Iconic. <--- Joke. I am not Jernal, I am not haunting (yet), and I am not iconic. But I am caffeine-free.

Other things I am: I am determined to eat more bananas. You'd think I eat plenty of them due to banana phone pics or whatevs, but I don't. ALTHOUGH if I look at the environmental impact of bananas, maybe I shouldn't eat more/any of them. I ate a banana phone yesterday and felt like a superhero. My hands/fingers also seemed to hurt less, which may have had nothing to do with the banana, but it also could have had everything to do with the banana. I could just take potassium pills. Pills for every meal. Caffeine pills. Wait, no! Scratch that!

Two paragraphs in and all you know is that I am attempting to drink less caffeine and eat more bananas. I am nothing if not wildly fascinating. So that I do not go on and on and on about other trivial matters, let me quickly get them out of the way in the form of a list. A short list.

*I am reading Rebecca and it is so indulgent and addicting and a perfect book for this foggy Wyeth day.
*No more dreams about my exes, okay subconscious? It's been quite the gift, but I don't want to accept anymore of your gifts. Give me back my dreams of Woody, please.
*I have a freakin' cold sore and I feel like a freakin' leper.
*Will be going to the bookstore in less than an hour. Will spend money I do not have buying books I do not need. Well, I do need the books, but there is this little socialist place around the block that lets me check out any and every book I want. Even the ones with sinister housekeepers and mysterious predecessors.
*I should go make myself presentable for the sales associates at Barnes. Please excuse me now while I attempt to cover up this cold sore with a banana phone.

current

Good news! I've begun writing BY HAND in a personal, private journal. And yes, I did almost spell it "jernal." Jernal. There has got to be an idiot kid out there with the unfortunate name of Jernal. Am I that idiot kid? Am I Jernal Wiemer?

Anyway, a private journal. A place where I can complain about writer's block, worry endlessly about my future (or lack thereof), wax poetic about dreams involving Woody Harrelson and Kanye, and bitch about my various exes. Yes. Now I won't embarrass myself or ruin my chances of employment here on this blog. WHICH MEANS... I am free to discuss current events with you. Politics, entertainment, you name it. That could be the title of my blog. "Politics, Entertainment, You Name It! Jernal's Musings on Life in the 21st Century."

Donald Trump. My thoughts? Here we go. So I am about 87% certain that he is nothing more than a really good performance artist. I still can't believe that he is serious about all of this. A part of me believes that the Clintons and the Trumps got together one lazy afternoon in the Hamptons and discussed the possibility of him running for office. It began as a joke, brought on by one too many mimosas. But then it snowballed into a full-fledged plan. Soon everyone was sober and serious and scheming and here we are -- a year or so later and Trump is giving the performance of his life.

Beyonce. I just really like her thighs. I know that's me being a lamewad and judging another woman's body, but I can't help it. None of us can help it. We are animals. We look at other people and their bodies and I think it's okay to like or dislike something on the surface, so long as we realize that it's ultimately silly to do so and that there is far, far more to a person than just their arms/legs/thighs/ankles/neck acne. NECK ACNE. I remember sitting behind a boy in an English class who had the worst neck acne and it would be bleeding half of the time. Poor kid. But at least he had nice thighs.

Black Lives Matter. Yes, they do. And I am not going to get into this because it actually deserves some serious thought and respect and not just me being a dumbass making dumb jokes and rambling on and on and making obscure references to Russian novels and interrupting everything by adding parenthetical statements that do nothing but, well, interrupt. A subject of this magnitude needs none of that from me. I will say, however, that the Unitarian church up in Salt Lake has a banner outside of their building declaring "Black Lives Matter." Thank you for that, Unis. Time to step up your game, every other religious organization.

Well! That was fun. It was nice to be a little more lighthearted today in my post. It took me over one thousand posts to realize that maybe a dear old diary is the way to go for most everything on my mind. But don't you worry -- I am not "shorting" you on anything. This gal (me) has got a lot on her mind, except for when she's chewing on ice cubes. I will always, always have something to say. Don't let my shyness fool you, fools. (I say "fools" in the most endearing way. You are the sun in my sky, the cream in my coffee, the Kanye in my unheated outdoor swimming pool. Love you, fools.)

full

My last post was... not so good. I'm not promising that this one will be spectacular or even terribly readable, but it will be more focused? I think? I think it has something to do with me being able to think again. I was a thinker in the past, so I wasn't too worried that I'd never be able to think again. But still. I hit a wall this morning. I was irritable and sleepy and probably irritable because I was sleepy. Running helped. Running always seems to help unless I overdo it, haven't eaten properly, or have a pulled groin muscle. (Did you know I told the whole world about my pulled groin muscle on a dating website? Needless to say, I got a lot of messages from a lot of gross groin loving goofs. Then I paused for half a millisecond and thought, "Why the freak am I even on this website?" I'll tell you why. Because I am human and am occasionally desiring of affection. THAT'S why.)

So now that I have finished running and am now running on an endorphin high, I will spend the rest of my Tuesday contributing virtually nothing to society. I will lose and find myself in a book. I will be stubborn and stupid and spend several hours outside despite the gunky air. I will undoubtedly worry about something almost entirely made up inside of my sometimes-thinking head. I will return books to the library and check out more, essentially checking out an identity or perhaps collecting clues to whatever it is I am searching for. I will cave in and bake banana bread tonight. I will write by hand, tingling fingers be damned.

What luxury. And, of course, I feel downright guilty for having these hours and hours and hours given to me to explore. Society tells me I'm useless unless I have a job or a family. Well, then, consider me useless. Useless and content with watching the sparrows return, the ice melt from the branches, the light in the sky lingering and hinting at longer, fuller days.

cubes

I wonder if ice cubes go straight to the brain. Anytime I chew on them (ice cubes, not brains), I feel like I can't think. For about twenty minutes. And then when things thaw out, I'm back to theoretical problem-solving or whatever. Anyway. I'm chewing on ice right now (normal at 10:06 in the morning), so I'm just offering a heads up if things get confusing.

Speaking of confusing, I had a dream about swimming with Kanye last night. First of all, I can't swim. Second, why were we swimming in an unheated outdoor pool in the middle of winter? It might be beneficial to start interpreting my dreams, but I have no interest in anything these days except for reading dusty novels and thawing out frozen brains.

That's not true. I have more than two interests. For example, I'm interested in New Mexico. Again. In fact, I'm making it a goal to visit New Mexico this year. AND I REALLY THINK IT MIGHT HAPPEN. I also desperately want to visit Laura. It would be convenient if she lived in Taos, but it's cool. Maybe one day. Maybe one day she and I will live on a ranch out in Taos where we will paint and write and eat chilies and talk with ghosts as the sun sets. I can dream! I can! I can dream of things other than getting hypothermia while swimming with Kanye!

Did I tell you I read all of Sherman Alexie's The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven yesterday? Remarkable book. Alexie is such a poetic writer. I learned a lot from reading him, actually. He made me think that MAYBE I could go forward with this whole novel writing thing. Thing. I should expand my vocabulary if I am to be a serious novelist. Me, serious? Get serious. Get real. Get in the pool with your dreams. Swim until they come true. Sink into success. Don't make sense. Don't chew on ice cubes, just chilies. The chilies will wake up my brain. Fingers crossed.

out

My fingertips are hurting again. At the same time, they are numb. Can numbness hurt? Yes, I guess it can. Very much so. Numbness is a large part of what prevents me from taking medication for depression. (And I'm not sure I even have depression? I think I have depressive states... as well as manic states... WHICH would point to bipolar. But then there's the whole Borderline Personality Disorder business. I guess one can have more than one mental illness. Isn't that reassuring?!? Life is a grab bag of disorders!) Anyway, my fingers. Bummer. There are a few things that make me not-so-paranoid about the numbness, though. One, this has happened before and it went away. Two, this happened at the same time last year. Three, I think it might have something to do with anemia? In which case, I am taking supplements and will hopefully be less of a vampire victim in no time... Or in at least a couple of months. So. No worries, mama, okay? It comes and goes, just like everything else. And if it doesn't go, then I'll get used to it, just like everything else.

Oh man oh man do I want to be outside. Do I want to be outside? I do. I just know that once I go outside I will be out there until the sun disappears. I know that's not a bad thing, especially since, you know, I have nothing else to do. But I want to "test" myself and try to balance out my day with other activities aside from wandering the streets in Orem with my eyes closed, face towards the sun. (Turns out I'm excellent at walking with no vision. The sun seems to be the only thing I need. And decent shoes.) Of course, my other activities tend to be the exact same activities day after day. Read. Write to do list for the day. Write, usually a blog post, but seriously consider picking back up on that novel-ish thing of mine. Read some more. Try to clean, try to organize various parts of the house, maybe take out the recycling. Eat, sort of. Run, mostly. Shower, maaaybe write, but mostly go outside for hours and hours and hours, eyes either closed or down on the pages of a book. Eventually I will wind down, maybe drink some tea, boil some eggs, look up recipes that will take me decades to actually make, read some more, and then find various ways to zone out, whether that's through the Internet, food, television, or a lethal combination of all three. There you go. The list of my daily activities, a list which you never knew you needed to know (you didn't need to know it, just so you know).

This schedule and these activities are not bad per se; it's only bad when I become so attached to how I do things and when I do them that I get legit anxiety if anything shifts or spontaneously happens. As a pseudo-Buddhist, shouldn't I be actively practicing non-attachment? And being in the moment? And making compassionate action my goal for each and every day? Yes, of course, and totally. It's going to take me seriously examining my life and my actions to make a change (or a couple of changes). It's going to take patience, perspective, and perseverance. I sound like a tired self-help author. I think I'll go help myself right now and stick my sweet face in the direction of the sun with nothing but the sky above me and possibilities ahead of me. Godspeed. Buddhaspeed. I'd high five you, but my fingers hurt.

gravity

Yesterday was a day when I finally felt like myself. I should put the word myself in quotes. Because... Well, what is the Self? I should have ended that question with "maaan." What is the Self, maaan? Are we all just, like, star stuff? Star dust? Stars? Yes, yes, and yes. Not stars as in movie stars, but stars as in luminous spheres of plasma held together by their own gravity. Turns out we're pretty rad.

So yesterday I felt as rad as a luminous sphere. Today I am still a luminous sphere, but do I feel like it? Not sure yet. Too soon to tell. But as evidence has shown, one day is on, the other is off. And if yesterday was definitely on, then... NO! It doesn't have to follow the pattern. Besides, maybe the pattern isn't that obvious or simple. Maybe there's more complexity to this pattern that I cannot yet see. Maybe, juuust maybe, there isn't even a pattern. Maybe it's all just a river and certain days are dams, other days are rapids.

One significant thing that made yesterday so grand was the simple act of sitting outside in the sun. I temporarily forgot how healing it is to sit. To sit and listen and not do a single damn thing. Hell, even take a second to close your eyes. But then open them again and look around, really look around. Just see things, don't say things -- not out loud, not in your head. The stories we tell ourselves over and over and over again more often than not get in the way. Sometimes our minds just need to flow and we need to float. We've done enough sinking as it is.

I want to remember this. I need to remember this. I need to give myself the space to stop, the space to exist. And if I forget? Well, all I have to do is look up into space and see myself, radiating across the dark canvas of the night sky.

super

I feel like I am finally waking up. It has everything to do with the sleeping pill wearing off. Waking up isn't necessarily welcomed, but I'll roll with it. (That sounded dark and perhaps a bit emo. What I meant was that I think dreams are cool. That's all.)

So yeah! Quick thoughts, quickly coming your way, best to get out of the way. Here they come!

What if I move to Thailand? Hear me out. The cost of living is ridiculously cheap and... And I've already talked about this, huh? Like, yesterday. Who knows. I never reread my posts. It's probably for the best that I don't. Thailand: Cheap, friendly, Buddhist. What's not to love? (What's not to love is the gabillion miles I'll be from my loved ones.)

If not Thailand, what about New Mexico? I talk and write and dream about that place so much that you'd think it was almost a mythical place. It's not. There is a lot of tension there between the wealthy and the poor, whether visible or not. There are chemistry teachers making meth. There is the lack of, you know, trees or whatever. But the sky! The openness. The dreams of Georgia and D.H. and green chilies. If nothing else, I should make it a goal to visit New Mexico (for the first time, mind you) this year.

I am currently reading Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon. Soooo good. That's all I'll write for my "review" -- that it is soooo good. Just trust me on this one! I had never read her before for whatever reason, but... better late than never. The bitch can write.

I have been almost euphoric all day long and then just barely I had a strange mood swing where I got upset by a simple question and slammed the door. Meeee-ghan. Meghan! Come on. I wonder if it was just hunger. You know, feelin' "hangry." Still, that's not an excuse for my attitude. Other than that, I've been a real peach today! I much prefer being a peach than being a pain. Note to self.

That being said, I might go make some peach tea right now. No, not peach tea. That has caffeine. No caffeine anymore. How about that kava "stress relief" tea I have in the cupboard? I think it works. Hey, if it helps me to relax, I'll drink it, even if it smells like a wet dog. And yes, I should get something to eat as well. Can't just kava kava my life away. (If I could, I would. That sounds hella chill, bro.)

Peace, peaches. Practice kindness tonight, to yourself and others. Oh, and, uh... Touchdown! Go sports! Super Bowl! A bowl of Grape Nuts sounds so good right now. I mean, a bowl of nachos and beer!!! Yeah! Team!

soporific

Kids, you don't need to do drugs. Well, kind of. But none of the hard stuff. All you need is a cheap ass bottle of generic sleeping pills from Big Lots. Take one right before bed and be prepared for some weird-as-shit worlds to reveal themselves to you.

My dreams last night did not, sadly, include Woody Harrelson. But they did include rare and intricately designed moths the size of my face. Terrifying, to be honest. Beautiful, yes, but terrifying. Rachel Maddow made an appearance in my hallucination/dream. Ms. Maddow is always welcome in my dreams. Now the real challenge is how do I get Woody and Rachel to appear together? That might take brand name sleeping pills, which means I'll first have to find a job to support my habit.

Job. Jobs. Please don't make me have two jobs again. That was a real bummer. But I was lucky to even have a job. And I realize so many people have to work at least two jobs just to scrape by. Yes, I was also just scraping by, but I did not have any other mouths to feed or enormous debts to pay off. I had it alright, I guess. But I guess "alright" wasn't cutting it.

I should start thinking about where exactly I want to work. Do I want it to be long-term? Or am I going to be moving again in the near future? Can someone just hire me to walk around outside and look at plants and the sky? I guess I sort of had that job at the can't-mention-their-name-because-I-might-get-into-trouble-even-though-I-no-longer-work-for-them-and-am-not-even-saying-anything-negative-about-them school. I got to play with kids for half an hour outside. That was pretty sweet. And good heavens it paid well. Sigh. But it's okay. Nothing about the move was black and white. The gray areas are always the hardest to examine.

Okay, one not-so-great thing about those generic dream pills is that it makes you all kinds of groggy the next morning. I guess groggy can be a blessing sometimes. It sands down the sharp corners of the mind, allowing oneself to be too tired to care.

I'll end this with some Rachel photos because, well, I am too tired to care about writing anything more at the moment.

replace

I have one thousand forty-four blog posts, yet I still just googled "how to write your first blog post." I was curious! And insecure, unsure of what to write these days. Saaaame old same old. Old. I'm getting old. I'm getting old enough to know that my day does not have to revolve around the following: writing x number of diary entries disguised as blog posts, being a slave to a machine inside of a building full of florescent lights and men sporting tight shorts, compulsively checking various social media sites, reading a good chunk of a book while ignoring virtually everything else in my life. My day does not have to revolve around these things. Who knew? Who knew that I, for the most part, have the power to choose where I spend my energy? What little energy I have. Restlessness does not equal energy. Someone get this girl a steak/burger/iron infusion as soon as possible.

If I do not spend my energy on these various activities, where do I spend it? These somewhat self-destructive things that I do on a regular basis have become so familiar, so comfortable. If they are suddenly taken away from me, will I panic? Will I be apathetic? Will I laugh and take the habits back? I want to quit them, I don't want them back -- so it looks like I need to replace them. I need a plan, I suppose.

I can write. Privately and freely. No editing. Just write, just let it be awful, just let the typos happen. Point is to make it happen, to quit talking about writing and actually do the writing.

I can meditate. Because it works. It's hard, but hard things are often the things that actually work. Ain't no shortcut to enlightenment, buds.

I can be suuuuper obnoxious and get into suuuuper healthy foods. This will replace the less-than-healthy substances I put into my less-than-happy body. Does this mean I'll have to start Instagramming my gluten-free dairy-free cage-free hormone-free antibiotic-free flavor-free kale/spirulina/nutritional yeast smoothie? (There are probably no nutritional yeast smoothies out there, but maybe I can be the one to start the trend?)

I can spend more time with people I love or at least with people I like/tolerate. It is so obvious that I need to surround myself with other humans, at least occasionally. The hermit life is probably my destiny, but before I reach that destiny, I might as well experience what it's like to engage in real life conversations. And I guess a hug or pat on the back or fist bump wouldn't hurt. The fist bump might actually hurt, though. My knuckles are dry, cracked, sensitive.

Well, there's more I can do. There will always be more that I can do. But maybe it's time for me to stop writing about these replacements and try one of them out? I think I'll go with the eating-healthy-foods one. Okay, my wasabi laced jumbo sandwich may not be labeled as "healthy," but it is labeled as edible and if there's something I need right now it is edible substances. In short, I need food. Guess we all do. And we all need to log off. Right now. Just for a minute or five. Just long enough to read a poem or five. You can thank me later. <3

q/a

Answering meaningless questions found on Tumblr is good. It's good because it distracts me from myself and we all know I need a little distraction from Meg's hyperactive mind. Although isn't answering questions diving into my own mind? These questions of mine about my mind are pointless. Less pointless questions, more meaningless questions. I'd rather have a point than a meaning (that's not true and it doesn't make sense, but let's not think about it too much).

Q. Have you ever slept in the same room with someone you liked?
A. Ohhhh!!! Here come the juicy/juvenile questions! If there's one thing I do not like, it is sleeping in the same room with someone I like. Or dislike, obviously. Or anyone. Maybe a cat would be okay, although I worry it would scratch my eyes out in my sleep. I don't know if it's just that I haven't found "the right person" yet or what, but I would much rather be alone while I'm dreaming than sharing space with another living creature. In fact, I've said multiple times that if I ever get married, I will make sure my spouse and I have separate bedrooms or, ideally, separate homes. I'm impossible!

Q. Do you get annoyed easily?
With myself? Yes. With others? Yes, sometimes. Mostly with myself, which is awful. Sometimes with others, which is also awful and makes me feel like a piece of trash immediately after becoming annoyed... Depending on what the person was doing, of course. But most of the time I get annoyed at super insignificant things. A lamp is turned on during the daytime. Coughing. Anything and everything to do with the grocery store at 5pm. My nail breaks, my teeth need to be brushed, my hands are sticky. Coughing. Orange cars. The coughing thing really makes me feel bad, to be honest. THE PERSON CAN'T HELP THAT THEY HAVE A MORTAL BODY. Sheesh. (Although, admit it, there are a few folks out there who cough like crazy and refuse to simply wander over to the drinking fountain and take a sip of damn water. Like, is this for attention?! Gimme a break!)

Q. Are you the type of person who likes to be out or at home?
A. OMG. Do you even know me? Of course you don't. You only know the online blog version of me. Well well well, I'm about to surprise the shit out of you -- I actually like to be out. Not at home. Let me explain. Okay, sure. I'm an introvert. And okay sure, I'd probably rather be at home 100% of the time than at a very loud party on a Friday night. But just at home 24/7 would drive me cuckoo. I get restless after approximately 20 minutes if I am inside. I need to literally be outside of the home. Outside of any home, building, area with four walls and a ceiling. Again, I am impossible. This is why I think a yurt or perhaps a tree house would be the perfect dwelling for my impossible soul. A warm place to sleep at night, but one which is still open to the natural world.

Goodness. It's 1:01 in the afternoon and I still haven't brushed my teeth. Questions can wait. Answers can wait. Dental hygiene can never wait (unless you've been absorbed in a compelling book all morning). Floss, STAT.

less

Saturday already? Yes, every day is Saturday for this girl. I hate Saturdays. But I don't hate every day. So I guess every day isn't Saturday. Don't get me started on days again.

But do get me started on a project. Please. I feel useless, restless, directionless. Less than. The solution to these empty feelings isn't necessarily to fill it with more more more. The trick is to get rid of stuff, to get rid of distractions. Less equals more yada yada yada. Oh, there I go again -- speaking Yiddish. Side note: According to Wiktionary, "yada yada yada" is popularly attributed to Yiddish, but this is dismissed by etymologists. How in the world did I spell "etymologists" correctly on the first try? Maybe because I am a ZHENI. "Zheni" is Yiddish for "genius," as if you didn't already know that.

So yeah. A project. I need at least something to keep me busy for a day or three just so I can wrap myself up in the warm blanket of accomplishment, a blanket which will eventually suffocate me. Clean the bathroom? Yeah... I guess that's something I could do. Organize my closet? You know, maybe. Go through boxes in the basement? Yes, because I love earwigs. Okay, so none of these sound especially exciting, but that's normal. I need to break up these "tasks" into 20 minute chunks or something or else they shall never be completed. I say all of this, but I'm simply going to end up being absorbed in some novel for the rest of the freakin' day. I'm hopeless.

I sound hopeless, but I'm not really. I am just sort of stuck. I think the elation and newness that came from moving back home has worn off. I love being here, don't get me wrong, but I am beginning to get too comfortable in my routines, too idle. I need to challenge myself to get out more, to try different things, to not hold myself to some strange, exhausting standard. I also need to desperately brush my teeth and get dressed for the day -- the day full of less. And that might not be such a bad thing.

green

Should I answer some questions I found on Tumblr? No, but I certainly can. Oh, they are the deepest questions one could ask another human. Or alien/robot/vampire. I very well may be one of those three. I have my suspicions.

1. What's your favorite color?
Ah, the age old question. I've been asked this since I was able to form words, which was around the age of 23. My answer has changed over the years -- for a good portion of my adolescence it was "silver and mint." I thought I was such a unique duck for having that answer. After my silver and mint phase, my favorite color changed to green and there it has stayed. I am beginning to be strongly drawn to yellow, though. It reminds me of my childhood and the way the sun would wash my whole room in a warm glow at the end of the day. Yellow and green. Crap. Those are UVU's colors, huh? Yeeeaaaah school spirit.

2. Could you use some sleep right now?
Funny you should ask. Yes, but I probably need food more than zzzz. As I mentioned in my previous post, I took a sleeping pill last night and actually went to bed before 3am. I am tempted to take another one tonight because damn it felt good to clock in more than 5 hours of sleep. I slept better when I had a job -- probably because I had to wake up early, so I forced myself to wind down and get into bed at a reasonable hour. I also didn't have the allure of television, so I found it easier to just go, "Meh. I'm bored. Might as well sleep." Anyway, this is so boring.

3. Does it bother you when someone hides things from you?
What do you mean exactly? Like, hides their diary? No, because that's their business and I'm also really good at finding things. I can be a snoop if I so wish to be. But hiding emotions? C'mon. I can see right through that. Don't hide your emotions because frankly it creeps me out. If someone is always, "Yeah! Hey! Everything is fine!" I wanna say, "Okay, maybe, but not all the time. I am your friend, not a stranger. No small talk. Where are my shoes? And wasn't there a banana in my hand a few minutes ago?" I don't care too much for secrets unless it is very critical that whatever it is remains a secret. But no need to be dishonest or elusive. It's best to be honest and transparent in most cases.

TIME TO GO BACK OUTSIDE! Oh my oh my it is beautiful out there today, folks. It's almost overwhelming. The entire sky is a light therapy box. Take advantage of it while it lasts.

xoxo

woody

I expect today will be full of metaphorical rainbows and literal sunshine. It better be because yesterday was an all-around mess. In my experience, one day will be up, one day will be low. Luckily, there have been more stable days recently than the extreme highs and lows. Yes, the highs are seductive, but they come with a big crash. So, dear Universe, time to balance yourself out! Today will be a pleasant one. Plus, it's Friday. BUT THEN AGAIN, what are days to the unemployed? They are all Saturdays. Very, very poor Saturdays.

Speaking of poor, I just paid some bills. And in a way it was kind of exhilarating? Exhilarating is a strong word. If nothing else, it felt nice to check something of actual importance off of my to do list. You see, I can be depressed, anxious, unemployed, and still pay my bills! Five days late, sure, but they have been paid nonetheless.

So I guess I just spent a paragraph discussing bills. Boooooring. Did you fall asleep yet? I'll tell you what will make you fall asleep -- sleeping pills, duh. I took one last night for the first time in a long time and man oh man were my dreams wacky. No one wants to hear about someone else's dream UNLESS that dream has to do with playing on a jungle gym with Woody Harrelson. He was even wearing his damn hemp pants in my dream. Naturally Woody and I were best friends, which I think is something we could be in real life if I ever meet him. WHEN I meet him, excuse me.

Sometimes I think I blog in order to feel like I have completed some self-imposed writing assignment for the day. Like, "Yep! Wrote about bills and Woody Harrelson today. Gold star, A+, done and done. Now I don't even have to think about that whole novel-writing business. What novel? Exactly." And then la la la la la I go about my day, head in the clouds, avoiding real life. I like this goofy blog, I do. But I also wonder why I put so much time into it and close to zero minutes into any other writing projects. I think I like the instant gratification that comes with a blog. Type type type and then poof -- published. Having other people read, react, and relate to my writing/thoughts is also a plus. And, if it isn't glaringly obvious, this blog isn't perfect. That's what's nice about it. I am so stubborn about making most everything I do perfect (a set-up for failure, by the way) that this blog comes as a welcome relief. I have a feeling that I would be driven cuckoo by other forms of writing -- trying to write the perfect first sentence, the perfect chapter, the perfect character. What I need to learn is the power of rough drafts, revision, rewrites. Please, Meghan, don't try to be perfect on the first try. Or on any try. Just write and get it down, let it out.

Fiiiiine. I'll try. I really will. Where will I start today? Should I revisit a story I started over a year ago? Or maybe the muse came to me last night in a dream. Maybe my novella will be a heartwarming tale of two best friends in hemp pants having the time of their lives high up on the monkey bars. Emphasis on the word HIGH, if you know what I mean.

Okay! Now go pay some bills! It will be intoxicating, I promise.