balm

Can you believe it? I am breaking my rigid routine by writing a blog post in the evening rather than in the morning. Shocking, shocking.

I am slower in the evening. My brain isn't firing thoughts as quickly as it does in the early hours of the day. In some ways this mellowness is a relief. Actually, in a lot of ways it is a relief. My morning self needs to take a cue from my evening self. My morning self needs to learn the art of slowing down, the skill of stopping and sitting and seeing what the brain has to say rather than roaming around restlessly, unable to hear anything above the buzzing of the brain. Brains, man. They are just giant walnuts or small cauliflower heads. That's all.

Okay, my giant walnut seems to be a little too slow right now. I had some things I wanted to write, but what were they again? Something about the weather. About the storm that keeps almost happening. About how the clouds and the sun and the crisp blueness of the sky heal me over and over and over again. There is no limit to their power, I promise.

I wanted to write about the resurrection of a friendship. It isn't even a friendship -- it is a soulship. She has in her possession a part of my soul, although that is probably not true. Possession is such a strong, almost aggressive word. There is no aggression, no possession, just mirroring and connecting. I am so grateful for the wise decision I made to humble myself and apologize. And I am even more grateful for the beauty of forgiveness.

Lord, my evening posts are just dripping with syrup, aren't they?

I wanted to write about witchy ways and how the crone is the ideal and the woman who runs with the wolves is where I am headed, where we are all headed -- we just might take some detours along the way. Go howl. Now. I promise it will awaken something inside of you, something vital.

I wanted to write about, yes, my eating disorder. About recovery. About insecurity. About relapses and synapses and warm cinnamon toast dreams. I wanted to write about hunger. I wanted to write about fullness, but it was too intimidating. I wanted to write about territory, reclamation, letting go.

Instead I will go outside. I will go outside because outside has always been and always will be my sanctuary. It is my balm, my bread. It cares so little of me; it just let's me be. And that's exactly what I need right now.

vibes

Toooo much time in my head ohhhh too too too much time in my head. Everybody! Sing it with me! Too much time in my head la la la la lalaaaa.

This is why people my age have careers, families, obnoxious baby wrap companies, etc. To take the focus off of themselves or at least to remain constantly busy. Keep busy, keep sane. I mean, you'll be "insane" in the way where you're, like, "Argh! Work/my toddler/this new baby wrap pattern is driving me cuckoo!" But then you come home in the evening and watch your Netflix and drink your locally sourced fermented mushroom tea or whatever and all is well.

Deep breath.

Seriously, I just took a ginormous breath and I have been holding it for roughly twelve seconds and now I have to cough. Okay. At least I stopped myself. And that breath actually had a calming effect. I guess I will get that "breathe" tramp stamp tattoo after all. Reminders, yeah? Yeah.

But here's what I really have to remind myself to do:

*Eat.
*Sleep.
*Forgive.
*Stop.
*Keep going.
*Drink a lot of water. Who cares if you end up wetting your leggings on your walk through the town of Kanab and have to throw away your leggings in a dumpster outside of a cheap motel? Who cares? At least you're hydrated.

I must also remind myself often often often to not expect. Don't expect, just accept. I guess I should expect respect and not accept disrespect. But you know what I mean. I can't keep starting (and continuing and ending) the day with expectations of exactly how something should be, how exactly someone should act, how exactly everything will play out. Because guess what? That is silly. That is the perfect set-up for disappointment. And my disappointment comes across as extreme grumpiness and self-hatred. Bad aura, bad vibes. I don't want to be that person. I want to be that person who radiates something some might call "compassion" or "grooviness." Ideally both.

How do I become this person? How do I shake off those darker feelings? First off, I must approach the feelings with curiosity and, yes, acceptance. We are a natural and healthy mix of both light and dark. The darkness is there to either warn us or teach us, usually both. I don't try to cover it up by sweeping it under any kind of rug (rugs come in many different forms, by the way). I remain open and flexible; I work with what I have been given. I let go of expectations and free myself from disappointments, from grumpiness, from self-hatred.

I'm rambling. I'm a-ramblin' and a-gamblin' and actually not really gamblin' anymore. I don't gamble with my emotions or the emotions of others as much as I used to. I got to give myself credit for the progress I have made over the past couple of years. I have matured, whether I consciously realize it or not. I have become more stable, on the whole, and quicker to work through and move past depressive, destructive episodes.

I finally have the desire to build up rather than tear down. No, not build up walls -- I will tear those mothereffers down. What I wish to build up is myself and others, to not tear down the fragility that is within each of us. We're all just trying, dear babies, and all we need to do for ourselves and each other is to be kind. Just. Be. Kind.

And don't forget to breathe every once in awhile.

connect

I had another strange dream last night. BUT WHEN ARE DREAMS NOT STRANGE. Last night's dream was terrifying, probably due to the fact that I watched about 1,237 episodes of Dateline before bed. So what! I'll watch 1,238 tonight if I wanna! I'm an adult! I can do whatever I want, like never shave, never wear underwear, never understand why we as a nation gave Britney Spears such a hard time when she had what was so obviously a mental breakdown back in 2007. Is it because we do not take mental healthcare seriously? Yes, yes it is. It is also because we are all assholes.

Anyway, I can't remember my dream too well and it doesn't matter so much. Unless it does matter. Aren't dreams messages from the cosmos or whatever? I'm beginning to get all wooey wooey and "in touch" with my wild woman, intuitive side. Give me a crystal ball! Break out the tarot cards! Get Miss Cleo on the line! I've got A LOT of questions for her.

On my mind right this second:

*A certain somebody in my life who does not at all read this blog and probably never has and probably never will despite the multiple times I have mentioned it to her is making me... Sad. Worried? A tad frustrated. Mostly just sad, though. Sad because I see her fading, rapidly running in the opposite direction of the wild woman. We all have our own path, sure. And we all have our own inner struggles that others can never see or know. I need to remember these things. But at the same time, I watch her close off from everyone and submit to a subservient role that suffocates her intuition and, yes, wild nature. Boo! Hiss! And in classic Meg fashion, I want to "rescue" her. I want to fix everything and preach feminism and freakin' liberate her. I have to find a balance, though, between letting her figure things out on her own and voicing my concerns. Oy vey. Maybe Miss Cleo will have some advice.

*Cracklin' Oat Bran. What a damn fine breakfast cereal.

*Sometimes I forget that I have a gender???

*My brain just ran full-force into a wall. Buuummmmmer. I have these bursts of creativity and "insights" throughout the day. Noon is not one of those times. I'll get a second (or is it third? fourth?) wind around 2pm, I guarantee you this! This I guarantee. If I could guarantee you one thing in your one, beautiful, wild life it would be this.

*Geeeeez. Writing about that certain somebody who is worrying me kinda brought down the whole mood of this post, huh? My apologies. EXCEPT... I have been consciously trying to apologize less. Yes, less. I'll apologize if I do something like purposely throw a pie in your face or run you over on my segway, but for the most part I am going to really think about what just happened before I jump to saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I'm sorry, but this is the truth.

Well, looks like another post has been written and another day has come and gone. Oh, what's that you say? It's only 12:03 in the afternoon? Your FACE is 12:03 in the afternoon. Gotcha there.

PS -- Anyone wanna get super high and go to Chuck E. Cheese this week? We can see Jesus in the ball pit and jam out with the animatronic band. Think about it and get back to me. (THIS IS A JK MOMENT, MOM.)

enough

Did you survive yesterday? I'm sure multitudes of people thrived yesterday, especially Jesus. I, however, simply survived. And that was enough.

Holidays are hard. They have been hard ever since I became an adult. Is it only due to the fact that I want to remain a child? No. No because I am not even sure I want to remain a child. In fact, I want to fast forward to my retirement years where I sip spiked Ovaltine on a Miami beach with my 20-year-old Cuban boyfriend. I suppose I need to have a career first in order to retire.

Last night I had a dream that I was moving out of my childhood home again. I was crying because I didn't want to get rid of my stuffed animals. At the same time, I became fascinated with my grandparents' old timey clothes I found in a closet and started formulating a plan where I could become my grandparents.

And now for the interpretation. I think it is pretty obvious. I find myself clinging to childhood (the past) while simultaneously striving for my twilight years (the future). Innocence versus wisdom perhaps? What's missing is the meat in between. I am ignoring the present and avoiding the essential steps I am supposed to take and the experiences I am supposed to have in order to advance in life. In other words, I am missing out.

I don't want to miss out. Of course I don't want to miss out. It's just that I haven't realized until recently that I have been missing out. It took my subconscious mind to point this out to me. It took quieting down for a minute and tapping into my intuitive nature. It took some damn hard honest self-reflection. It has been exhausting, but I refuse to fall back asleep.

Where to start? This is where I fall short. I think too much, second guess everything, and then talk myself out of whatever needs to be done. Beginnings should be more spontaneous, more impulsive -- and then I can straighten things out along the way.

I start by putting myself out there more. A little bit at a time. I get coffee with someone. I go on a walk with someone. I join some kind of club/organization/cult. Okay, not a cult. But let me at least interact with other like-minded humans in real life. Let me have discussions and disagreements and discoveries -- outside of the comfort of my home/the screen.

In order to be more social, I have to be less rigid with my self-imposed schedule/habits/rituals. I have to loosen up and be more like water, less like stone.

I am tempted to say, "But I just wish I had more reliable friends!" or "It would be so much easier to be social if I lived in Salt Lake again!" And while those may be true statements, they are also excuses. Not every interaction I have has to be the best or in the most ideal location. Just the fact that I will be trying something new and trying to improve my well-being is good enough for me. Again, one step at a time.

No more denying myself. No more hiding from the opportunities the universe keeps throwing my way. No more trying to pad my world so I never, ever fall. Fall, Meghan. Fall because the rising up will be spacious, the scrapes on your knees will heal, and the stories you will have to tell will be richer, fuller, and entirely your own.

And now for some unrelated pictures.

grid

Guess who was a little Meghan the Grouch yesterday? I'll give you 47 hints. Here we go. 1) Her name is Meghan. 2) She really loves avocados and sandwiches and burritos, but she is verrrrry picky about her burritos. Burritos have a tendency to either send her into an orgasmic stupor or to enrage her by their failure to impress. 3) Psych. I'm not going to give you 47 hints. You wish, bub(s). I'll just tell you. It was MEEEE!!! It was I who was the Grouch yesterday. Not even a grouch, really, but just a sad sack of a half-human, half-robot. I did snap at my mom a few times, which kills me. I'm sorry, mama! You didn't do one thing wrong. And the only thing I did wrong was allow my emotions to get the better of me. I also didn't eat for a long stretch of time, which is a big no no for me and anyone else who is a living creature. Totally okay for ghosts and toasters to fast, though.

Today, however, is a 180 from yesterday. I could try and figure out why, but I won't spend my energy on trying to solve that mystery. Instead I will use this non-grouchy attitude to take care of myself, to plan, to partake. How will I take care of myself? I will eat. I will sit. I will observe. I will pause. And I'll drink a shit ton of water. What will I plan? Let me get to that in a second. What will I partake of? LIFE, MAN. And also food. Because, surprise surprise, food gives me life. And luckily food can taste really, really good.

Planning. So. Deep breath. I have decided on a major life goal I'd like to accomplish. Want to hear it? No matter your answer, I am going to tell you anyway. I want to become self-sufficient and live off the grid. Simple as that. And also probably so, so complicated. So what! So what if it begins with me being bewildered and naive and totally in the dark about virtually everything related to self-sufficiency? You already know this, but it all begins with one seemingly tiny step. And then you take the next one and the next one... That's all. See? It is rather simple.

I tend to get discouraged when I do not see immediate results, when the goal I have in mind is not suddenly accomplished. Now now, Meghan, life does not work that way. I am learning just how essential patience and perseverance are. And, related, I am learning how to spell perseverance correctly. It's a bit of a tricky word, I won't lie!

Side note (but a particularly crucial and large side note): All of the energy and time I put into being a slave to an eating disorder will be channeled into accomplishing my goal. It takes a huge switch in perspective and a leap of faith and definitely a lot of hard work, but I can confidently say that I am up for the challenge. I am stronger and more determined than I realize.

Can I end this with a Marianne Williamson quote that we've probably all heard/read before? Sure. I can do whatever I want!

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?"

navigate

Are we free yet from the weird moon vibes? I am not so sure. I feel myself slipping back into looniness. Then again, maybe it's just because it's a Monday. Oh, what? It's a Friday? Could've fooled old unemployed me.

Unemployed. I forgot about that whole situation I'm in. You know, the situation of being really poor and relying heavily on the generosity of my parents. Oy vey. I can't go into it too much right now because I am afraid it will drive me over the edge and into the land of the loons, but something huge which keeps me up at night is the fact that I am in my 30s and living at home without a career, family, or any of the other markers of adulthood. Most of the time I don't even feel like much of an adult. I feel like a perpetual child, stuck in this fictional, Peter Pan world where no one grows up and there will always be a safety net beneath me. This -- all of this -- is a therapist's dream (if the therapist loves work) or a therapist's nightmare (if the therapist is a lazy ass). I believe a lot of my "issues" stem from the fact that I a) cling to childhood and b) feel out of control in most areas of my life.

NO MORE. No more of talking about that. For now. No, I wasn't taking a stand against my inner demons by declaring, "No more!" I'm not there quite yet. At least I am now paying attention to my habitual behaviors and not letting myself ignore what I have for so long pushed aside. Those things have got to count for something, right? But where do I go from here? I have poor navigational skills. And it is a good sign that I am interested in so many things, that I am curious to explore a variety of paths, but I also lack decision making skills. And have I mentioned I get distracted? And disinterested? And desirous of some place just a little bit better than where I currently am? I desperately need to learn the art of sticking-with-things. But maybe most importantly I need to stop weighing every single option until it no longer exists and instead dive in and trust my limbs, heart, and soul to know how to swim. To trust oneself, to forgive oneself, to just simply see what happens is both the test and the reward. It is the key to freedom, the way out of your own prison.

And now for some photos. They have nothing to do with what I have written above. They are just cool photos. (Hang in there. The moon still loves us.)

loony

Dear Diary (that's what you've become) (nothing wrong with that) (but if you came here looking for quirky videos of me dancing inappropriately while demonstrating how to frost sugar cookies for Easter, you might be disappointed) (but if you came here looking for run-on sentences and parenthetical statements that clutter up the screen, look no further!), I survived the full moon. Barely.

Did anyone else experience weird vibes yesterday during that particular lunar phase? This girl sure did. This girl sure as hell did. I googled "does the full moon make you crazy" and read a few "scientific" articles that claimed there is nothing to the loopiness associated with full moons. That it is an old wives' tale. Pish posh. I disagree (except I probably agree a little because, you know, science rules). I believe we only know a small fraction of what goes on in the universe. Of course. I don't know who would disagree with that. But the disagreement comes when people can't see things with their eyes. If it can't be seen, it doesn't exist, right? Oh oh oh, but wait. There is more than one way to see things.

Okay, so the moon made us feel weird. Weird isn't always bad. In fact, I prefer weird in most cases UNLESS that weird feeling makes you do weird things like punch your pillow and cry in the fetal position and walk out into the street at night barefoot. Mom, don't worry!!! I feel much more... Centered today. I mean, mostly. I mean, it's still too early to tell. I mean, whatever. Roll with it.

I would like to know more about the night sky, both in the astrological and astronomical sense. Gemini! Orion! Uh... Mercury in retrograde! Milky Way! I know very little. Someone teach me? Fine, I'll read a book/Wikipedia. Or take ketamine.

Juuust now remembering my dreams from last night. Thanks for the dream where all of my exes came back to roast me, subconscious. That was a real treat. There was another dream somewhere in there about stuffed animals and porcelain dolls, but obviously the roasting dream sticks with me the most. A lot of my exes are now married and have children. Wait, that's not true. But a few of them are and I really dig at least one of their wives. In fact, I like her so so so much and I love that I like her so so so much. It is such a relief! Then there's another ex-of-sorts who married a real dud of a girl. She does not read this blog. He does not read this blog. I'm not sure who reads this blog except for my mom and the ghost of Nancy Reagan. Too soon? Anyway, exes, man. They are like a constant full moon.

It isn't even noon and yet I am so freaking excited for dinner. I will now post a few photos of what I currently crave. And then I'll probably add a photo or two of the moon and zero photos of any of my exes or their wives. A photo of a spooky porcelain doll? You got it.

witness

Heeey... I just realized something. Let me type it down before it disappears. My insights tend to vanish quickly only to be replaced by the same old neurotic thoughts. (That was not my realization.) I realized that it's okay to be annoyed and frustrated and angry. Hmmm. This isn't as profound as it seemed in my head. Okay, let me try again: For the past few weeks, I have begun to RETURN TO MY ROOTS and allow my freak flag to fly as frickin' high as it wants. In other words, I'm becoming an obnoxious pseudo-hippie wannabe shaman future Dalai Lama bodhisattva babe. Ugh. Even just typing that was semi-irritating. BUT SO BE IT! I have been feeling great! And not always manic, false-sense-of-well-being great, but calm and clearheaded great. I'll take it. Oh, lord/buddha I'll take it. So I'll be groovin' along with these groovy vibes when suddenly something or someone will get on my nerves and I'll snap. I just snap right out of that wooey wooey loving mode and end up being, well, a gnarly bitch.

This shift in attitude is so disheartening to me. I think, "Well, gee whiz. I'll never be the next Jetsun Jamphel Ngawang Lobsang Yeshe Tenzin Gyatso (THIS IS HIS HOLINESS' FULL NAME I SWEAR GO LOOK IT UP). You are such a screw up and a phony, Meghan." Oh good. That negative self-talk is sure to make things better. Sarcasm. It does nothing to make things better. It only further waters the seed of hatred. And, you know, I forget that I am human. Humans have emotions. Humans should have emotions. I should be grateful that I am able to experience a whole myriad of human emotions -- they are so fascinating, endlessly teaching lessons, and potentially great vehicles on the road to enlightenment.

Amen!

But seriously, my new goal is to stop judging every emotion that comes my way and instead be a witness to it, observe what it does and how it arises and how is dissipates. This kind of observation will clear the water rather than add more mud. It is through this process that I will finally become allies with my mind and the world around me (which, by the way, is created in my mind -- TRIPPY).

I keep writing all of these serious posts, man. I am such a loser! Kidding. I guess there is a time and place for playful writing and apparently the time and place is not right now. But will it be the time and place in the next now? Or the now after the next now? Or the next now after the now that comes after the next now? Now I am not making sense. Perfect. I am perfectly not making perfect sense, which is and always will be perfect.

spruce

Yesterday in my post I used the phrase "holy guacamole," much to my surprise and despair. Today I will use another phrase I never use and that phrase is... Holy Toledo! It's so windy and so cloudy and about-to-be-so-rainy right now! And will be for the rest of today! And probably tomorrow! And please oh please, Meg, stop using exclamation marks! I mean, stop using exclamation marks. Period. Good. Deep breath.

That deep breath wasn't just words I typed. I really did take that deep breath because holy guacamole of Toledo I needed it. I feel great, don't get me wrong, but it's the kind of great that I felt on Sunday. The borderline-manic-stimulated-by-everything great. The only difference is Sunday was incredibly sunny and today, as I've already mentioned, is quite the opposite. The lack of sun actually has a calming effect on me. I don't feel so pressured to go go go. I can be a radical, revolutionary human and finally sit down. Sit down! That deserved an exclamation mark.

Aside from sitting down, I plan to spend today drastically simplifying my life. Or at least beginning the process. Where where where do I begin? I know I should know -- I've read the self-help books touting the benefits of simple living. I thought I had absorbed the information out of those books, but apparently not. I think I will begin with my clothes. I currently wear about 1% of the clothing I own, and that is in no way an exaggeration. You see, I had this habit in college of running down to Forever 21 at least once a week and buying some trendy outfit or some kind of obnoxious fedora. I mean, I had to have something quirky and cute to wear to Velour later that night, right? Oh, college. You were a time of one too many curious decisions.

So now I have a closet (several closets, in fact) full of ill-fitting, falling apart clothes, most of which haven't been worn since the late '70s. And then there were my many, many, many visits to Savers during the winter of 2007. Yes, 2007. That shit is all down in the basement. Needless to say, all of this unused stuff/junk is terribly overwhelming, unnecessary, and absolutely ready to be laid to rest/donated. Closet(s) and basement: Watch out, I'm coming for you.

Does it make any sense that I'm spending all of this time writing about how I am going to clean and simplify without actually, you know, cleaning and simplifying? It makes a little sense, sure. I have to get it out there and make it public so that I am almost forced to follow through with my plans. Hold me accountable, world.

This monkey (with wings) mind of mine will thank me. In fact, the flying monkey will most likely disappear once my physical environment becomes clutter-free and clean. The focused, calm mind steps in when placed in such an environment. Won't that be interesting?

And one day... ONE DAY I swear I will be the focused, calm, radical, revolutionary, witchy, guacamole-loving owner of a tiny home. You heard me. I'm all about jumping on the tiny house bandwagon. Maybe I'll even live in a bandwagon, so long as it's under 300 square feet. I don't even care if the bandwagon comes with a toilet. I'm all about peeing in nature. And on that note, let the tidying up begin.

path

I refuse to read the post I wrote yesterday because holy guacamole I was buzzing around like a monkey with wings. There are a few things I do not like about my last sentence. One: I never use the phrase "holy guacamole." I believe I used it because guacamole has been on my mind all morning. It would be a challenge to be a vegan if you were not a fan of avocados. Avocados are in every vegan dish. Even the vegan dishes without avocados have, somehow, avocados in them. Two: A monkey with wings? That's the best I could do? I guess I'm just reaching back into my memories of watching The Wizard of Oz as a child and being totally chill with the flying monkeys. And with the Wicked Witch. I preferred the Wicked Witch over Glenda. Still do. But all witches are my cauldron of tea. Witches and pear-shaped fruits with a rough, leathery skin and smooth, oily edible flesh are essential to my overall well-being.

Remember when I was so gung ho about writing a novel? What happened with that? I don't know, but I don't really care. The more damn soul searching I do, the more I realize that I want to pursue other avenues... Not necessarily anything to do with writing. It sort of freaks me out. I have attached myself to the act of writing and the writer's life for, well, almost my whole life, especially when I was around the age of 16. I was told by many that I was a great writer. I received attention and praise for my words. Who wouldn't want that? And I had a sense of control as well. I could have the attention, but still maintain my distance. I did not have to make myself entirely vulnerable. What a setup! And I felt like I was a failure at other things, such as acting, singing, dancing, drawing -- why not attach myself to writing?

And so I did. Big time. I didn't even think about it, I just assumed that's what I was supposed to do, that it's all I could do. In other words, I allowed outside influences dictate my decisions. There's comfort in that. There's comfort in not having to take on the responsibility of making your own choices. But comfort can end up being suffocating and ultimately fatal.

Don't get me wrong. I still proudly, perhaps naively and egotistically, call myself a writer. Writing will always be both an active struggle and an effective release for me. I embrace both the pain and the strength I find while making my way through the labyrinth of writing. But, after nearly 32 years, it is time I begin to separate myself from what others have labeled me and realize that I am more than just one thing. I can begin to nurture different sides of me and explore new avenues. I have more interests and passions than I've allowed myself to admit. Well, time to start admitting.

It is also time to start smashing up an avocado and spreading that oily gold on a piece of toast, mothereffers. Avocado toast?! That shit is pure magic. Who do I think I am, some kind of a witch?

cycle

SUNDAY!!! The best day that God (who was a black woman) ever created!!! Yesterday: No energy. Struggling to remain balanced, calm, present. Today: HELLLLOOOOO, WORLD!!! I might be appointed the next Dalai Lama today! I feel incredible! Help! The pattern seems to be I'm a zombie one day, I'm a cracked out Dalai the next. Is this indicative of Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder? It may be, it may be. But I'll take it! I'm kidding. I shouldn't joke about a serious disorder. I also do not want to just assume I am bipolar based on a few on/off days. That seems like the wrong thing to do. And these days I'm all about doing the right thing -- and maybe renting Do the Right Thing from the library and finally watching it? Afterwards I'll write an essay about being black in America and email it to John Goshert. <--- That last sentence may not make sense to a large majority of my small audience.

Please please please make me sit or even LIE down in a hammock today, okay? I suspect this wealth of mysterious energy will cause me to walk around neighborhoods and streets and parks for literally hours and hours. Nothing wrong with walking, but there comes a point when I just have to tell myself, "Yo, chill out, girl! Sit! Lie! But don't LIE lie. Tell the truth and tell it in a hammock." Whether I walk like a maniac or chill like a maniac, remind me to wear sunscreen. I never do and that is definitely not doing the right thing.

Has this post so far been a bit worrisome? I reread brief parts of it and realize that yeah, I sure do sound a tad enthusiastic. Maybe too enthusiastic for some people, but not for me, especially after feeling like a sloth for the past several months. Sloths. Are. Cute. Do not let my mother tell you otherwise! They are not creepy! They are too slow to be creepy. I think fast, erratic things are scary, like jumping insects and my mind right now.

A large part of me wants to continue to type away about the most insignificant things, like almond butter and organic jam sandwiches or Kim Kardashian's French braids, but I will refrain from doing so. I will drink water. I will pause and take two deep breaths. I will take vitamins. I will call the Dalai Lama back because apparently he has some big news for me??? I will keep you posted. I will always adore you from afar.

rose

Happy Saturday! More like Crappy Crapurday. Let me explain, but please let me explain in very little detail. I feel kinda, uh, crappy today. Not emotionally, nah. I feel crappy as in "oh man I shouldn't have had all of those raw vegetables and kombucha yesterday" crappy. ED, man! The recovery process is all sorts of crappy, but I have to believe that these various bumps in the road and intimidating hurdles are worth it in the long run.

Learning how to eat again is trickier than it sounds. It is fun, for sure, but for the most part it is frightening and full of doubt. It feels rebellious, which may be the "fun" part, but at the same time it feels like giving up and growing weak. HILARIOUS THING IS, however, is that it's quite the opposite. Eating and taking care of myself is giving myself a chance. It is giving up in the sense that it is me giving up the need to be in control, giving up the subservient attitude I have towards a highly destructive illness. And in no way am I growing weak. I think anyone with half a brain can understand that health does not equal weakness. That wouldn't even make sense.

My serious posts are so serious, as they should be. And then my monkey mind posts are almost unreadable, as I jump from branch to branch, thought to thought. This is turning out to be one of those serious posts. Let me switch gears! Let me continue to write about how I will be the hippiest President since Teddy Roosevelt! Teddy was kind of a hippie, actually. Super into nature and was all, like, "Look at me! I'm going on an ill-prepared journey down an unexplored tributary of the Amazon!" Something only a total hippie pot head would do. (Note: I do not have sound evidence of Roosevelt ever being a stoner, but I would bet money I do not have that he was.)

Holy Mother of Roosevelt, I am tired! It just hit me. Maybe later today I will hit the hammock and hit the hay in the hit upon hammock for a few minutes. A few hours? Hell, why not a few weeks! I'll sleep and sleep and sleep until awoken by a kiss from a prince and/or the ghost of a former hippie President. A former President, mind you, not a former hippie. Once a hippie always a hippie. You can't wash that shit off.

aura

In my dreamy, sleepy state this morning, I made up a song AS A JOKE with the lyrics, "Trump for President! Trump for President! Trump for President today!" And now, despite banging my head repeatedly against a wall (a wall to keep out the Mexicans), I have the damn damn damn song stuck in my head. And trust me, it is catchy. And I understand that most of my sentences begin with "and." Is that fact like nails on a chalkboard to you? Anyway, let me please change the lyrics to Meg for President. Meg for President Meg for President Meg for President TODAY! Imagine, if you will, that I become the leader of the free world. It really would be a free world. I would make sure everyone participates in daily drum circles while worshiping pagan gods and dancing in mud. There's not a chance any of us would be clothed, by the way. Naked for all! It's the law! I'm the President today! And tomorrow! And don't forget free healthcare, education, and paisley wraparound skirts for all! Not that I want you to wear that skirt, but it is my gift to you, the free American public.

I think today I will listen to world music. Some really trippy hippie shit. And I will listen to it in the park while having a full-on transcendent moment. Let the kids on razor scooters and the mamas with double strollers gape and contemplate calling the cops on me. But then they will catch my groovy vibes and become entranced by my glowing aura and we'll all get lost in the labyrinth of the sitar. Whoa! I spelled "labyrinth" correctly on the first try for the first time in my life. And that will probably be the last time I spell it correctly so effortlessly. It's a labyrinth of a word. The name Gwyneth is also hella tricky for me. Like, is it the y that trips me up? I'm sure it is. Life is a trip, man. Enjoy the ride. Pass the dutchie.

So anyway. Here's the thing. I am going to the grocery store after I shower and check Twitter and hopefully remember to brush my teeth and take my vitamins like a good girl (WOMYN) and ramble on to my mom about random things like string quartets or the year 1914. I am going to the grocery store and I will be at the grocery store. Really be there. Not be in a rush, not be anxious because I know that the sun is outside waiting waiting waiting for me. Not be 100% annoyed with the sedated woman who is blocking every single aisle I wish to go down (I'll just be 87% annoyed, but that is an improvement!). I will be chilllllled because, as President, I have to make sure I set at least a decent example for my fellow citizens. Plus, it'll make life cooler. Easier. Way more rad. And I am all about way more rad things these days.

Peace out, bongo heads.

rebound

I've missed you! Were you worried that I had run off to Bulgaria with a basket full of cats and pockets full of pills? Because I was thinking about it. Instead I bought a burrito. A massive one. One almost as large as the country of Bulgaria. This is big news, people, whether it seems like it or not. I don't buy, let alone eat, Bulgaria-sized burritos. It has been my habit to isolate myself allllll day long, hungry and homeless. Well, not homeless homeless, but wandering around outside. Yeah yeah, the outside is my home. I get that. Point is, I am attempting to step outside of both my head and my habits and just go with whatever is going on. I will eat lunch, whether I want to or not. I will separate myself from my inner critic. The inner critic is just the world's worst roommate and I am simply waiting for the right time to tell him/her that they gotta move out. I am dropping hints. I think my inner critic is starting to suspect something is afoot. Afoot! I used the word "afoot." And why not?

So I have been optimistic. I have been making what I consider to be huge improvements and strides forward. I hope I have been kinder, calmer, and less of a hangry horror. I have also been quietly nervous about this motivation suddenly disappearing. It tends to do that, you know? I get on these kicks. I get excited and energetic about this or about that and then -- I fizzle. And I fizzle fast. It's not only frustrating, it's disconcerting. If I lose interest so quickly, then how can I trust myself with any emotion/idea/plan? I sometimes feel like I can't.

Then again, it doesn't help me to be in the mindset of "all or nothing." Recovery is never and will never be black and white. You can't just decide one day that you are "cured" and then be cured. You can, however, decide that you are worth it, that your life and your health are worth it. You can decide to not be crestfallen when you inevitably fall. You can decide to reexamine, refocus, and rebound. Each fall will be less and less painful, each setback will be less and less damaging. Also, do not forget the steps you've taken forward. All of the forward steps, no matter how minuscule, count for something. You are doing well. You will keep doing well. Good job, you.

Notice all of the "yous" in that last paragraph? I sure did after awhile. Was I distancing myself from what I was preaching? And why? Or maybe I was simply writing to myself, to the part of me that is still struggling. Maybe I'm reading too much into each word I type and should instead let it go, just like I let go of the need to be in control, to be perfect. IT IS SUCH A RELIEF. I dare you to try it sometime. Just pretend, if even for 59 seconds, that you are perfect exactly how you are in that moment. Because guess what? You absolutely are. And I absolutely am.

awake

I have only been awake for three hours, but in those 180 minutes I have gone from feeling shame and regret to feeling hopeful and proud. And then shame and then hope and then regret and then pride. Back and forth. Overall I'm in a good spot right now, at this moment, but I can't help but remember how grumpy I was yesterday afternoon and evening. I was very irritable and very bitchy and very unpleasant towards myself and others. Almost in an out-of-control way. I was quick to place the blame on the time change and on the weather, but there comes a point when I have to stop blaming outside influences and take personal responsibility. So I will. And I am. And I am sorry.

Now I can move on and not dwell on my crumminess, yes? Yes, as long as I have not ignored my past behavior and can, you know, learn from it or whatevs. Whatevs! I think the swig of caffeine just kicked in. It's not like I needed the caffeine at all. I truly didn't. Today I felt like I could run forever. It was effortless and it was done without the help of caffeine. What's the deal? Why can I sometimes run to the moon and back and then the next day be struggling just to get out of bed? Anyway, my energy levels have been fairly consistent lately, my fingers have been kinda sorta not so painful, and my attitude towards food/eating is positive. Positive-ish. Depends on the day. Everything depends on the day. The day depends on the day. I'm not sure what I meant by that last sentence, but let's just pretend that it was profound.

I can't do this whole eating disorder thing anymore. I couldn't do it to begin with. Right? Or maybe ED was what I "needed" at one point in my life when I did not know how to take care of certain stressors in a healthy, wholesome way. Eating disorders are a defense mechanism. Eating disorders are a way to regain control, to have some say over one's life, to disappear from discomforts (only to, ironically, bring about many more discomforts). Eating disorders are effective, but highly destructive. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. That is a fact and that is a terrifying fact. Or rather, it should be. I've ignored the seriousness of this disorder for far, far too long. I have always placed myself somewhere in the middle of eating disorder seriousness. Like, "I'm not 50 pounds, but I'm also afraid that merely the smell of bacon will make me gain weight. So... Things could be better, but things could be worse!" There has always been a "but" when I discuss my issues with ED. There shouldn't be that but. There should be a this-has-to-stop-you-are-worth-it-Meg. There should be a lot more of that.

Today I will eat. What I will eat, I am not sure. I will eat tomorrow as well. I will eat what I want when I want, but not eating is not an option. I will run when I want and how far I want, but not to the point of exhaustion, not to "make up" for calories, not as punishment. I will begin to sit and just... sit. Just sit and take in whatever there is around me to take in. I will try my damnedest to curb my restlessness by refocusing my mind and my intentions. I will remind myself over and over (and over and over) again to be kind kind kind. To be compassionate. To listen. Listen to others, listen to myself, listen to my body, listen to the wisdom that is forever available and waiting in the trees, in the clouds, in the birds perched on the wires above my head. I will stop looking down and I will start looking up. There is a world out there. There is a life ready to be claimed. My life, my power, my chance. Let me embrace it all.

grate

I did not start this post with "make America gravy again" and for that I am gravy-ful. Get it? Like grateful, but with gravy instead of grate and have you ever accidentally spelled it "greatful" and then felt stoopid? Seriously.

Today! Will! Be! A! Good! Day! Or it will just be whatever it is! It has taken me centuries to realize this, but by labeling a day (or a person or a place or a brand of gravy) "good" or "bad," especially at the very beginning is nuthin' but a set up for disappointment -- even if whatever/whomever it is ends up being something/someone positive. First of all, it's too simplistic. Too black and white. There are shades throughout the day and within a person. Second, we are sponges. We will absorb, whether consciously or not, what we are told and what we tell ourselves. It doesn't matter if the words are truth or completely fiction! They stick.

So how about we try together to pause momentarily before being swept away by the fanciful storyline in our mind? Because I can guarantee you that this storyline leads to an ending that is nothing but anxieties and assumptions. And besides, the butler did it. (Silly joke, will edit out in the future.) (Except the future doesn't exist.) (Ahhh. See what I did there?)

All of this ooey gooey wooey live in the present babble is brought to you by two consecutive days meditating. Just in the morning. Like, not all day. Forty-eight hours of meditation! I'd rather jump off a cliff into a river infested with piranhas and ex-boyfriends! Geez. But in all reality (whether all of reality is all real or not), I have this sinking and rising suspicion that my future (which, sigh, is fictional) will be spent in a Buddhist temple and/or cave meditating while occasionally being smacked with a bamboo stick. I better either learn how to swim with the piranhas or start reciting mantras. Why not both?

Oh man, back to what I was saying a million years ago. Today! I've got a good feeling about today, but I will also be totes chill with whatever may happen. Or at least I'll try. I believe the rain is playing a significant part in these groovy vibes. Yes, I am a sun worshiper, but I am also a gal who digs the rain. I mean, c'mon! I like cats, books, coffee, Portland, and over-sized flannel shirts. Of course I dig the rain.

Go out and enjoy the rain! Get wet! And get your mind out of the gutter. OR get it into the gutter and splash around for awhile. You are also welcome to stay inside and read or watch Miyazaki films or meditate with a pineapple on your head or eat a whole pineapple in a seductive manner or HELL DO ALL OF THE ABOVE. I am proud of you. I am proud of me. I am proud of everyone except for the million dimwits who want to make America gravy again. No thanks, bozos.

pine

I'm not entirely sure I have it in me to pump out a blog post today. I'm not sure I am capable of pumping out anything today. Which makes sense! We lost an hour of sleep last night! It's a springlike Sunday! The monumental task of grocery shopping is hanging over my head and I cannot think of anything else! But I will try. I will give it the old college try. I was in college for a long time, huh? And a dumb, unrealistic part of me wants to go back to college. I feel like I can't do anything but have keggers and panty raids. Joke. I feel like I can't do anything but listen to lectures for an hour and a half and then write a persuasive essay on the benefits of meditation. I NEVER WROTE A PAPER ABOUT MEDITATION IN COLLEGE. But I did write a paper about Buddhism in the West, which is somewhat similar. It was a damn good essay, too. Not persuasive, but very insightful and dare I say scholarly. I dared.

I won't go back to college, though. Not quite yet. I think working with a gaggle of college kids last year sort of turned me off on the idea of being on a college campus again. Bless their hearts. Bless their hungover, Holden Caulfield-ish hearts. So what will I do? It's all I have been trying to figure out since 2010 when I accidentally graduated with a useless degree. It's not useless! My degree helped me to read War and Peace in a week! And, uh, it helped me to beat myself up over grammatical errors and typos??? Okay, yeah, sure.

I consider. I consider so much that I never quite get to the deciding and doing parts. I collect interests and future plans like stamps or rocks. I also get severely distracted and suddenly disinterested. Meghan is a kite. Meghan is a sponge. Meghan is a camel. Meghan is whomever (or whatever) she decides to be if only Meghan could decide.

For now I have decided to leave this post half-baked and go get baaaaked, maaaan!!! NOT. Psych. JKing you so hard right now. Punk'd forever. I am not going to get baked, but perhaps later I will bake something with oats and plant milk and coconut oil. I don't know. I haven't decided yet. But I am considering it.

Now time for shopping carts and Muzak and strangers in their pajama bottoms picking up processed junk for their junky children. I just love love love what I'm about to do. Wish me luck! And remind me to pick up the pineapple and stick it on my head. Don't ask why, just accept me for who I am. I'm trying to do the same.

spew

Make America Gravy Again! I need to stop this joke. I need to stop all jokes about Trump because everything about him has ceased to be funny and has started to be deeply, deeply troubling. It was troubling all along, but the danger of him, his campaign, and his brainwashed weirdos is quickly escalating. Everybody and their dog and their cat and their trendy hedgehog is saying this, but I will sincerely move out of the country if he is elected. He will not be elected. Will he be elected? A small part of me (a very small, dark, idiotic part) wishes for him to be elected only so I can be an expat in a romantic place like Iceland (fjords are sexy, okay?) and write about my adventures in a foreign country. BUT THEN WHAT ABOUT ALL OF THE OTHER AMERICAN CITIZENS WHO DO NOT HAVE THE OPTION OR LUXURY OF LEAVING THE COUNTRY. And what about the total chaos which will erupt throughout the world if Trump becomes the leader of the free world? Hmmm? What about all of those things, Meg? Point taken.

Yuck. I did not wish to be spend a paragraph spewing forth my opinion and extreme dislike of Donald Trump. Sometimes we get things we do not expect, though, you know? And why have I been using the phrase "spew(ing) forth" lately? It's somewhat vulgar. So. Quick update: I did well again today running! What is up with that? Three days in a row? I can't start down that seductive path, however, of pushing myself to exhaustion. Shut up, inner critic! Hello, healthy voice! Goodbye, ED! Hello, me! Hello life hello creativity hello love hello tranquility and community and compassion and goals and health and to everything else ED steals from me with no remorse. Bastard! Good riddance.

I have a few goals for today. Typing them out and subjecting you to read them will help me, I dunno, achieve them? Achieve your goals, Meggie! Shoot for the moon or at least a black hole! Fall into that black hole and be prepared to be squashed into a single point of infinite density. Anyway. Goals.

Goals for Saturday, specifically this Saturday:

*Find my food processor that I purchased years and years ago and used once and figure out how to use it again. And maybe even use it.

*Don't get super pissed off at strangers. Or non-strangers. People will be outside. It's a nice day. It's Saturday. Expect that. People will be loud and boisterous and, for whatever reason, using a chainsaw. Expect that. Not only expect these things, but accept them -- or at least accept that you cannot change them. Go about your merry way and silently vow to never own a chainsaw. You'll be fine.

*Plan your lunch and dinner and actually eat and enjoy and be grateful for your lunch and dinner. Eventually you will not have to plan what you eat. Eventually you will be the poster child for intuitive eating. But until then, sweet dear, plan away. You got this. You rock. You'll be fine. You'll even be better than fine. You'll be joyful.

*Take a freakin' shower, you filthy animal.

Noted.