skin

Hi! I'm back. I was only gone for a few days, but boy oh boy, in those few days I saw and experienced some things no woman, man, child, or exceptionally intelligent dolphin should ever have to see or experience. But they should write about it. That doesn't make sense and it is also not true. I did not see or experience anything remotely fascinating, horrifying, awe-inspiring, or transcendent over the past 48 hours or so. EXCEPT... Except I did see not one, not two, not even three, but four -- FOUR -- hawks flying around above my head in an empty park. An almost empty park. There was some man in black doing jumping jack under a pavilion and an older woman in neon orange sneakers speed walking, but other than those two possible figments of my imagination, the park was reserved for just me and my hawks. Yep, just me and my hawks, livin' life out on the open range, whittling knives with knives, whistling slowly, quietly, and mysteriously for hours on end. Yes, the life of a hawk family in the 21st century. What a world. What a lonely, desolate world.

So I have not a lot to report other than Spiritual Hawk Moment. My eating has been meh. The thrill of getting a second chance after a very very very boring (and expensive) ER visit has worn off and the reality of recovery is setting in. The reality = gaining weight, feeling bloated all the time, being constipated or having diarrhea, dealing with emotions that have been starved for, well, decades. That's a long time. That's a long time to be disconnected from both your body and your soul. Hmmm. So what was I exactly for those 20 or so years? A wandering, unknowingly hungry skin bag? Sounds about right.

But recovery is still my goal. I am not giving up, I am just not exactly on cloud 9 anymore. I'd say I'm more on a cloud 4 or something. Clouds. Clouds clouds clouds clouds. Now I am distracted by the thought of clouds and how incredible they look right now (and all of the time). I guess you could say that clouds have clouded my mind and opened my heart and have, not surprisingly, made me antsy to get outside and wander. But this time around I'm not a wandering, unknowingly hungry skin bag. I may still be a little unknowingly hungry, but at least there's a soul to stuff inside that skin bag -- and the skin is no longer purplish, ashen, cold. I feel more vibrant, balanced, whole -- and those things alone are worth all the temporary digestion problems. Plus, there's always Pepto and prune juice.

I may share too much. Oh well. <3

chance

Today is just as rainy as yesterday, if not more so, but for whatever reason my mood is up uP UP. Probably because I LOVE THE RAIN??? Might that have something to do with my sunny disposition? Cloudy days are sunny days for this girl. For this chick. For this strong, capable, powerful woman. Did I wax philosophical on the subject of power a few days ago? I might have. Might, probably, maybe, sorta, forever and ever: Meghan's words of choice. Whatever. I ain't tryin' to be no Hemingway here. Thank god. Hemingway can rot in hell. Okay, so I like his Nick Adams stories a bunch. And I would probably (probably! there's that word again!) wear the hell out of cable-knit sweaters, but bull fighting and four marriages plus endless mistresses? Psssh. So no, I'm not trying to write to win any awards. Just your undying love and devotion. Oh, and to also release whatever's been buildin' up in that old brain of mine.

Here's what's been building up: I want to take chances. I want to be stupid and follow my intuition, which turns out to be not stupid in the slightest. In fact, it's the wisest. I want to roam around and find my tribe. I want to reconnect with my body and remove any negative programming that has made me believe "powerful" and "strong" are naughty words. They are not. They are what I strive to be (or strive to realize that I already am). I strive. I want to grasp onto the energy that comes from striving, from longing, and use it rather than extinguish it. I do not want to fear energy or inspiration or that spark which drives me to create. I should celebrate these desires. I should celebrate the messiness inside that's eager to come out. I want to take chances.

I also want to work for Greenpeace maybe? Or, like, the REI in Seattle, which is hella huge and has a small forest, waterfalls, and a special bike path. THIS IS A STORE WITH A FREAKIN' FOREST. Plus, Seattle's minimum wage is $15, which probably wouldn't matter cuz Seattle is $$$. I don't even want to live in Seattle, so I don't know why I keep writing about it. Unless Seattle has an inclusive off-the-grid yurt community with a cat sanctuary??? If so, I'll pack my bags now.

Things are good. My last post may have been a tad on the melancholy side, which is fine. Recovery isn't a walk in the REI forest. It's not supposed to be. But it is supposed to be continued. And I will continue to continue. I will keep getting up and eating and reminding myself of all the chances I can take now that I am becoming stronger, calmer, more connected.

xoxo

safe

This bitch is back! Kind of. It has been somewhat difficult for me to write lately solely due to the fact that I have about a thousand million billion other things on my mind and just as many things on my to do list. To do lists are crap, right? Okay, maybe not crap. But they sure do serve as a perfect reminder that I never get anything done. (This could be easily be solved by not adding so many items on my to do list. So let me add "simplify to do list" to my to do list. Do do do la la la slowly going insane no wait rapidly going insane la la la do do do.)

Patience patience patience. Repeat. I need to practice the utmost patience with myself, especially right now. It has only been a little over a week since I was in the little, cold emergency room. It has only been a little over a week since I stopped taking these little pills that are hugely addictive and highly destructive. I feel like the steps I have taken since then are too little to count, but if only I would gain some perspective, I'd see how far I have already come.

Speaking of gaining... Sigh. This is one of the hardest parts of recovery -- gaining weight. It is one of the hardest and probably the most necessary. It's necessary for the obvious reason of, well, it'll keep you alive. But it is also necessary because it will allow your brain to start functioning properly again, causing all of the other necessary steps (working through emotional junk! responding to life events! becoming a functioning, thriving member of society!) in recovery to be taken without so much grief and struggle. Still. Still it is not at all a piece of cake. Pun? Because that piece of cake is like summiting Everest.

And doesn't that seem kind of lame and a bit selfish? Eating a piece of delicious cake shouldn't be compared to climbing Earth's highest mountain. But why shouldn't it? It's not the cake. It's not the flour, the sugar, the eggs, the butter. It's the release of the control which kept you safe for so long. Safe? Yes, as well as unsafe. The control I had over food and my body gave me the safety of numbness. If I didn't have to feel emotions, if I didn't have to confront failures and fears, if I could live in delusion from day to day, I was safe. Temporarily.

The illusion of safety is not a life, though. It is cold. There is no warmth that comes from the blood, flesh, and sweat of everyday experiences. It is just... sad. I don't want to stay stuck in that no man's land. I must constantly remind myself that this flood of emotions I am currently experiencing is, in fact, a good thing. Exhausting, sure, but necessary if I ever want to recover.

And I want to recover. I think. I want to get to the point where I do not second guess my desire to recover. I want to get to the point where I embrace the fear, the unknown, the messiness of life rather than shutting off and shutting down. Open up, Meg. Open open open.

define

SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER!!! I can't handle it, I love it so much. Yeah yeah yeah, I dislike the dweebs playing baseball at the park by my house and sure, I want all of the fireworks and carnivals to go straight to the depths of hell, but warm weather and sunshine and the smell of sweaty skin? I'll take it. All of it. I'm starting to stress myself out with how enthusiastic I am about summer. I hate summer.

PSYCH I LOVE IT. You know what else I love? Self-reflection, introspection, therapy sessions. I do not love these things at first, but once the knots start unraveling and I begin traveling into the subconscious mind, things get weird. And I like weird things. Things get weird as well as better, however I define "better." And how do I define "better"? I guess, in short, I define "better" as being connected. Connected to my body, connected to my mind, connected to my spirituality and heart and soul, however I define "soul." And how do I define "soul"? Just kidding. I won't go on defining words until the cows come home. Define home. Define define. Dee is fine. Dee is fine because she finally defined her life and finds meaning in the meaning of words or in other words in the defining of words. I am so great.

Geez, I meant to spend this time diving deep into the subject of archetypes. I wanted to write about all of the intense insights I was having yesterday, about how I struggle with the feelings of power and powerlessness, how I search for both strength and safety in almost every facet of my life, how I trick myself into thinking love is conditional. I will still write about these things if you want me to! Wait. Do I want to? See, there's another thing I do -- I fail to check in with myself to see what I need, what I desire. Instead of attending to my inner-self, I please please please others to the point of frustration and depletion. Well, time to focus on abundance. Time to connect with my own path, my own self. And then, eventually, time to disconnect and abandon the self. Doesn't make sense, does it? No, it doesn't, at least not to the rational mind. Which is perfect. Some things need to not make sense.

I am so freakin' hungry. Time to nourish myself in more ways than one. At last, at last.

around

It's been almost a week since I came back to life. Spiritually speaking. And emotionally. And probably even a bit physically. I was hanging by a thread there, folks. To put it mildly, I was an absolute mess. A shell of a girl! Not even a girl, but a zombie! A zombie shell on the lookout for blood! Wait, so wouldn't that make me a vampire? I do not desire human flesh, just decent human blood cells. So I guess that would just make me anemic. Anyway! Life! I'm back!

But I still struggle. Immensely. I naively thought, "Gee whiz! This painfully long and entirely surreal emergency room visit just cured my eating disorder! And my addiction to prescription stimulants! And every other malady! Right on, radical, hang loose, spread those wings, cross those legs, cut your hair, get a job!" Turns out it's not that simple. It's not that easy. It is, in fact, the hardest thing you'll ever have to do -- "it" being recovery, "it" being surviving, "it" being giving yourself a chance over and over and over again, no matter how many times you fall and fail and forget you're worth it. Cuz guess what, babydolls? You're all worth it. And I'm all worth it. And I have been all along. And all it took was me nearly losing my life/soul to figure this out. That's all.

I am too PUMPED UP to continue sitting here and writing! Life has opened up again and I actually have interests and things I want to hear and read and learn and do. It is, frankly, quite bizarre! And quite beautiful. And I need to quit beginning so many of my sentences with "and." And I'll deal with that later. Right now I want to deal with a deck, specifically my deck. By "deal" I mean sit on it and soak in the sun while I thank my lucky stars I'm still around.

Love.

wake

You know what's been fun lately? To eat food. And to not be a bitch. And to feel 1,000,000% less restless. Well, for the most part. I'll probably always be restless. It's just in my bones. The restlessness tends to cease, however, when I'm -- YOU GUESSED IT -- outside. How'd you know that? Oh, only because I mention it in every single post.

I also mention my eating disorder in every single post. Or a least I have been lately. It might become redundant, but I hope it can also be helpful for others. I know it is for me. (I REALLY hope it isn't triggering for anyone. If it is, please please please let me know. And stop reading it right now. I'm serious. And I love you! I'm sorry!)

I feel as though I have been asleep for well over 31 years. Wait! I'm only 31! Or am I? Sometimes I feel like I'm 99, other times I feel like I'm a baby. I currently feel like I'm a baby. A mature, wise baby, but a baby nonetheless. A baby because I am just now discovering, well, discovering the world for what feels like the first time. The trees are new, the sky is new, the food -- all food -- is new. How did I miss these things before? And for so long? Music, by the way, is absolutely magical. Van Morrison made me cry yesterday. So did Paul Simon. Hell, a cloud made me cry yesterday. All of these tears are grateful tears. All of these tears mean I'm not a robot anymore because water = short circuiting and I did not, thankfully, short circuit yesterday.

So that was yesterday. What about today? Well, today is windy. And good again. I'm more tired today for whatever reason, but I am learning to be okay with that. I don't have to overstimulate myself in order to have a nice day. In fact, overstimulation usually means I'll have a panic-attack-holy-hell-help-me kind of a day. I don't want those days anymore. I want to let my body and mind be whatever my body and mind naturally are. I want to let go of trying to control every last second of each day. I want to shrug my shoulders and say "oh well" as often as I need to while not fretting over this or that or wishing for everything to be opposite of what it is. I want to simply be, mothereffers. Just be, just do it, just slam that Rockstar and snort that line of coke. JOKE! Coke is a joke, no bueno. Unless you're in Vegas. But then again, if you do coke in Vegas you will miss out on the buffets. And I no longer want to miss out on any buffets.

Alright, well, lunch. Now! Or soon. Sooner rather than later. Starving myself has lost it's appeal. For the most part. I want to, you know, live. And to live I must partake in life. And food is life. And and and forever.

Take care. I mean it.

recover

Well, my goodness. What a week it has been, amirite?!?! But more importantly -- amialive?!?! Turns out I am. Turns out I am more than alive. I am thriving, or at least on the verge of thriving. I am determined to thrive, not just barely survive. I am also determined to not rhyme throughout this entire post. Why not? Rhymes are just fine sometimes, even the slant rhymes.

I should pause and take time to write in depth about what happened yesterday, the events leading up to it, the aftermath, etc. And I will. Just not now. Now I want to let the wind mess with my hair. Now I want to listen to music while I walk to the library, looking for my hawk along the way. Have I mentioned I have a hawk friend? More like a hawk soulmate. I sincerely believe this hawk watches over me. I love the little dude. Or dudette. Who knows? I haven't checked between the legs. Yet. Anyway, I want to do all of the things I haven't let myself do for...ever? Forever? Like, living and being spontaneous and gentle with myself. What radical actions, I know! Pat. On. The. Back. And a hug. And a high five. A million high fives. A million high fives will take time, sure, but I've got it. I'm no longer rushing around, missing out on everything. I'm here. Finally.

So I will be back. I want to write about what I ate this morning. I want to share with you my process, my struggles, my setbacks, my successes. I want to be as transparent and as open as possible. Never hesitate to ask me something, to tell me anything, to voice concern or shower me with praise. PRAISE ME! I AM YOUR MAYOR! I am not your mayor -- that is just a little joke I have going on over at the Twitter. I love Twitter. So much. And I love food, as it turns out. SOOOO so so much. And finally finally big deep sigh of relief finally I love myself.

go

Good morning! Good day! Good riddance! Good night! Good luck! Goodluck Jonathan.

Okay okay okay, focus. My mind is elsewhere at the moment. I have a doctor's appointment in an hour and I reeeeally don't want to go. But then in about two minutes I will want to go. And then in two minutes after that I won't want to go. Back and forth and back and forth until it is time to, well, go. And will I go? I will. Will I want to go? Well, who knows. Should I go? Probably.

I am beginning to decipher the difference between wants and needs, specifically when it comes to food and exercise and everything else wrapped up in the tangled mess of ED. I want to throw out the words "balance" and "mindfulness" and so, uh, I will. Balance! Mindfulness! Because that's honestly what it comes down to. I have lived in the extremes my entire life. I have lived in the fictional past and future my entire life. I have done the opposite of balance and mindfulness my entire life. In other words, I have actively gone against my intuition and where has it gotten me? Wrapped up so tightly in that tangled mess, leaving me without a way out.

Or so I thought. But there is a way out. There is always a way out of our self-imposed prisons. And the key to our freedom comes in the form of awareness, recognition, acceptance, release. We have to be willing to let go of our need to control -- our need to control others, the environment, the situation, the process, the outcome. It's ridiculous to expect that we can ever control any of those things. And it's ridiculous how much of a relief it is when we realize this and finally -- finally -- let go.

I am letting go by letting myself eat. I am letting go by letting myself nourish my body, to explore the world outside my head, to break my rigid schedule, to be a participant rather than the eternal observer. I am letting go in order to go forward. I am letting go in order to let myself live. I am letting go because I deserve to.

I love you. And I am learning that I love me, too. I have all along -- I just had to listen more.

wall

I wonder if it's wise of me to write every day or if I should "let it build up" and then let the volcano erupt. Nah. If I did that, I would never write. I would find more and more elaborate excuses to postpone writing and eventually I would be a desert, not an active volcano. Then again, it might benefit me to switch up my writing schedule, write in different environments, test the waters of other styles, use prompts, etc.

I say all of this because I feel stagnant. I was on a roll for awhile! Inspired, motivated, planning my life as an off-the-grid contemplative hippie permaculturist. I even entertained the idea of writing an eating disorder memoir. All of these things are still on the table. I haven't completely discarded any plans or dreams. I just... hit a wall. No, I didn't hit a wall. I feel like a wall. Like a blank wall that has yet to be primed and painted and decorated with framed photos of ancestors and trips to the beach. A waiting wall am I, my my. Walls don't have legs. Walls don't have wheels. Walls just block things and don't move unless there's an earthquake. Is the key to the door my own personal earthquake? Would a giant shift in the ground beneath my feet be just what I need?

Okay, enough of that. Let me see... What are groovy things I'm currently grooving on? Well, aside from the word "groovy," I have become increasingly fascinated with birds. Specifically hawks. I am still a huge fan of sandwiches. If I look at enough gorgeous Instagram sandwich photos, the desire to recover from ED is usually reignited, if even just a little bit. Maybe the "trick" for me is to surround myself constantly with inspiring images, words, and people in order to break out of this wall-like funk.

So here are a few images that inspire me. Some are obvious, some are odd, some I cannot explain. Sometimes (like today) I just want a nap.

still

I should repeat this often: I need to be more compassionate with myself. I need to have more patience. I need to forgive myself, stop the cycle of shame, move past fear. But how exactly do I do all of these things? Can the answer be found in a $0.99 app? Well, I have no more room on my phone to get an app, so there's gotta be another solution. I know there's loving-kindness meditation -- and I remember a friend of mine suggesting I do that meditation for myself. Okay, that's a start. And now all I have to do is actually start. I put a lot of things on my to do list, but very rarely do I take that pen and cross things off the list. Another idea is to make a shorter to do list... Don't overwhelm yourself, Meg. Start with one thing, do it, cross it off. Easier said than done, but once it's done it will get easier.

Yesterday I was a maaaaajor pain in the ass. Just a big old monster. My sour attitude can be traced directly back to the fact that I was angry at myself for this and for that. I was also anxious, more so than usual, about my physical health. Any angry outbursts or snappy remarks are usually just anxieties in disguise. But do I solve anything by being so miserable? Not a chance. I simply create more problems.

Today I will be kinder. I will start with kindness towards myself, whatever that means (I'll figure it out), and then fingers crossed that kindness will naturally expand to others. I will stop assuming the worst about people I do not know (and people I do know). I will end the storyline in my mind that does nothing but create drama and doubt. It's fictional anyway, not the truth. And I will look for the truth. I will find it in the quiet moments when my thoughts aren't running away or muddied by negativity. I will find it in the daffodils that are eager to bloom, but are still content to just be. I will find it in the stillness of the tall tree where the red-tailed hawk has built his nest, patiently. I will find it within me because it was there all along.

expect

Remember how I excited I was yesterday about today? I probably shouldn't have spoken so soon. NOT saying that I'm not excited about Sunday Funday (note: this is the first and last time I've said the words "Sunday Funday"), but I sure set up some high expectations for today. Somewhere along the way it will sink in that expectations are no bueno. Right? I mean, I guess there are certain circumstances where expectations assist in, uh, achieving goals or maintaining values or whatever. But expecting something or someone to be one way or another is too rigid, too narrow. There has to be flexibility and comfort with the unknown in life. There has to be the willingness to let go of control -- the willingness and the actual doing-ness.

So no control. No expectations. Just take things moment by moment by moment. (Are moments mere fiction? Because once the moment arrives, it has already left. Smoke a joint and then reread that last sentence.)

Will I have a PB&J today as planned? There's no way to know! Plans change! And so do outfits! Or at least they should, occasionally. I keep wearing the same damn outfit day in and day out. The only thing that changes is my jacket and top hat. Okay, I don't wear a top hat, but I might start. Sometimes I miss the Meg who wore WaCkY colored tights and thrifted cheerleader skirts. I miss the Meg who had funky (yes, funky), alternative hairstyles and bright pink or deep red lipstick. Then again, I like au naturel Meg as well, even though sometimes she felt a little too... sloppy. I am just typing junk right now. I don't know where I'm going with this. Something to do with outfits. Something to do with insecurity. Something to do with a lack of identity. Something to do with the search for serenity. Serenity is a blah word to me -- I mean, I dig the state of being serene, but let's find a new word for it.

I wish I felt like writing/typing/rambling more right now, but I don't. And oh well. Oh well to a lot of things, but not in an apathetic way. I use the word "but" often, do I not? BUT that is simply because I am a pro at contradicting myself, second guessing things, and so forth. And so on! And so what, oh well, drink deep, live now.

consume

I AM SO EXCITED FOR TOMORROW. Okay, I'm pretty jazzed about today as well. It's beautiful today! It was supposed to rain! The rain was supposed to keep me inside and doing, you know, productive shit. I planned on this. I had good intentions. Spring Cleaning Saturday, if you will. But I won't. At least not as much as I expected. I just just just can't if I know the mountains and the sky and the fluffy clouds are out there waiting for me. Except they won't wait. They will carry on while I am carrying boxes of books I'll never read into the dark basement where no fluffy clouds have ever been seen. So we'll see. I will attempt balance today. A few boxes here and there, brief bursts of sweeping or dusting or whatever it is people do when they clean, followed by connecting with my soul under that celestial orb. It's a plan, be it smart or stupid, but it's a plan.

I am excited for tomorrow because tomorrow is when I "allow" myself to sleep in, rest, and -- most importantly -- eat the biggest PB&J sandwich I can make. I am slightly overwhelmed. I want this to be a good sandwich. A really, really, really good sandwich. Good enough for the gods. I have yet to discover my tried and true PB&J. Do I use classic chunky peanut butter? Or do I go for the all natural almond butter? Sunbutter -- OH THE HOLINESS THAT IS SUNBUTTER -- is definitely a serious consideration. I could make mini sample sandwiches of all the different nut butters, which would equal one big sandwich, but I kinda wanna dig on just one kinda sandwich and one kinda sandwich only and holy hell I've spent a whole paragraph discussing this? You can tell how often I think of food...

...Which reminds me, I should probably just eat food so I don't obsess over food and let it clutter up my mind. "No other thoughts in here!" I say, pointing to my beautiful and abnormally large cranium. "It's too crowded with food. Not actual food. Food doesn't go in the brain, it goes in the stomach. I've got it all backwards, I know. Food down there, empty space up here. Maybe one day it'll click." Tomorrow I'll force it to click. Tomorrow will be hammock and ham and jam sandwich. No wait, disregard the ham. But appreciate the rhyme. Rhyming is a direct result of my English degree. Rhymes are very, very expensive.

Well, time to finally get ready for the day and then pretend to be productive. Appreciating nature is productive, yeah? Or even if it's not, who cares? Productivity is for suckers! And people with really clean, inviting homes. I envy you kind of people. But I envy the clouds more.

drill

I don't quite know what to write about today, which is nothing new AT ALL, but I still want to write because it just feels soooo good to type. Type type type type. Maybe it should feel better to write than to type? Yes, ideally. Except writing is sort of like an exorcism. Typing is a sensation, a sound. I should gear my blog more towards quality not quantity, but... TOO LATE!

It is a windy and warm day. Windy is fine as long as it's warm and warm is obviously fine because it means I get to wear my sleeveless denim vest. I am quite fond of my denim vest. No surprise there. I like anything sleeveless, vesty, and above all else -- denimy. Denimy. Denim and flannel will always be my staples. I should just find a job at Home Depot already. (I'd like to point out that it is a sincere dream of mine to one day work in a small town hardware store. It just is. I offer you no explanation.)

You know what thrills me? The sound of a weed whacker when I'm trying to write. I mean, when I'm trying to type. And I can't decide if it is wacker or whacker because Google tells me it is both. Can questions in life really come with two equally valid answers? Can weed w(h)ackers be outlawed in all 49 states? Can we just pretend Mississippi doesn't exist?

I think I have to call the dentist soon. :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( Like, I should have called the dentist a couple of years ago. Shrug. By the way, his last name is Pincock. Cock of Pin. The Pin of the Cock. Keep that pincock away from me! But please deep clean my teeth. Get your mind out of the gutter and into my wisdom teeth, which don't exist anymore. Your mind doesn't exist. Wisdom doesn't exist. The only real thing in this world is the gutter.

Time to vigorously brush my teeth, distract myself with some fanciful dream, and put on my denim vest (my version of a superhero cape). I am about to conquer the gutter! And eat a sandwich.

jammin

I did not write yesterday! Because I was occupied with eating almond butter and honey sandwiches and washing it down with almost expired vanilla flavored unsweetened cashew milk! On the deck, sitting in the sun, eyes closed, having a near orgasmic experience. WELL IT'S THE TRUTH. I am the Truth Teller, it's true.

So I am pretty dang darn damn proud of myself for feeding myself and for enjoying myself and for just relaxing. For one day. Today? We'll see! It IS hammock weather, so...

I know it is over two months away and it doesn't even matter, but I already know what I want for my birthday. That's kinda silly of me, yeah? Like, childish and selfish? Or nah? Look, I'm not asking for much. I just want an array of nut butters and jams/jellies/honeys. I will become a connoisseur of the PB&J. Or AB&J. Or CB&H. Or SB&B&H. You can try to figure out what those all mean. You can also try to figure out how to send me jars of sunbutter through the web. Thank you in advance, you are so kind.

I am going to start running outside. I am going to start eating breakfast every damn day. I am going to start sitting. I am going to stop wearing makeup even though it was fun for a little while. I am going to wear makeup if I feel like it, though. In short, I am going to start doing what I feel like doing. I am not sure if anyone has ever done such a radical thing before. But that's me for you -- a rad hammock lovin' honey eatin' fearless female (sometimes not even female -- what is gender? aren't we all just sexless aliens?).

I also want to find and marry a farmer. Maybe not even marry. Just live together in sin. Live together on our acre and a half of fertile land, in our fertile yurt with a corner dedicated to seances and bongo playing. One problem: Yurts don't have corners. :(

Gotta sleep more. Gotta call the dentist. Gotta clean and organize and sweep out some literal and metaphorical cobwebs. Gotta change the oil, probably. How often do people change the oil? Every full moon or something? Gee whiz, I shouldn't even possess something that requires oil. Farms don't grow oil, they grow potatoes. I will drive a bus fueled by russets.

There were a few more things I wanted to say... What what what were they... Something about washing my hair, I'm sure. Kidding. Who cares about hair? Cut it all off and give me a shovel. I'll plant my ponytail in the garden and watch it blossom into a bouffant.

This has been a post. Not a good one, not a bad one, just one. One of over a THOUSAND. Take it or leave it, just don't forget to send me my sunbutter.

ingest

I am just going to let my mind wander today. I'm not sure there's a time when I don't let my mind wander, but whatever. Whatever forever. WHAT-EVER!!! (See picture at end of post.)

This morning I was struck with a brief moment of panic when I realized I was in a suburb and not in the wilderness. And that I would probably stay stuck in the suburbs for the foreseeable future. Or am I just being pessimistic? Realistic? Let me be optimistic. Let me plan to go somewhere remote and open and free sooner rather than later. Hell, I don't even have to plan all that much -- can I trick myself into being spontaneous for once? I assume so. Especially if it has to do with my physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. I won't attempt to say it better than Gary Snyder: "Nature is not a place to visit. It is home." Not to be morbid, but I want that quote on my tombstone. Except I don't want a tombstone. I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered over some canyon and then eaten by hawks and then the hawks will gain super powers because, well, it's me they just ingested and I'm super human and then they will rapidly take over the world and you will all become slaves to the mighty Meghan hawk.

Okay, so I was vegan again for a second. It was more like two weeks or so. Maybe more, maybe less. I have been doing a lot of thinking and reading and researching and thinking some more and reading a lot more and spying on hawks in the park and I have come to a decision -- for now. For now I am going to eat animal products. Do I need to go into the whys? Why not. But I won't go into it in depth because I have to do the laundry and wash my hair and both of those activities, frankly, take a lot of my energy. Anyway, I will be all Michael Pollan on your asses and eat food, mostly plants. I will be all Mark Bittman on your asses and be vegan before 6pm. I will, finally and most importantly, be all Meghan on your asses and listen to my body, eat intuitively, make compassionate choices, take each situation as it comes. The world isn't black and white. We live in the gray, naturally, and I desire to be and live as naturally as possible. Do not fear, I will not go all Gwyneth Paltrow on your assess. Middle Path, folks. There really is something to that whole moderation thing. (Oh yeah, and I guess I was supposed to give you reasons for my decisions, not what I was going to do. I will very quickly say it is for health and environmental reasons. For reals.)

Leaf blowers can go straight to hell. Except no, not hell. Heaven. I am fairly certain I and all of the people I like and admire will be hell dwellers, so let us at least live down there without the obscene noise of the godawful leaf blower. Have fun not raking up leaves, Jesus. (SORRY FOR THIS PARAGRAPH, MOM. LOVE YOU!)

Well. Laundry time, weirdos. And I might put off washing my hair for yet another day. Who am I trying to impress anyway? The hawk in the park? Oh crap. I am trying to impress the hawk in the park. Sigh. Guess I better shampoo that hair and shave those legs. I've got a hawk to woo, dammit.

elevator

I have elevator music stuck in my head because for the past six hours or whatever I was trapped in my building's elevator with my girlfriend Patricia, the doorman, my neighbor, and her little yappy dog. Ohhhh waaait a second. Turns out I'm NOT Tom Hanks' character in You've Got Mail. I've been fooling everybody for the past 18 years. YES, EIGHTEEN YEARS. We are all old as fudge. Not that fudge is old... Or is it? A quick history of fudge: It began in Baltimore in 1886 and has something to do with Vassar College and zzzzz. Okay, so I guess fudge is old. We are 130 years old.

Oh yeah, so that elevator music. I have it stuck in my head because I made a VERY IMPORTANT PHONE CALL and was placed on hold. Hold = elevator music. Phone call = I metaphorically grew a pair of balls and called the angelic female doc I saw last year and made an appointment to see her again. She took such good care of me! She actually listened! She was concerned! She ran a lot of tests and even gave me a snack! I suspect my anemia has gotten fairly awful, so I'd like to get it taken care of. I can't ignore it anymore. Even if I tried, my body wouldn't let me forget. I'm proud of myself! Next appointment to grow balls and make: the dentist. NOoooooOoOoOooO.

Again, I am proud of myself. I am beginning to take a serious interest in regaining and maintaining my health. It's about time, right? Right. You are correct. I almost wanted to write a quick jab jab about my ex, who has unfortunately been making appearances in my recent dreams, but what's the point? Why focus on people who do nothing but immediately raise my blood pressure? It isn't worth what little energy I have. And why stew in negative emotions? I am better than that. And I have better things to do, such as recovering from various ailments and figuring out a way to escape this elevator.

It is a beautiful day. What a simple statement, one which has probably been uttered by hundreds of thousands of people during their morning small talk sessions around the water cooler/coffee maker/cotton candy machine. Imagine offices having cotton candy machines. You know damn well Google has at least one cotton candy machine. Anyway, I just speak the truth -- it IS a beautiful day. And I will not let myself get carried away by my own destructive storylines that play over and over and over in my head. I will step outside -- outside of the house and outside of my head -- and take it all in. I will do nice things for others. I will appreciate the minuscule as well as the enormity of the sky. I will remember and bring forth that wild woman waiting not-very-patiently to howl. I will even consider eating fudge. What a day.

bud

Sloooow moving today. I'll allow it because it's Sunday. Sunday and sunny and Lord/Buddha/Santa Jesus knows I'll be spending most of today outside just like I did yesterday. The groovy weather was, yes, overwhelming. But what isn't overwhelming to me, you know? I felt like I had been trapped in a cave for roughly 47 years and had finally emerged into the open. I couldn't drink in the light fast enough. I think all of the vitamin D acted as a naturally energy drink/line of cocaine because I was up until 2:30 in the morning. Maaaybe that's why I'm slow moving today. Pieces of the puzzle are coming together. I've never been particularly good at jigsaw puzzles. Jigs? I'm a pro. Sawing shit? You bet. Puzzles? Not so much.

Lately I have been noticeably all-over-the-place mentally. I have been having a difficult time focusing on one book, on one project, on one line of thought. I keep jumping from one thing to the next at almost record speed. So I will make it my goal today to think about my goals while I wander the neighborhoods and parks in yet another emerging-from-the-cave day. I will stop distracting myself from considering my long-term goals -- I don't know why I distract myself from that in the first place. Could it be that when I am desirous of something so much I psych myself out? The doubt begins to creep in, the path ahead seems too daunting, the fear of failure looms large. So I procrastinate. I try to suffocate my passionate urges. In short, I don't even give myself a chance to begin. Nip those dreams in the bud, Meg! Except don't do that. Do the opposite of that. Let those dreams, whatever you choose them to be, blossom.

I will also go grocery shopping today! That will be a welcome relief from the hours of serious self-reflection. Then again, grocery shopping is such a drag for me. I feel like it wouldn't be such a bummer if I had Oprah's bank account or if I lived in a super hip progressive community and went "grocery shopping" at the local co-op and farmer's market. Farmer's or farmers'? See, this is a thing I could google, but I'd rather spend my time googling diseases I may have. NOT. I say "not," yet I still do it. Often. It is such a masochistic act. Nothing will cause you more immediate despair than checking out symptoms on WebMD. Do. Not. Indulge.

Pictures! Then shower then grocery store then overdose on vitamin D (not really! bad idea! don't worry! i! wear! sun! screen!) then think about what I really want outta life then briefly distract myself by tweeting and texting and reading about ancient goddess rituals then chew ice cubes on the deck then do whatever the hell I want because I'm 31 and unemployed and devastatingly adorable. You are adorable as well. So adorable. Too adorable for words. But not too adorable for pictures!!!

reflect

I miss one day of blogging and suddenly I don't know who I am anymore. Kidding. I never know who I am. But let's stop all the kidding, folks -- writing, as it turns out, is important to me. Perhaps even vital. Sure, I may not doggedly pursue a career in writing, but I still feel compelled to write often. It simultaneously soothes and riles me up. I don't know how that is possible, but apparently it is.

You know what else is possible? Switching up my routine and schedule and being out in public and not freaking out due to any of these things. Well, not totally freaking out. Small, mini freak outs happen, but they are quickly "managed" and I go about my merry way. I say this because yesterday I went to REI and Barnes and Noble with my papa and it was overall a successful adventure. An adventure! An adventure into capitalism and identity shopping. I did, however, have one big setback while at REI. I caught a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror and felt, well, ugly. I don't need to go into detail. I just felt dumb and subsequently self-conscious for a good hour or so. Sigh. I need to learn to think through these moments in order to see things more clearly -- ask myself questions, observe, try my damnedest to quiet the inner critic -- because I am far more than a reflection in a cheap mirror.

I thought I would have more to say seeing as I have been gone from this blog for a thousand years/24 hours. I thought wrong! Or maybe I simply need to tap into the muse. Tap tap. Silence. Yeah, nobody's home. I'll leave a note on the door.

In the meantime, let me brainlessly list some things I have been craving:
*Cracklin' Oat Bran
*huge veggie sandwiches
*butterscotch candy
*elephant pants
*a really, really absorbing book
*interaction with an animal
*warming my bones on some red rocks