mash

What the...?! I think I gained a follower! Who what where when why how. Of course, maybe I'm just not remembering "my numbers" correctly. That's not true. I always remember numbers. I do weird things with numbers, such as assign numbers to characters on M*A*S*H. No, really. I did this. When I was little. I still remember that the number 5 was Hawkeye and Hot Lips was the number 7 (although clearly she was a 10). Anyway, welcome, new follower! You are probably spam, but even spam deserves love. (Is Spam vegan? I am guessing the answer is definitely not, but it is also definitely not meat.)

Hi, this is my blog. I italicize a lot and use far too many parenthetical statements and litter the place with run-on sentences and second guess myself like it's going out of fashion. Well, guess what? Second-guessing yourself is never going to go out of fashion. But overalls will. But I don't care. I really really really want a pair of overalls. Not tight, trendy overalls. Oh goodness no. I want legit farmer overalls. But with a butt flap because I ain't got time to unfasten them when nature comes a-callin'.

Sigh. I think I just lost a follower.

Speaking of losing things, over the past month or so I will, out of nowhere, be reminded of the friends that I have lost, usually over the most insignificant, trivial things -- things I can't really recall. It pains me. I feel like in most cases it was mostly my fault, too. Blame it on Borderline Personality Disorder. Blame it on the weather. "Hey, it's a sunny day! Let me flush a friendship down the toilet!" Okay, it's no use blaming outside factors. Nor is it much use to blame oneself. But it is useful to do the whole "let me learn from my past mistakes" thing. I am working on that. I am trying to confront myself and take a legit look into my behaviors and patterns. It's way fun, highly recommended, not at all paralyzing. Actually, it's not paralyzing. It's liberating. What's paralyzing is living an existence based on lies and delusions. Lies and delusions go hand-in-hand with fear. Fear is paralysis.

Blah blah blah blah blah.

Have you ever had just the teeniest, tiniest swig of caffeine and then twenty minutes later you are paralyzed with anxiety? My life. Guess fear and Frappuccinos paralyze you. Or me. Or both of us? And no, I'm not drinking a Frappuccino. I just have this fondness for alliteration.

I want to open up a store called Caps-n-Chinos where I sell caps, chinos, and cappuccinos. And, for some reason, nutcrackers. Okay, bye!

here

I am reminded over and over again that the majority of us fuel our lives on obsessions. On distractions. On one hobby or habit after another. And I could say, "That's okay! We're only human!" And I would be correct. And I could also say, "But wait. Maybe this fuel is unreliable and at times even corrosive. Maybe this fuel will only get us so far before it runs out and we run around bewildered like a chicken with its head cut off." Maybe. So what's the solution? I am still figuring that out. I could take the easy way out and say the answer lies in meditation and mindfulness and eating and praying and loving. Yes. All of those things. I wouldn't be wrong, by the way. But I want to find a new way to say these things we've heard over and over again. I want to find a freshness to what has become so terribly cliche.

I'll work on that. In the meantime, I will go to the grocery store. I will buy whole foods and even some un-whole foods. Holy and sinful foods. KIDDING about the word "sinful." Never ever describe a food as "sinful" or "guilt-free" around me (or anyone else for that matter). Food is food. Food is fuel. There's that word again -- fuel. Is food an obsession? You bet it is. Is food a distraction, a hobby, a habit? Yes, yes, and of course. I suppose it's all in how you approach food, how you use it to bring together people rather than divide and isolate. That could go for all of the other obsessions, distractions, and habits in our lives, right? Yeah. Okay. I'm on to something here.

So I am here. I've always been here. I've also always been trying to get away from here, to get to there, wherever there may be. This frame of mind is a trap, an absolute trap. Perhaps the biggest trap we keep falling into, time after time, despite how obvious and vast this trap is. Could I make it my "goal," my belated New Year's resolution to avoid this trap? Or rather, to see the trap, acknowledge it, and to then go in the other direction. My constant striving for something different, something better is a cause of anxiety and perpetual antsiness. And that "something different" and that "something better" are both purely fictional. They do not exist, or at least they do not exist to bring me any kind of contentment and calmness of mind. Again, it goes back to mindfulness. It always goes back to mindfulness. I am surrounded by so many reminders to be mindful that I may soon go out of my mind.

WELL! I was expecting this post to be much more lighthearted, but here we are. I may write something more wonky later today when I am feeling a little wonkier. OH I bet you can't wait.

whole

I diiiiid it! I did it! I ran better today than I have in a couple of weeks. Just slightly better, but slightly better is an improvement and I am looking for any and every improvement in my health these days. More on that in a sec. So yes, I ran better -- I could have just been fueled by annoyance, however. Being annoyed is one of nature's energy drinks. I wasn't annoyed by anything important, such as the treatment of the water crisis in Flint by officials or Donald's penis. No, no. I was, of course, annoyed by the smallest, most insignificant things strangers at the gym were doing. Like, you know, talking. But I stand by my opinion that if you are talking loudly at the gym, especially about the laaaamest crap, you aren't really working out. WHATEVER. Who cares! Chill pill it, Meg. KAVA KAVA it, Meg. Have I mentioned how well kava works for me? It turns me into a bowl of jelly who wants nothing more than a pair of bongo drums and a big fat doobie. (Google "doobie," Mom! Love you!)

Oh yeah. So my health. Yesterday I was, without the help of kava, a loving human being. What the hell! What got into me! The weather?! Always, always blame/thank the weather for any mood. If it hasn't been obvious, I have been struggling yet again with my eating disorder. Feeling helpless, hopeless. Helpless and hopeless are probably the two worst things one can feel when fighting any kind of mental illness. I was kinda just apathetic. It felt as if I was flirting with ED again and that ED and I were considering moving in together again, "rekindling our toxic romance," if you will. But for whatever reason, seemingly out of nowhere, I was hit with a sudden wave of HOPE and DETERMINATION yesterday. Motivation, inspiration, all of the positive -tions.

I believe this spark was a result of refocusing my attention. Switching my perspective. Reminding myself of what is ultimately important. In other words, a waist is a terrible thing to mind. Rather, I should be focusing on my health. It's so simple and yet it is immensely complicated. I know. I'm finding it difficult to explain what it is exactly I am feeling concerning my diet, but let me assure you it is positive, it is sound, it isn't based on fear. It is based on compassion. I want what I consume to benefit -- or at least not harm -- myself, others, animals, and the planet. That can't be so hard, right? Actually, no. It's not hard as long as I remain mindful and diligent. GEE WHIZ! I sure don't sound like a woman who just an hour ago silently screamed expletives at sweaty macho men, do I? Guess I'm kind of a grab bag. What'll you get this time? Monster Meg or Mahatma Gandhi Meg? Tear open the bag and find out!

Anyway, yes. Tofu. Nuts. Seeds. Fruits, vegetables, Lara Bars, seitan, almond milk, Ben & Jerry's Non-Dairy Chunky Monkey. Whole grains, whole foods, whole lotta gas at first. I can do this. I want to do this. I want to be me again, even if that me is sometimes plagued by the thought of Donald Trump's junk.

relations

I must first point out that I am a little disoriented. I am always a little disoriented, but at this specific moment I am confused because I am sitting at a different desk in a different room and this is making my brain do all sorts of, well, different things. I explained that exceptionally well. Very beautifully written, my dear. Anyway, my weirdo neighbors are unloading a bunch of weird things out of their not-at-all-weird truck, which happens to be parked right in front of the desk where I normally write and NONE OF THIS MATTERS WHY AM I WASTING MY TIME AND YOUR TIME BY TYPING THIS. Okay. Okay, breathe.

Breathe. Should I spend this paragraph typing (not writing, but typing) about breathing and living in the present moment and being one with the universe? No. No, I shall not. But I will briefly mention that I am going to give yoga the old college try again. I am still having trouble running like I used to, yet I remain restless after running. My body or brain or something still wants to move. And so I wander around the dumb Orem neighborhoods for hours and don't know what exactly to do with myself. Well, what if I did yoga? It would probably do all of those things it's supposed to do, right? Center me, connect me with my body, turn me into a giant kale leaf. All of those things. Let's see how it goes. I'll report back, don't you worry.

This post is absolutely a diary entry. I need to go back to writing in a diary so that I don't make all of my posts so zzzzzz. Not that my posts have ever really been terribly thrilling. Was that last sentence being unkind to myself? I don't even know anymore. I want to stop downplaying my talents and start giving myself more credit. I wish to stop apologizing for every last thing. Maybe I can even boast about things I do once in awhile without immediately following it up with a "just kidding" or some kind of self-deprecating comment. Maybe. Maybe.

I am reading Libra by DeLillo right now. He is one of my favorites -- and White Noise is definitely one of my favorite books of all time -- but I still find myself missing and craving Alexie. I've binged on Alexie recently, though! I need to give other authors a shot! Plus, there's only, like, one book left of Alexie's I haven't read -- I have to keep that book in a glass case and only shatter it when I am desperate for a good book. Because I know it will be good. Because Alexie is good. So so so good. (Also, Libra has been a bit of a challenge because I know almost nothing about Cuba. And here we all thought I was an expert on Cuban-American relations.)

Oh geez. I gotta go wash my hair. It is beginning to stink. It looks pretty fantastic, which I find to be the case with dirty hair, but the smell. The smell. And since I have this insatiable urge to be outside every single second of the day, I must go now. You know what they say: The sooner you wash your hair, the sooner you can wander around a park in Orem and scowl at all of the idiot kids on razor scooters.

crave

Spring is in the air! Except sometimes it still feels like January and other times it feels like October. I crave July, though. Not the fireworks of July. Hell no. Nor do I crave the little league games overrun with pushy, bigoted parents. I don't want the carnivals or the blind patriotism or the 101 degree heat. I like the heat. Ninety-nine degrees is fine with me. But once it breaks 100? I wilt.

No, I don't crave any part of July except for the barbecues. The barbecues I never attend (not that I'm ever really invited to any of them), but the barbecues I attended in my past. When I was a kid, when I was little Meggie. Big bangs and all. Little Meggie who would always choose the hamburger over the hot dog. Little Meggie who would worry about swallowing watermelon seeds. Little Meggie who would watch distant relatives she did not know climb trees and play badminton while she sat in a plastic chair pretending she knew what the adults were saying. I'm sure an array of cookies and brownies were involved as well, right? Or at least potato salad. Definitely potato salad.

I don't know where I'm going with this. It's not even that strong of a memory. I am also not terribly nostalgic for family barbecues and dishes made from boiled potatoes. But these seemingly minor moments keep popping up in my head lately. Are they pieces of some story I have yet to put together? Maybe my mind is just getting tired of obsessing over Buddha, books, and backcountry yurts and wants the luxury of thinking about lazy barbecues instead. Who knows. All I know is that all day yesterday I was craving a medium rare burger with blue cheese and maybe some caramelized onions. I would eat a whole pineapple for dessert, juice staining my Old Navy flag t-shirt.

Please let it be known I've never owned an Old Navy flag t-shirt. Yet.

I think, deep down, this longing for barbecues is a longing for community, for a tight-knit family, for the shared experience of eating a meal with people you love. For food. For food. Community and food -- two basic necessities for the well-being of a human. I'm a human, correct? Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder if I am a sloth or perhaps a cheetah, not because I am fast, but because I too am listed as vulnerable, facing various threats including loss of habitat and prey. Conflict with humans is to blame. So who or what am I?

I am hungry. I at least know that. Whether it is a hunger for connection or the simple (and incredibly complex) hunger for nourishment, the fact is that I crave. I will continue to seek out sustenance and pray that it seeps into my bones, my soul. Despite my best efforts, I must admit that I long to feel full.

cause

Sometimes I feel like I don't exist until I frantically type up a blog post. So here we go. Let me exist, let me exist.

I have not one single new thing to tell you. Doesn't this fact make you eager to read the rest of this post? Except for it's not a fact. Of course I have new things to tell you. Every moment gives us something new to say, whether or not we end up saying it. Or realizing it. In other words, the world is infinitely stimulating and infinitely infinite and this will be the cause of my insanity later in life. Is my impending insanity sooner rather than later? Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I also wonder if I use the word "impending" correctly. Meh.

The reason I said I don't have a single new thing to tell you is because all I want to talk about is Buddhism and Sherman Alexie and a little bit of anime and Bulgaria and Thailand and food and yurts and, well, you've heard about these things from me before. Plenty of times. Too many times. And don't even get me started bitching about anemia and writer's block. See? Same old, same old.

I COULD discuss my eating disorder, yeah? I've never done that before. Sarcasm! But for realz, I could go on and on about that -- and maybe I should? Maybe I should get real serious about really discussing my battle with eating disorders because a) it would be therapeutic (hopefully), b) it would help someone else (hopefully), and c) I could turn my ramblings into some kind of self-help/memoir book about ED because a lot of the other ED books out there are soooo cheesy and poorly written and predictable. NOT saying mine would be a masterpiece, but at least I would bring something new to the ED table. Maybe? Bring something new to the plate. The dinner plate. Such as dinner. Eat up. Feast. Just have a sandwich! See. Now you're cured. Again, sarcasm.

Okay, well. I have a few things to think about on my 14 hour walk (give or take ten hours). I want to do things. I want to stop living day-to-day dead set on a mediocre -- and exhausting -- schedule. I want to take myself more seriously and, you know, give myself a chance. I can do more than I think I can. I'm not a completely lost cause.

waterloo

So how much space is Fuller House taking up in your brain? Be honest, don't be pretentious. I haven't even seen the new show, but I'll tell you what -- it still haunts my dreams. Well, it haunted my dreams once. And it wasn't even haunting. It was disturbingly sexy. Forgive me if I've already told you this, but in my dream I was Uncle Jesse's sexy teacher. I don't know what kind of teacher aside from a sexy one, but what matters is that Uncle Jesse was my pupil, not Danny. Danny can rot in hell. Except he would never rot. He's too clean for that.

Now that I've gotten my required Fuller House paragraph out of the way, let me get far more serious. Super Tuesday. The elections. The future of America. Impending doom. Fleeing the country. Settling into a small, yet fully furnished and relatively comfortable Bulgarian apartment. Swine flu. Remember the swine flu? That sucked. I remember flying to Austin, Texas during the swine flu and being sooo paranoid that I might catch it. So I took those Wellness Formula vitamins that smell and taste like manure and practically injected myself with vitamin C (the actual vitamin, not the pop singer from the early 2000s) and frequently washed my hands (already did that anyway thanks to my OCD) and poof -- I was free of any and every swine. I didn't even eat pork in Texas! Well, I may have. I can't remember. The things I do remember about my weekend in Austin: eating okra for the first time, eating the best and most expensive trout in the world, ordering an artichoke for dessert and having no idea how to eat it, breaking the rules and getting a holy holy holy tattoo on Halloween night at a parlor fittingly called Black Cats just because my friend had to use the bathroom and, well, paying customers only! I remember some hipster kid who may have also been a skinhead (?!?!) trying so hard to "hook up" with me (HE FAILED). I dressed up like Bob Dylan. I walked around neighborhoods full of mansions and weeping willows with Rob. Oh, and there was some kind of newspaper conference that I sort of attended and learned virtually nothing from, mostly because I was too busy writing funny notes to Rob. So. Austin. What a city.

I know you care so much and are so curious, but I am back from the gym. I "took it easy" again today, which is a nice thing to do for my body, but man is it psychologically hard. I am so used to pushing myself and going going going. Purposely cutting my exercise time in half? Not easy, but smart. Smart things aren't easy. It's easy to be stupid. Plus, with my anemia flaring up again, I literally can't run as long or as fast as I used to. This has probably been the hardest part. I can't even push myself if I wanted to. Grumble grumble. It's ultimately not a big deal -- there are people out there who can't afford housing or food. There are black kids being shot by cops. There are refugees dying and children starving and women being raped and so on and so on. I just needed to vent for a minute. And this is my blog. I am supposed to vent and discuss Fuller House and reminisce about a school trip I took almost seven years ago. Blogs.

Shower time. Why must I tell you this every day? Who knows. I'm such a tease!