empty

Well, my my. It's been quite some time since I've bared it all on this little blog, now hasn't it? I'm feeling confessional. I'm feeling surprisingly not vulnerable. I am not brave, but in some foreign land between vulnerability and bravery. So what now? Do I "confess" this and that? Do I complain? Vent? Keep asking questions? Uh, apparently the last one. Right? See what I did there? Anyway.

Anyway.

I eat. I eat sporadically and privately. I nibble. I have rituals and routines and odd compulsions. I feel terrible pangs of guilt after every "meal." Often I feel terrible stomach pangs in the form of "Oh shit I just stuffed myself." Ten times out of ten I wish I felt hunger pangs instead. And so I go after that desired empty feeling. I run off and away from the fullness. What I'm left with after three plus hours is definitely emptiness paired with aching, tremendously aching, joints and muscles.

Sometimes I fantasize about the scene I will cause in the future when my most important muscle gives out after lap eleven. What then? Who will be called?

And there's more empty space around me. I've lost mass, I've lost friends. I found my "sick" jeans the other day, the only jeans that didn't sag on me back when I was the skinniest (and sickest) I've ever been. I found them purposely "hidden" in a box in the basement. They fit once again. I was pleased, even pretty damn excited.

This is pretty damn scary.

But I still don't completely believe it. I might know it, but I don't believe it.

Shall I get super confessional/personal? I haven't had my period in almost six months.

I feel like an alien in my own body. I am very disconnected, I am lost.

I am dramatic! I am tired. I am ready to sink my body/empty shell into bed.

I am embarrassed. I am fine.

you learn

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.


— Jorge Luis Borges, “You Learn”, trans. Veronica A. Shoffstall

thanks

I fully intended to write this yesterday, but other things came up (mostly in the form of muppets and mashed potatoes). So here we go - a post about thanks.

Hello, 2011. Remember me? I'm that girl on which you consistently played practical jokes. Was that correct grammar, 2011? Doesn't matter. What matters is that despite all of the wacky twists and turns and downright befuddling moments you threw my way, I am still, somehow, grateful for you and your bipolar nature.

You tossed me out into the world in January without the security of a relationship I had known for so long. I was broken hearted, yet there is wisdom in what's broken. In the words of my beloved meditation instructor and friend Susan Piver, "When you embrace what you now call sorrow, you will actually find an immeasurable authenticity and personal power, the kind you've been searching for all your life." I'm still searching, still learning to embrace, but at least I have begun this journey. And I began that journey in January. Thank you.

Speaking of love, February is dripping with it. Eww, gross sentence. "Dripping"? Anyway, Valentine's Day blah blah blah. I am grateful that I knew you and spent time with you during this, uh, drippy month. You taught me a lot about myself, which is what any relationship "should" do, right? We may have not been what each other was looking for exactly (whoever is?), but that's okay. You helped me get back on my feet. I hope I made some kind of positive difference in your life/drippy month as well.

Springtime was all like, "HEY! Don't forget your hipster roots!" I was thrown into the local music scene, a scene I thought I'd had enough of - apparently not. I joined and eventually quit three bands. Why I quit might be another post for another time, but there are no hard feelings about my time spent pretending to be a musician. I love the people I played with and I love the music and I even love (some of) the venues. Thank you to those who assisted me in my musical quest and had faith in me. I'm humbled.

Oh shit, summer. You sure were a mindfuck, weren't you? Yet for some damn reason, I'm really happy you happened. You are most definitely another post for another time, so for now I'll just repeat what I said above - We may have not been what each other was looking for exactly, but that's okay. That's okay. Thank you anyway.

September and October, you made sure I was never indoors. I almost lost who I was, but you were there to remind me over and over and over again. Thank you for the rare opportunity I had to be in your desert Eden twice.

So much more to write, but this is starting to feel like some bizarre acceptance speech. I really have an abundance of blessings. I am grateful for my family and friends, of course. They are patient, generous, and don't give up on me even when I'm horrendous. I made new friends this year that I am in love with and resurrected some old friendships that remind me of how delicate we are. I am grateful for my health, that I am able to do the things I want to do. My body is so precious and I'm starting to listen to its wisdom. I am grateful for words and the power they have to bring people together. I have love for you. I have love for myself. I am thankful.

(dis)placed

Every relationship I've had involved a ménage à trois.

Settle down. This is not as sexy as it sounds.

The third party has always been a location.

With this one, it was Tokyo. With that one, it was Vermont. And with him it was the desert.

But we never went to these places. Our love affair with location was imaginary at best and avoidance at worst. Who or what were we avoiding? Were these places substitutes for parts of us that went missing? And we missed these places, despite having never been.

The decadence of Tokyo, the cozy hideaway of Vermont, the starkness and isolation of the desert.

The landscapes that escape, the places we bury, the boundaries we set.

I can't even look at a map without mourning.

desert day

"Desert Day" by Richard Schiffman

This sky is too severe, you say:
nothing but blue pretending to be blue,
nothing but the unbroken forgetfulness
of clouds.
You've heard about snow blind?
You can also go sky blind
on a day like this
when nothing calls to nothing
all day long, and nothing
hears it clear as a bell.

It is true, I live on the edge
of a desert. I chose this place
myself. And there are days
when the world can't reach me,
even my bones don't speak.

They say the desert is hot.
I say it's cool--like a blue lozenge,
like the Sirens that lulled
Odysseus and crew
into a blue indifference,
bordering on plenitude.

That is why I chose this place
where nothing much happens
to nobody in particular. Sometimes
I swallow the lozenge of the horizon.
Sometimes it swallows me whole.
It feels good to slip down the gullet
of something interminable.

Though there are also times
when a little rain doesn't sound
like such a bad idea.

gloomies

No one cares about my quest to give up caffeine, but this is a blog, so it's the place I go when I want to write all sorts of uninteresting things. Internet!

Anyway, caffeine. Yes, so for over a week I've been drinking nothing but tea (one cup of black in the morning, one cup of green in the afternoon). No coffee, no energy drinks, no Excedrin-solely-for-the-130mg-of-caffeine. And I've felt super! Really, really great. Definition of great: not anxious. But oh woe is me I caved in today. Why? Gloomy gus. Definition of gloomy gus: me. And caffeine gives me that quick mood boost (followed by a long decline into ohhhh noooo).

Why so gloomy, Gus/Meg? Ya got me. I've got no clue. But for the past day or two I've been on edge, feet draggin' sad, antsy, and uninspired. These could very well be caffeine withdrawal symptoms, but I think that only plays a (small) part. There is something bothering me that I haven't been able to pinpoint yet. Help?

But I'll be okay. I think something important to do is to sit. Sit with the edgy antsy gloomy blues. Don't try sweeping any of it under a metaphorical or literal rug because it'll just come creepin' back out, bigger and badder. I also don't need to try and "solve" anything, at least not right away. I believe what needs to happen is a sort of a "Hello, Melancholy. Who are you? Tell me about yourself." Let it unravel. I'll soon be naked. Lying on the floor. HOLD ON A SECOND... WEEZER! Damnit, I've done it again.

So, yeah. I should examine my gloom glooms, but first I'm going to waste a shit load of time on Tumblr. WISH ME LUCK!!! LIVIN' LARGE!!!

a poem for you (and you and you and me)

"Losses"
by Grace Schulman

Life's gains are losses: water leaches rock,
rivers erode and deltas restore the land;
the sun melts ice, turns rain to clouds of mist.
Wind that spins palms in circles like propellers
squanders its force; the fire that feeds destroys.

Each morning burns what night had bound together,
waking us, amazed, staring in wonder,
broken apart. So for all things refused,
I turn, as ships spill wind to change their course:
just as the sea recedes, I grow with loss.