rio

There is a reason I didn't write this morning. Maybe some of you expect a new post from me each day upon waking! In that case, maybe you expect way too much out of this li'l gal. I can only do so much. I can only go so many nights with five hours of sleep before I turn into a pile of beans and rice and guacamole. Which reminds me, I just got a huge ass burrito from Cafe Rio (thanks, mom!) and I am going to eat it now so that my brain will work. Be back in a sec. (I'll save some guac for you. JK, I won't because I love it too much to be generous.)

Holy crap. Uh... Crap might not be the greatest word for me to use... So I wrote the above paragraph about six hours ago. I went to have a few bites of the huge ass burrito and then planned on returning to my quiet herbal tea and introspective fog and pearls. INSTEAD I devoured that burrito. I effing destroyed it, man. And it was no small feat. Oh no no no. The salmon burrito was approximately the size of a small country and this is in no way an exaggeration. It was a rather sensual experience, to be honest. Just messy and drippy and pleasing to many of my senses. Food! Whoa. Who knew that food doesn't have to just be fuel? Food can also be violently pleasurable. Give me a burrito and I will cuddle with it in a highly sexual way. Kidding, mom! (*Not kidding.)

And then I had a brief moment after demolishing that burrito when I had to choose between freaking out from "eating too much" (according to ED) or to just let it slide. Let it slide and be grateful and happy and relieved and maybe even go smoke a cig. No, no smoking cigs. Don't want to kill any of those taste buds, you know? Anyway, I chose the latter. I chose it. It is a choice, this whole listening-to-ED thing. I'm just now realizing this. It's the best realization I'v'e had in a long time.

But knowing old Meggie, some of ED's whispers are still there. Oh, and they are shouts, not whispers. I don't think he's ever whispered once in his life. He just nags in an extremely loud and incredibly close way. He yelled for me to go to the gym and so, being the still-somewhat-obedient servant that I am, did as I was told. Here's where the word "crap" comes in! Uh oh!

Okay, I didn't crap my North Face running shorts. Thank Buddha. But I did have to stop running more than once in order to, well, use the ladies' room. It was very unpleasant. It also became kinda funny after I remembered that episode of The Office when Michael Scott eats a tin of fettuccine alfredo before running a 5K and then proceeds to projectile vomit said fettuccine alfredo after the race. So essentially I was Michael Scott this afternoon. Word to the wise: It's best not to eat a country-size burrito half an hour before you run 12 miles. Just don't attempt it. Eat the burrito and then relax. You can always run another time, and you should always put the burrito first.

I feel much better now, thank you. I just really really really want to be hungry again. I have a sinking feeling that this burrito did me in for the rest of the day/night. I still might try to sneak in some gelato in there (my stomach), though. Gelato plus Better Call Saul sounds like a match made in heaven. Oh, throw in a warm blanket and my cat sweatshirt and I've just created my personal heaven.

I love you, guys and gals. Guys and dolls. Dolls and dreamboats. You really are a big support to me whether you realize it or not. Let's all be more than kind to ourselves. Let's be our own damn best friend, okay? Okay.

seeds

I just awoke from a 2 minute and 56 second nap. It felt much, much longer than that, though. What's the deal? I was crouched on my window seat wearing my moody black hoodie when I decided to simply "rest my eyes" for ten minutes. I set my timer and when I woke up I was in a state of panic, sure that I had slept far past the allotted ten minutes. Not so! Only 2 minutes and 56 seconds had passed. WHAT'S THE DEAL? I then moved to lie on my side and just stared out the window for a good 2 minutes and 57 seconds. I watched the flag across the street in front of the church wave in the wind and felt NO pangs of patriotism. Then I watched the pine tree shake and wished I could somehow warm it up. There was a plane that flew by and made me start laughing because I was, like, "You are trying so hard to be a bird, but you don't even know how to eat worms." Or seeds. I purchased pumpkin seeds last week after my last iron infusion. Pumpkin seeds are wonky high in iron. So is chicken liver, but to the best of my knowledge, Big Lots does not stock chicken liver. Just pumpkin seeds. That's all they sell. Pumpkin seeds. Big Lots? More like Big on Carrying Lots of Pumpkin Seeds. Guess the general public needs iron as much as I do. Guess we're the United States of Anemia. Guess I'm not the unique, delicate flower I once thought I was. Well, I am still rather delicate. I basically have bird bones. But I am not a plane; I do not trick myself into thinking I am a plane. But I do eat seeds.

That was a fun paragraph to write. To type. To concoct in my head and let it leak out of my fingers. I figure I'll probably write more posts like this after getting 2 minutes and 56 seconds of sleep. This style of writing is like a bad cup of coffee for my brain. Well, time to let the anemic general public push all of my buttons at the grocery store. Why do I do this to myself? Because I like food. Surprise of the century? Wish I had a huge garden, though. I could just grab my shopping cart and head on down the isles of sun ripened tomatoes and cabbage patch dolls and secrets. My garden my garden my garden: Where I will always be a preferred customer and will never need to show the attendant my ID. I will be free.

chute/ladder

Oh hi, it's just me here on this Monday morning thankful as hell that it's no longer a holiday. Well, wait. Let me check. Okay, I was wrong. Apparently it is Chakri Day, which commemerates the reign of the Chakri Dynasty in Thailand. Oh, and it is Mormon Jesus' birthday. Jesus's or Jesus'? Or Cheesus Chrust Pizzeria? I remember coming up with that brilliant idea and some jokester stole my joke and it was all just one cruel joke. You don't steal other folks' jokes, folks. You just don't.

Holidays! Be gone! Never return! Except I do like holidays. Sometimes. I bet I would like them and everything in the world a lot more if I was nice to myself. Notice I didn't say "nicer"? Because one must first be nice in order to be nicer. I'm working on it. One step forward, a huge gigantic slide back. This whole self-compassion thing is like a game of Chutes and Ladders and I keep having bad luck with the dice. Roll 'em, baby. ROLL WITH THE PUNCHES, Tootsie. Tootsie Roll.

Do you know that I keep a bag of Tootsie Rolls in my purse to give to children on the playground? Like, take candy from me, kids! I'm a stranger! Except I am not a stranger and I don't actually give the candy out that often, just if a child gets hurt. And it has to be a real injury, not these tiny scrapes and bruises life gives us at every turn. The kids go up the ladder and down the slide and sometimes the results are disappointing, but they just get back up on that ladder and keep playing. Why? Because they are curious. They forget the falls and tumbles and remember the ecstasy of the swing. They remember the dandelions in the field where fairies live. It isn't a weed, it is shelter. And under the sky they are free. Under the sky they see the clouds and with the help of the swing they fly right to the top and search for hidden treasure, for adventure, for the magic that awaits. Except they never have to actually make it to the clouds. The magic doesn't wait, it resides. It's already inside; there's no need to climb any ladders until you fall exhausted down a slide. You just stand. You just stand and allow and accept. And delight. There is a sun behind those clouds.

keys

I have been trying to decide what I want to write, which is fairly unusual for me. I usually just swing around with my monkey mind, but today I wanted to maybe give my words more thought. Who would have thought? So there I was on a non-dark and non-storm non-winter non-night (translation: it has been a beautifully bright and lovely spring day!) just staring at my keyboard. After a good five minutes of zoning out, the SHIFT key shook me from my stupor and filled me with the light of Christ! Weird joke. But it really did shake me awake. So did the "pause break" key. As did the keys enter and backspace and home and ctrl and esc. I am not at all losing my marbles when I say this, but I am 100% sure my keyboard is an alien sending me messages from a distant planet. Yep. For sure.

But for reals, I need to shift my perspective perhaps drastically and give up the desire of being in "ctrl" all of the time. I cushion my life with numerous ways to "esc" from anything and anyone even remotely uncomfortable to me. I'm sure we all do that to an extent. It's a survival thing, right? A defense mechanism. A way to not totally freak out and fall into an inescapable existential pit of despair. But it has come to the point where I need to pause before I break. I can feel myself breaking -- mentally, physically, spiritually -- and, to be honest, I'm surprised I haven't broken yet. Of course, there are different kinds of breaking. I guess I don't want to breakdown, but I do want to break out. Break free? Breaking bad. Such a good show. And I want to show others and most importantly myself that I can enter into a more authentic existence and discontinue living a life which feels as though it is perpetually on caps lock. The last thing I need right now is more escaping. I want to return home. I have the key to the front door. All I need to do is shift it to the right to unlock all that has been waiting. I don't want to be an alien in my own life anymore.

Well, time for a walk. Another one, another one, another one. Walking might be a little bit of an escape and that's okay. I'm hanging on to my walks. Let me at least have my walks.

And hey! What a good day for Jesus to be resurrected. He and I at least have that in common. (Maybe he also likes cookies-n-cream ice cream. I can't imagine a savior who wouldn't.)

illation

I've come to the conclusion that -- Kidding. I haven't come to any conclusion about anything recently. I trick myself! I guess that is one thing I can conclude. I trick myself into thinking that I have come to various conclusions about various things. Careers! Relationships! Books, music, media. Art, culture, society. Politics, religion, favorite flavor of ice cream. Ice cream. Food. Body image, sexual identity, legalization of all sorts of currently illegal things. Did I mention ice cream? I am still unsure which is my preferred flavor. And this is a real concern because five days out of the week I am approached by a heartbreakingly fascinating 5-year-old named Kevin who asks me my favorite flavor of ice cream. I usually go with cookies-n-cream and say something like, "With BIG chunks of cookie! I love cookies!" I then quickly shift the focus off of me and ask Kevin his favorite flavor ("rainbow") and he proceeds to spend the rest of recess discussing the unlimited possibilities of the infamous frozen concoction.

Wow, I spent far more sentences than planned on ice cream. Not that I plan what I write. I never have. Ever. Not even my essays. Okay, maybe I planned those a little, but for the most part I plagiarized. (Joke! I only sorta plagiarized a handful of times in my lustrous college career.) I should note that I am not as panicked about pinpointing my favorite ice cream flavor as I make it out to be. In fact, the only thing true about that ice cream tale was everything but the panic. So yes, there is a fascinating 5-year-old Kevin who loves rainbow ice cream and talks to me for at least half an hour a day -- without taking a breath -- about any and all things even remotely related to ice cream. NO MORE ABOUT ICE CREAM, I SWEAR.

I don't need to come to any conclusions right now. Or ever. I will remind myself of this over and over again. It might even be a good thing to be undecided about most things, yes? To make myself look good, I can say that my indecisiveness is a strength! It means that I am always questioning things, like authority and Google. It means that I have an open mind and sound critical thinking skills. Of course, it might also mean that it's time for me to face my own life and make my own decisions. I can only ask others "What do you think?" before I inevitably have to ask myself. And on occasion it would be nice to have a confident answer.

I want to end this post and go sweep my bathroom floor. Yes, that is exactly what I want to do. On Easter Sunday, no less! I live a reckless existence, I know. Hey, I came to a conclusion! I concluded that I wish to stop writing about ice cream and indecision and instead sweep a long-neglected tile floor. Wow, making a decision was easier than I thought. And it was somewhat fun. You know, just to do whatever I want, no matter how thrilling or mundane.

Conclusion: Flex your assertive muscle. Don't be disappointed if you change your mind from time to time. Change is good. Ice cream is good. Kevin is a genius. Although Kevin may be a genius, you must go out and discover rainbow ice cream for yourself. You are worth it, I promise.

dig

I think the last thing I need is to doubt myself. Well, the last thing I need is to go to the grocery store again on the night before Easter. That may have been a mistake, although it felt REAL NICE gifting my mama with some chocolate ice cream and a yellow rose, both of which were purchased in hell Smith's. But yes, back to self-doubt. At this point I need to trust myself more than ever. But it's hard. It's hard to do so when one day I am euphoric and the next day I am the old chewed up gum stuck to the bottom of an old discarded sneaker. Or boot. Or house slipper. Why were you wearing your house slippers outside? They are called house slippers for a reason. You were your outside slippers AKA your Crocs when you go outside. Just a reminder.

So I've established (probably multiple times) that I cannot trust my emotions. My emotions and my Self seem to be inseparable. SEEM. I know they are not. I know that I still have yet to define, for myself, what "Self" actually means. I know I have a lot of thinking to do. At the same time, I have a lot of unthinking to do. My brain is a beach and my thoughts are the grains of sand. I dig a hole in order to go deeper and maybe make it to China, but the sand collapses and buries me. Over and over again. I have started wearing a scuba mask while digging. At least I haven't stopped digging, although I may look ridiculous wearing a mask while essentially digging my own grave. You dig?

I fill up my head when it might be wiser to empty it. "Is there a book I can read about this or that?" I ask. Constantly. "Can I research it more before I do this or that?" "Give me a huge heads up before you make absolutely any changes to my strict schedule! K THANX!" I think I think I think. I prepare I prepare I prepare. I fear. I stay back and watch. I fear even more. I see too much and let it stop me. I don't dive in because I have been looking at my warped reflection in the murky water for too long. I back out. I don't recognize myself. I feel more comfortable suffocating in the sand.

I have to empty my mind before I run out of fuel. It is one of those delightful paradoxes where I have to be empty in order to be full. Ah, the nature of emptiness. Ah, present moment shit. Ah, the Self. Ah, illusions and suffering and death and disease and compassion and sutras. Mandalas and mantras and Mahayana. Ah, the golden sunflower. Ah, the Great Eastern Sun. Ah, the moon the moon the moon. Burn down the barn, kill the buddha, don't look to the finger. Look to the moon. See it. Sit with it. Listen.

I delight and thrive in the abstract. I hope I don't forget this.

confident

Anybody else out there have the Hawaii Five-O theme song stuck in your head on this Conference morning? Speaking of hashtag LDSconf, Thomas Monson would be a lot cooler if his name was Thomas Monsoon. Tommy Monsoon: Prophet and Part-Time Surf GOD. Cue Hawaii Five-O theme song! Hang ten! Ten percent of your income! Incoming wave! Ride that wave! Ride that crimson wave.

Okay, let me continue on my QUEST for discovering my PASSION. Where did I leave off? Number 3? Yes, number 3. (Is number 3 the crimson wave in bathroom language? Like I'd even know anymore.)

Number 3: Own your uniqueness.

OH! Already did that one. Phew. That one was stupid.

Number 4: Cultivate confidence.

Hahahahahahahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Lalalalalala.

If we are continually telling ourselves we can’t, then we will never believe we can. There is a chance you may fail, but it will be impossible to succeed if you don’t believe in yourself. You can create affirmations, focus on the things you want, or make a vision board that shows your future success.

Oooookay, all laughing aside, I will confidently admit that this is good advice. It is a bit corny, but corny can be good unless it's corn being fed to cattle on feedlots. Come on. Cows don't eat corn, you nutjobs. Cows eat nuts. No, wait. Cows eat grass! Cows are so beautiful. Look at a freaking calf sometime and just TRY to not melt. But yes, I have heard time and time again from various therapists and well-adjusted friends (they are rare, but they exist!) that affirmations work. I tried a few a few times. It was a relief to tell myself a few nice things once in awhile instead of calling myself a "stupid bitch" in my head for the smallest offense. Maybe I'll pick up that whole self-affirmations thing again when I'm not so lazy. My first affirmation will be, "Even though I am too lazy to create affirmations, I still love and accept myself exactly how I am." Then I will kiss a mirror and flip my hair.

Vision board. Shit yeah. I want to create the shit out of a vision board, man. (IN THE FORM OF A TUMBLR PAGE WHAT A WONDERFUL IDEA.)

I feel remarkable now! I AM remarkable now! And I will be in the future. And I was occasionally in the past except for all of those many, many, practically innumerable times I was unremarkable. So be it. Live, learn, move on. Move on, make art, drink water. Drink water, take vitamins, take the vitamins with the water. Eat a meal if the vitamins upset your stomach, call your doctor if you experience glimpses into the infinite after taking your generic multivitamin. The generic multivitamins were on sale at the grocery store the other day and you bought them on an impulse. You felt so confident that day. So confident and so impulsive that you threw caution into the wind and threw the bottle of generic multivitamins into your shopping cart. Then you went virtually insane and even bought a small bag of turkey jerky. You knew the sodium content was high, but to hell with it! To hell with your high blood pressure and your safe ways and Safeway and all of the little, infinite, jerky things you've done in your life. You are content with your sodium content. You are content with your generic vitamins and minerals. You are content with being a remarkable, stupid, confident, insecure, brilliantly boring creature crawling on this rotating planet. You kiss the mirror and move on. You've got vision boards to create and future successes to collect.

One day you'll be content.