care

Hi, I'm back! It's me! Bet you didn't even know I was gone for maybe a day, a day and a half. Anyway, here I am, Meghan "Frustrated Forever" Wiemer. Sexually frustrated? Actually, no. Not really. Mentally frustrated? I don't even know what that means exactly, but yeah, sure. Phone frustrated? If you mean absolutely and totally and without-a-doubt pissed off at my phone, then yes. Well, not at my phone. I love my phone. My sweet baby phone who I love so -- what am I saying? Not much. Phone blah blah blah frustrated over no service yadda yadda yadda. Meanwhile, there's a refugee crisis and melting ice caps and the constant threat of nuclear war. And there's the sweetest poodle mix over at the animal shelter down the road who is wearing a cone of shame and is missing an eye, yet his tail keeps wagging and he just wants a home. HOME. All any of us want is a home, a shelter, a sanctuary, a holy site where we can finally find our peace, with or without appropriate cell phone service.

I need to not complain. But if I do complain, I need to not give myself a hard time. In fact, wouldn't it be wonderful if one day I learned the art of self-love? Or at least self-neutral-feelings. I can't do this self-loathing thing much longer, even though I am a pro at it. (Why would you give up something you're really good at? Because sometimes we are talented in terrible ways.) I don't even realize most of the time that I'm treating myself poorly. I push myself all day long to go go go and do and still, no matter how much I accomplish, it is never enough. So depressing! Let's lighten the mood.

How do I lighten the mood in such a dark basement? Whoops, there I go again. Okay, I am feeling better. Things will be okay. Things are okay. It's been said before and it's worth saying again, but it's all about one's perspective. Of course, perspective can't fix a sink that won't drain or provide a clear reception, but it can make those slight annoyances more bearable and not such a tidal wave of despair. Quick: Go through my hundreds of posts and count how many times I wrote "tidal wave of despair." If I was a woman with an income, I'd bet that I've written it at least 13 times. 13 Going on 30. I'm 31. I am no Jennifer Gardner. I will not sing "Love is a Battlefield" into a hairbrush.

I may not sing into a hairbrush, but I will go carry-oak-ing. How in the world do you spell it? Kareoke. Karoke. Keareokkey. This is getting ridiculous. Karaoke. There we go. We're okay. We got it. Karaoke.

Thanks for, I don't know, letting me be a mess. It's nice to know that someone will when I won't. Maybe if I embrace the mess that I sometimes am, I will start cleaning up with compassion and patience. Speaking of cleaning up, that's exactly what I've been attempting to do all morning, but instead I've been pacing back and forth and making eye contact with the neighborhood cat. I should really do the dishes.

Take care. In the meantime, don't text me because I won't get it. But definitely sext me because I will feel it.

rave

I think there's a rave going on upstairs. And by "upstairs" I mean "in my mind." That is not true. There is no rave in my mind today. My mind is not poppin' molly and suckin' on binkies. No, my mind is a deflated tire. I spent a good chunk of the morning and afternoon in IKEA. And then in a hot hot hot storage unit. And then at a totally normal temperature grocery store. Stores and storage: The true story of my Tuesday.

So I'm tired! That was my point. Tired and a little... hmmm. Lonely? Lonely not so much. No idea what my identity is? Yeah, that's more like it. I love how beautiful it is up here. My walks have been fantastic! I just feel a little isolated and unsure of where to go and what to do. Well, Meg, be creative! Okay, but with what energy? Maybe I need to give myself a week or two to settle in, establish routines, etc. I also need to make an effort. I need to make sure I don't find excuses to isolate myself. Social interaction is desired, to be honest. I just need to relearn balance and not spreading myself too thin.

I miss running. I'll be honest, taking two days off from running has been hard. I miss the natural high, the break in the day, the time to be alone with my thoughts, the sense of accomplishment, etc. But, if you didn't already know, I HAD A GROIN INJURY. I had to allow myself time to heal. And I'm glad that I did. Still, running has been a security blanket. And it, along with most of my other security blankets, has vanished when I needed it the most.

That was quite dramatic! I am overall super pumped and feel like this change, despite how gosh damn difficult it was, was necessary. I don't really know what I'm doing or who I am or where I'm going, but for once... I'm okay with it. My biggest challenge now is to continue. Continue continue continue. And trust. I have to trust in the Universe or whatever/whomever as well as, and perhaps most importantly, myself. MEEEEG. Meg. You got this. And I love you.

scratch

I don't know why I want to begin each post with an overly enthusiastic "GREETINGS!" but I do. Do I? I don't think I really do when it comes down to it. I'm figuring out that I don't have anything figured out. I don't know a lot of stuff when it comes down to it. Hello, greetings, good afternoon, Meghan. Nice to meet you. Now tell me... Who are you? I've got time. I'll listen.

I am in my new place. It is my first full day here and, thankfully, things don't seem as overwhelming as they did yesterday. Things do seem rather dark, however, but just in a literal sense. I guess basement apartments are naturally lacking in natural light, huh? Bummer. It's alright, it's okay, it's groovy because I will just have to get my incredibly firm ass down to IKEA and purchase some incredibly firm (?) light fixtures. Plus, I'm usually not home during the day, so shrug shoulders. (I like that I don't even try to explain my emotions anymore, I just let emojis and emoticons do the talking. And if I am too lazy to go find the appropriate emojis and emoticons on the Internet, I simply type out the emoji/emoticon action. Shrug shoulders. Dance the cha cha. Replace your eyeballs with hearts. Corn on the cob. And so forth.)

So I will have to get used to darkness, which is cool because it's almost Halloween (uhhh... in two months) and I am totally on board with the black lipstick trend. There are other little worries and sighs about this apartment, but I am determined -- DETERMINED, DAMMIT -- to make this my home, to make it clean and comfortable and, yes, even a creative space for creative souls to wander in and create/eat my hummus. (Don't touch my hummus.)

I miss writing. So I am writing. But I also miss being outside. So I will end this soon and venture outside to walk and read and discover and get lost and open up google maps and get frustrated at myself that I am 31 and still cannot read a map and then text my mom about how I am lost and then worry that I worried her and so I will text her back and say that I am not lost! but I will still be lost and then I will call (quicker than texting, calling comes in handy on those very rare occasions) my sister and tell her I am a "bit lost" and that she shouldn't even bother to say north or east or south or west and speaking of west, did she hear that Kanye is running for prez in 2020? And why is my right eye so blurry these days? 20/20 vision would be a miracle, but so would winning the lottery and building a glass box out in the desert where I will live and ride camels and rub sand on my heels to heal the rough skin, the rough sole, the rough soul. Where was I? I seem to have drifted off into a no-man's land, which would be glorious. No men! Just women! Just women and camels and President North West. If I have to sleep in order to have this dream, consider me zzzzz.

Okay. Walk time. And then I'll finish cleaning, I swear, I swear. Damn! Shit! Nipple!

pep talk

There isn't an instruction manual on how to say goodbye. Okay, there are probably dozens and dozens of manuals in the form of self-help books, so... I guess that's that! See ya!

Wait. I don't want to say see ya just yet. But I have to. I have to? When did I decide that I have to move on, to move out, to move towards something... else? What is this something else? And am I asking question after question in an attempt to lose myself in a labyrinth of uncertainty? Except you don't get lost in a labyrinth. You wander. And I'm not going to get "lost" when I move. I am wandering, wondering what will come next and bracing myself for the whatever, the not-quite-yet-lit corners and unpaved paths. And dammit, that's brave. It's brave to me. It's brave for me. Define bravery for yourself, but for me this is it.

Well (cracks knuckles), I must have added some drama to my coffee. Yes sir, I've been known to be a tad overly dramatic for a solid 31 years now. I'm just moving 40 or so miles away. It's a stepping stone. It's normal. This is what people my age (and younger) (and older) (so therefore all people) do. And anywhere you go, you find your new comforts, your new routines, your new way of doing things. The new then becomes the old, or rather the familiar. You wear this new life like a pair of boots. Reliable, well-traveled, and hopefully waterproof. Eventually even the sturdiest shoes will wear down and holes will show up overnight. That's okay. They had a good run.

But you don't leave your past in your past. It follows you like a shadow and sometimes it's even that good luck rock in your pocket. You existed in places and people before and you exist in them even when you're gone (except that you're not really gone).

Leave the manual behind, you won't need it. It was never even published in the first place. Just bring your boots and your shadow. You've got this.

launch

Writing blog posts is towards the bottom of my list lately, but only because I am moving soon and my list is full of delightful tasks like, "check hiking boots for spiders" and "drain bank account to pay for rent and deposit." Once those tasks are checked off, however, I'll be back to blogging about absolutely nothing. Wonderful!

Both my mind and time are occupied with the BIG MOVE. This really is a gigantic leap, fellas. And ladies. I didn't quite realize it until yesterday that WHOA -- this is the first time in my life that I will be living totally on my own. No roommates. An entire fridge to myself. An entire kitchen to myself. Walking around WHENEVER with no pants on. The only sad thing? I can't steal my roommate's cereal anymore. Just kidding, like I ever did that... Pssh. Pssh again because YES, I TOTALLY DID THAT.

I lied. Not about the cereal, but about it being the only sad thing. There are lots of little sad things about moving and leaving a place -- and there is one giant sad thing about leaving my mom's home: My mom. I have been more than lucky to spend these past two years getting to know my mom (and myself) better. We have formed a stronger bond and I can say for certainty that she is my best friend. I could dwell on the things I wish I would have done while living down here or I could be thankful for all that I was able to do. I'll go with the latter. I had a good break down here. I needed it. And I think my mom did, too.

But now I am moving on. And I don't know why exactly. I wish I had a more sure, solid plan. I wish I had a more obvious reason for moving instead of "I just feel like I need to." I sometimes wish my heart would be quiet and allow my head to do some of the talking.

Three forty-two in the afternoon. This is a rough time for us, folks. Or at least it is for me. Is it hard for other people? I would imagine it is. Isn't this the time when there are the most accidents on the road? Drowsy drivers, crashing from their caffeine crash. The smart ones take siestas. Or eat a snack. I do neither, but I do drink half a Rockstar and wander around a park trying to lose myself in the trees and the clouds so I don't lose myself in the waves of anxiety. Yes, I know. The energy drink doesn't help the anxiety. I guess I occasionally like playing with fire.

Speaking of fire, I think I have a fireplace in my new place. No. Yes? I don't know. It doesn't matter too much to me because all I really want is a fridge stocked with local produce and local beer (kidding, mama!) (but the occasional beer is okay, too) and local Rockstar energy drinks. I also want a tent in my room in lieu of a bed. I really do. I will feel safe in my tent, dammit! All I want is to feel safe.

I will write more. Later. I will publish this. Now. I will remember how the candy Now & Laters are terrible for my teeth. I will remember how terrible my teeth are and how terribly frightened I am of the dentist. I will remember that avoidance won't magically make every cavity disappear, won't make everything better. I will remember that I have to gently stop being scared of my own life and start being open to whomever and whatever, so long as they are respectful and it is healthy. I will remember to take off my boots before getting into my tent in my room in my very own first apartment. I will remember to remember what I try so hard to forget. I will like myself, I will like myself at my best and worst moments, I will like all of my cavities and clouds as well as my light and unchanging sky.

longitude

Do you ever desire to live here?

Because I do. Every single day. I could go on walks without seeing another soul, allowing my thoughts to run wild without interruption. The keyword here is "without." Without all of the noise and small talk and avoidance and sleepy suburban eyes on me all the time, I could finally relax. Would I get lonely? Sure. I'd get lonely, but then I'd get over it. So this isolation might be ideal for me right now, but other times I want to end up here:

A yurt community! Of course. Of course my other dream heavily relies on yurts. I know I seem like a hermit, and I am to an extent, but I also value community. I would even go so far to say that I ache for a community. The community I desire is one where we work together like a well-oiled machine. And that oil, by the way, is coconut oil. NO PALM OIL, PLEASE. I would feel reeeelaxed in this community, able to express myself and not feel as if I have to live up to some sort of persona (why do I ever feel like I have to?). I could thrive in either quiet isolation or an active commune (where people still shower occasionally). That's nice to know. But I wilt when placed in the neighborhoods with strangers who drive fast and never forget to put up fences and give out suspicious glances. Leave me alone.

Difficulty! So much difficulty writing lately. Wait. When hasn't it been difficult? I'm a broken record. Oh! Speaking of records, I have two records and a record player, all of which have never been used, just waiting for a better home. I was not a good home for these unwanted gifts. They take up the space to which I so desperately cling. Give me fifty bucks and the record player is yours.

I have been getting rid of/giving away a lot of stuff lately. It's all stuff. Stuffing myself full of stuff for 31 years HELLO. This wiping-the-slate-clean is either a red flag, a white flag, a French flag, or not even a flag at all. In other words, should I worry about my sudden unattachment to things? Or should I rejoice? Or should I just not worry about worrying/rejoicing and instead keep giving away so I can plan my going away to France? Yes. And more on France later.

Enough daydreaming. Enough struggling. Enough going without breakfast. I will talk to you later after I talk to my Rice Krispies. Snap, crackle, pop. (THE BEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN ON THIS BLOG.)

organic shoulder shrugs

It has been awhile, sweethearts! Okay, just a few days. Okay, and not all of you are sweethearts. Some of you are dreamboats. But NONE of you are shipwrecks. And here are some Sunday evening thoughts:

*Mark Wahlberg has kind of a sexy voice. Shrug shoulders emoticon.

*I cannot wait to go WWOOFing in another country. The only question is -- WHICH MOTHERHUGGING COUNTRY?! I change my mind constantly. But basically I'll go to whichever country accepts me. Estonia? Alright! Albania? You got it! Ethiopia? Maybe! (Note: I had to quickly google each of those places to make sure that they were, in fact, countries. Shrug shoulders emoticon.)

*WHO WILL WWOOF WITH ME? There is one interested person, who happens to be a great friend of mine. So I hope that person really does end up coming along! If not, I would go by myself. Just me, a cat I hide in my carry-on, and the ghost of Brigham Young. SHRUUUUG SHOULDERS.

*I am doing a good job with eating all of the crackers. <--- NOT a racial slur. Or maybe it was? Whatever you decide to think is fine by me. Fine with me. Fine for me. Fine. Fine, I don't understand grammar anymore. FINE.

*It is really hard for me to not shrug-shoulders-emoticon at the end of everything I write/say/think/do. My bane in life.

*I need to watch more critically acclaimed foreign films, worry less about the physical appearance of my body, plant more plants, garden more gardens, crack open the Da Vinci Code, write books, learn languages and social skills.

*I like hanging out with people. I do I do I do. (I'm going to repeat this until it comes true.)

Time for some cracker eatin'. You sweethearts and dreamboats are on my minds more than you know. Keep it real, suckas.