comfort

Jeb! I am going to begin each post that way from now on. Get used to it, appreciate it, crave it, become addicted to it, realize you have a problem, take the steps to quit, quit, detox, crave a little bit again, find a higher power, continue continue continue. Jeb!

I was all set to be melancholy, but then I had a sudden burst of rain hope and I felt okay. In fact, I felt as good as Jeb! must feel. Meg! Now I'm back to my melancholy ways, only because I had to turn on a light to write this. An indoor light at 9:20 AM. It shouldn't have to be this way! I do not do well with artificial light! I crave natural light more than I crave wasabi sandwiches, and if anyone knows me, they know I am almost sexually attracted to very carefully crafted wasabi sandwiches.

Buuuut... There's not much I can change right now except for my attitude. And my perspective. And my pants, because why am I wearing pants when I could be wearing no pants? One of the benefits of living alone, although I would definitely go pantsless around another person if it didn't make them uncomfortable.

Feeling uncomfortable. That might be the theme of my life. It sure has been these past few years. I either feel uncomfortable around Orem residents because, well, they are Orem residents or I feel uncomfortable up here in Salt Lake because I am not rich enough, hip enough, social enough. I wander around streets full of people I'll never meet (or meet their income bracket), casually glancing into their windows wishing I could have their cozy existence. I get greedy. I want that baby grand piano, despite not playing. I want those shelves full of first edition books. I know I need those KitchenAid appliances I'll never use because I'll eat out for every meal, never checking the bill.

But this isn't about wealth. I swear it's not. Money would just make things slightly easier. No, this is about belonging. This is about having a purpose, a reason to get out of the house other than oh-god-help-me-it's-too-depressing-in-this-dark-basement. In order to have a purpose, I must first find it. Maybe I have to search for it a little bit at first and then once I spot it, tackle it down and never let it out of my grip. I've got strong arms. I can do it.

I need to find more faith in myself in order to find this mysterious, life giving/saving purpose. So far in this "new chapter" of my life I have stumbled and sobbed, grown angry and weary, but I am still moving forward and I believe that alone is enough reason to celebrate.

So I'll celebrate with a wasabi breakfast sandwich. You know who else probably digs these wasabi concoctions? Jeb!

aa

Today on my morning walk I saw three moose and it was sooo annoying. Kidding. "Kidding" is the one word I use the most aside from aa, which is a kind of volcanic lava. Anyway, the moose were cool. Literally cool. You could see their breath. You could see my breath as well, if you were looking at me. Were you looking at me? Why were you looking at me? Would you mind just leaving me alone while I'm walking? I like to think while I walk and I can't think while I walk if I know someone is watching me while I walk. So let me walk. Let me and the moose breath in peace.

Remind me to drink water. I didn't drink anything aside from a few sips of coffee yesterday. Big mistake! I also didn't eat until 10:30pm. Big mistake! I also fell into a volcano and got aa all over my pants. Big mistake! I'm realizing more and more that I make all sorts of big mistakes often. I can't just chalk it up to LIFE and LIVING LIFE. It's time I maybe try to make some changes? You know, lead a more ethical, moral, responsible existence? Self-reflection is a very tough thing to do, but sometimes the tough shit is the most rewarding -- BLAH BLAH BLAH. Lazy writing. My writing has become lazy, but my feet won't stop moving.

So now I'm off on another hike. Wish me well. Wish me to find a well, not a dry one, so I do not dry out under the sun and become nothing but a ghost of a girl, a ghost of a girl who kid all the time and was a magnet to magma.

More later. I like you all so much.

signify

Hi everyone! I'm in JACKSON, WYOMING, otherwise known as the land with too many rich, old, and entitled tourists. And locals. Lots of rich, old, and entitled locals. Am I one of them? Well, I'm no local and I ain't rich, but I am old and entitled.

But anyway, it's been nice. Nice isn't the word I'm looking for. I'm looking for too many words and haven't found a single one I want to keep in my nice back pocket and use often. Oh well, I'll come across it one of these days. Speaking of words, I read some crazy shit about poststructuralism on this trip (because, of course, reading about poststructuralism is a relaxing, vacation thing to do) and didn't understand a word of it. Or did I? What is a word anyway but a signifier? Or is it the signified? Definitely the signifier. See, there I go again, not understanding a lick of what I say/write/type/scream into the void.

This is a weird post. And it might have to be a short post. I am surrounded by people, none of them locals, only some of them old and slightly rich, and bananas. Yes, surrounded by people and bananas and that means my brain has left the building of my body. The elevator's broken as well. And the rent's due. And there are hints of cockroaches and traces of tenants long dead. Ghosts inhabit this building, my friends. And they are hungry, rich, and old, very, very old.

I will update you later on more trip-related "shiz" and less poststructural "shit."

LOVE.

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.