How is this winter the longest one in history? How exactly did that happen? Last winter was pretty long, too. Summer always seems too short, despite the fact that the days stretch on beyond the horizon. It is February, however, which means we made it through January. Barely. I'm barely making it through this day and it's only 6:27pm. I'm bound to be up for at least another seven hours even though every part of me straight down to my bones needs a long, long rest. I'm not choosing to be awake, but my brain is. My brain needs to take a fat chill pill and call it a day. If you ever get my brain to listen to you, tell them I said that, okay? Thanks.
I shouldn't, but I do take comfort knowing that other people have had a somewhat shitty day. Or at least a strange one. Something feels off, does it not? Are we all suffering from vampire bites (see previous post)? Maybe Thursday is the new Monday. Maybe Monday is the new Thursday. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but you know what? Days in general don't make sense. Some chump named Gregorian created our calendar a freakin' longass time ago and we just accepted it. We don't have to accept or respect no calendar, fool(s)! Let's create our own days. Let's create our own ways of seeing, doing, working, resting, being. Winter can be merely a day long if we want it to be. Summer can drag her lovely feet around for years. Our years can be made up of the minutes right before sunset. Our time can be an eternity, wearing nothing but an indeterminately long dress.
Soooo now I'll quit my attempts at being poetic. I'm too tired to move my fingers across this crumbless keyboard. Yes, I've been diligent at not eating while computing. I've also been not eating, mostly due to the fact that I remain for hours or perhaps centuries in my head, distracted by what could be and never was. It's not the smartest, no. And so I ask myself, "What would Gregorian do?" He'd probably eat a sandwich the size of a year with extra Saturdays, dripping with Tuesdays, hold the Mondays. And so I too feast.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
cell
It is 2:24 in the afternoon and I still feel like I am waking up. I don't know why I am so lethargic. Okay, I totally know why I am so lethargic: I was bitten by a vampire in the past and I am now anemic. The vampire part = not true unless you count the play I was in 15 years ago (!!!) that had to do with vampires. It had everything to do with vampires. It was about vampires before vampires became sparkling teenagers. I was a sparkling teenager back then, however, and I was in a play about vampires and I wore pleather pants and chunk heeled boots and had a crush on some guy who was probably 1,000% gay. I always fall for the gay ones.
Anyway. Anemia. I think it has gotten worse lately for whatever reason. I don't want to go on and on about my symptoms and complaints (although I apparently have no problem going on and on about sparkling teenage vampires), but I will say that it is probably the reason why I am so drained of energy. Does it also zap motivation? Because I have none of that either. Organize and clean room? Meh. Collect words and form them into a poem or five? Nah. Look into teaching in Japan or farming in Costa Rica? Maybe tomorrow. I'll just sit by my window, read books, chew on ice. (Anemics crave ice. This is very true. Look it up. I'm betting ice goes nice with medium-rare steak. The rarer the better. Give me blood with a side of ice.)
Apathy and anemia and alliteration and anime and "and." All I can do, folks. I can't even get myself to get up and get coffee with pals. ALTHOUGH in my defense I was totally ready to get coffee with two friends on two separate occasions over the past week and a half, but both friends forgot. :( The sad face emoticon is a bit too dramatic. I didn't care too much because, you know, leaving the house is difficult, but it still kinda sucks when you're forgotten.
I've forgotten what I was going to write about. No, I haven't. I don't think I began writing with anything in mind. I am considering starting a private journal where all of these wishy washy thoughts can rest peacefully and privately. If there's one thing I don't need to do it is to compulsively blog while never saying anything new. My blog will be reserved for, I don't know, movie reviews or something. Guess I need to start watching movies and watching them with a critical eye. Or not. Think I'll just grab the ice tray out of the freezer and open a book.
I hope my next post is less of a downer.
Anyway. Anemia. I think it has gotten worse lately for whatever reason. I don't want to go on and on about my symptoms and complaints (although I apparently have no problem going on and on about sparkling teenage vampires), but I will say that it is probably the reason why I am so drained of energy. Does it also zap motivation? Because I have none of that either. Organize and clean room? Meh. Collect words and form them into a poem or five? Nah. Look into teaching in Japan or farming in Costa Rica? Maybe tomorrow. I'll just sit by my window, read books, chew on ice. (Anemics crave ice. This is very true. Look it up. I'm betting ice goes nice with medium-rare steak. The rarer the better. Give me blood with a side of ice.)
Apathy and anemia and alliteration and anime and "and." All I can do, folks. I can't even get myself to get up and get coffee with pals. ALTHOUGH in my defense I was totally ready to get coffee with two friends on two separate occasions over the past week and a half, but both friends forgot. :( The sad face emoticon is a bit too dramatic. I didn't care too much because, you know, leaving the house is difficult, but it still kinda sucks when you're forgotten.
I've forgotten what I was going to write about. No, I haven't. I don't think I began writing with anything in mind. I am considering starting a private journal where all of these wishy washy thoughts can rest peacefully and privately. If there's one thing I don't need to do it is to compulsively blog while never saying anything new. My blog will be reserved for, I don't know, movie reviews or something. Guess I need to start watching movies and watching them with a critical eye. Or not. Think I'll just grab the ice tray out of the freezer and open a book.
I hope my next post is less of a downer.
connect
Okay, now that I got the serious post out of the way where I discussed fear and insecurity and authenticity and art making and whatever, I can write a all-over-the-place monkey mind post, no? No. I mean, yes. I mean, I get to decide. Yes or no, circle one, it's my decision.
Where to start. Let's start with Japan. Have I mentioned that, at the age of almost-32, I'm finally getting into anime? I can't remember the who what where when why or how, but here I am, at 2 in the morning watching large eyed girls with wings chase after crows and run into men with scary masks and... And I can't really remember what else is happening in this anime series I am watching, but it's charming. And surprisingly poetic.
Continuing with Japan -- what if I plan to teach English overseas? In a place very similar to Japan and/or Japan? They are so polite there! And smart and probably really good at karaoke and... And my grandmother would be so disappointed. She was in her 20s during WWII, so... I am using a lot of ellipses in this post. I think it's because words are not coming so easily to me today and it is frustrating. They didn't come to me yesterday, either. I went nuts with posts a few days ago... Maybe it drained me of all words except for words having to do with Japan? I don't even want to write about Japan. I don't even want to write (dot dot do) right now.
Last night I had a dream that there were three moons. I only saw two at first, which did not seem abnormal to me. But then a stranger on the street pointed up and said, "See?" And I saw. And it was the color of coral and it was floating there alone in the busy ocean of the night sky. I tried taking a photo, but I had lost my camera. I stood in awe instead.
It's snowing. Again. It keeps doing this and it keeps messing with my head. Do I love it? Do I fear it? Do I wish I was sitting in a quiet cabin in Vermont or lying down on the sand dunes in Death Valley? I've never been to Vermont, but I hear it's progressive and small. I've been to Death Valley and I've slept on its sand dunes. It was February, the sand was warm, I slept soundly.
I might give in and eat something now. I am not hungry, but I can't keep craving emptiness.
So maybe I won't go to Japan anytime soon. Maybe I won't leave words all over a screen today or tomorrow or yesterday. Maybe I will turn to the page instead. My hand misses the pen's connection. My hand misses connection. My, I miss connection.
Where to start. Let's start with Japan. Have I mentioned that, at the age of almost-32, I'm finally getting into anime? I can't remember the who what where when why or how, but here I am, at 2 in the morning watching large eyed girls with wings chase after crows and run into men with scary masks and... And I can't really remember what else is happening in this anime series I am watching, but it's charming. And surprisingly poetic.
Continuing with Japan -- what if I plan to teach English overseas? In a place very similar to Japan and/or Japan? They are so polite there! And smart and probably really good at karaoke and... And my grandmother would be so disappointed. She was in her 20s during WWII, so... I am using a lot of ellipses in this post. I think it's because words are not coming so easily to me today and it is frustrating. They didn't come to me yesterday, either. I went nuts with posts a few days ago... Maybe it drained me of all words except for words having to do with Japan? I don't even want to write about Japan. I don't even want to write (dot dot do) right now.
Last night I had a dream that there were three moons. I only saw two at first, which did not seem abnormal to me. But then a stranger on the street pointed up and said, "See?" And I saw. And it was the color of coral and it was floating there alone in the busy ocean of the night sky. I tried taking a photo, but I had lost my camera. I stood in awe instead.
It's snowing. Again. It keeps doing this and it keeps messing with my head. Do I love it? Do I fear it? Do I wish I was sitting in a quiet cabin in Vermont or lying down on the sand dunes in Death Valley? I've never been to Vermont, but I hear it's progressive and small. I've been to Death Valley and I've slept on its sand dunes. It was February, the sand was warm, I slept soundly.
I might give in and eat something now. I am not hungry, but I can't keep craving emptiness.
So maybe I won't go to Japan anytime soon. Maybe I won't leave words all over a screen today or tomorrow or yesterday. Maybe I will turn to the page instead. My hand misses the pen's connection. My hand misses connection. My, I miss connection.
loans
I can't think of a time when I sit down to write and a voice doesn't tell me, "Don't." It reminds me in a mocking voice, "You're a blogger. You are not a novelist, you aren't much of a poet anymore, you were never a playwright. You are a blogger and a subpar one at that." Whose voice is this and why won't they shut up?
It must be my voice, right? No. It's my fear. My voice, if I pause to listen to it, is strong. It knows, it is steady, it is quiet -- which is why I must listen. My fear, on the other hand, is one loud mothereffer. It demands attention, like a bad quick loan commercial. Fear is insecure -- fear is insecurity itself -- which is why it is so vocal. It doesn't have the quiet confidence of my authentic voice. I'm sick of fear. I prefer silence.
I am going to give myself a break before I break. I must have said that exact sentence at some point in the past. Multiple times. We all need a vacation from fear from time to time. Sometimes I'm tempted to make it a permanent vacation and just live in a state of bliss forever, but that's not really possible. Besides, I'm beginning to suspect that fear serves a purpose -- but different kinds of fear. The fear I'm talking about is the fear of oneself. That's the bad one, dudes. That's the one which paralyzes, not propels.
I'm on the verge of figuring out how to hush this insecurity... I have some thinking to do. And drinking. Drinking of coffee. But probably tea. Less caffeine, still warm, just right. Just write. There you go. That's one way to hush the insecurity: Just write.
It must be my voice, right? No. It's my fear. My voice, if I pause to listen to it, is strong. It knows, it is steady, it is quiet -- which is why I must listen. My fear, on the other hand, is one loud mothereffer. It demands attention, like a bad quick loan commercial. Fear is insecure -- fear is insecurity itself -- which is why it is so vocal. It doesn't have the quiet confidence of my authentic voice. I'm sick of fear. I prefer silence.
I am going to give myself a break before I break. I must have said that exact sentence at some point in the past. Multiple times. We all need a vacation from fear from time to time. Sometimes I'm tempted to make it a permanent vacation and just live in a state of bliss forever, but that's not really possible. Besides, I'm beginning to suspect that fear serves a purpose -- but different kinds of fear. The fear I'm talking about is the fear of oneself. That's the bad one, dudes. That's the one which paralyzes, not propels.
I'm on the verge of figuring out how to hush this insecurity... I have some thinking to do. And drinking. Drinking of coffee. But probably tea. Less caffeine, still warm, just right. Just write. There you go. That's one way to hush the insecurity: Just write.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
affect
My goal is to sleep tonight. That's a good goal. That's a good girl. That's a good ghoul.
When I pause, step back, and take a look at what I write, I see that I am a poster child (WOMAN) of hashtag white girl problems. Hashtag first world problems. Hashtag spelling out hashtag. I use up your valuable time to have you listen to me complain about lack of sleep, complain about too much free time, complain about exercising at a gym too often. Yes, the world is bigger than my complaints. Thank goodness.
But I don't want to dismiss my feelings completely. Feelings are feelings and it's best if we allow ourselves to feel them. Acknowledge them. Let them run their course without harming anyone or oneself. You know, cry if you wanna cry. Punch a pillow if you want to punch a person. That kind of thing. Letting yourself feel those crummy emotions opens up the door for you to notice and fully appreciate the exhilarating, purely blissful moments that will, I promise, happen.
Hi, I'm Meg and recently I've become a self-help guru??? I say that mockingly, of course. I ain't no self-help anything, although I've sure sounded like I'm trying to be one recently. Here! Let me spout of some wooey wooey crap you've heard two dozen times before (and more eloquently stated). Two dozen times? So you've heard these platitudes 24 times? That, folks, is math without paper. Did the addition in my head. Oh well. If you love me, you'll love ALL of me -- and that includes my preachy, wooey wooey craptastic side.
Yeah. I'm just so so so so tired. I don't know why I'm even forcing myself to blog. Maybe because I feel like I can't do anything recently except for blog, binge on books, and bake bread? Yeah. Maybe.
I think I'll go watch some reality TV and drink a Fresca. And who knows? I might be ambitious and whip up an omelet or three. There's no telling what surprises this Tuesday night holds. Peace out, fellow ghouls. Keep feeling all of the feels, you hear me? xoxo
When I pause, step back, and take a look at what I write, I see that I am a poster child (WOMAN) of hashtag white girl problems. Hashtag first world problems. Hashtag spelling out hashtag. I use up your valuable time to have you listen to me complain about lack of sleep, complain about too much free time, complain about exercising at a gym too often. Yes, the world is bigger than my complaints. Thank goodness.
But I don't want to dismiss my feelings completely. Feelings are feelings and it's best if we allow ourselves to feel them. Acknowledge them. Let them run their course without harming anyone or oneself. You know, cry if you wanna cry. Punch a pillow if you want to punch a person. That kind of thing. Letting yourself feel those crummy emotions opens up the door for you to notice and fully appreciate the exhilarating, purely blissful moments that will, I promise, happen.
Hi, I'm Meg and recently I've become a self-help guru??? I say that mockingly, of course. I ain't no self-help anything, although I've sure sounded like I'm trying to be one recently. Here! Let me spout of some wooey wooey crap you've heard two dozen times before (and more eloquently stated). Two dozen times? So you've heard these platitudes 24 times? That, folks, is math without paper. Did the addition in my head. Oh well. If you love me, you'll love ALL of me -- and that includes my preachy, wooey wooey craptastic side.
Yeah. I'm just so so so so tired. I don't know why I'm even forcing myself to blog. Maybe because I feel like I can't do anything recently except for blog, binge on books, and bake bread? Yeah. Maybe.
I think I'll go watch some reality TV and drink a Fresca. And who knows? I might be ambitious and whip up an omelet or three. There's no telling what surprises this Tuesday night holds. Peace out, fellow ghouls. Keep feeling all of the feels, you hear me? xoxo
doing
Oh hey, if you haven't noticed, you made it through January. You survived. You are a strong motherfucker and I'm immensely proud of and in and around you. I'm proud around you, yes. That's what I typed. And why am I typing? Because the computer is on a desk in a room full of light. Light feels healing and it feels... light. Yes, judging by my limited vocabulary, you can safely assume that I have not taken a nap, that I am still running on fumes (and, wisely or not, caffeine), that it's a fact the brain needs zzzzz in order to do... things. Things.
And I am doing things! I am! It may not appear that way because my room is still a mess, my legs are still unshaven, my checking account is still rapidly inching towards empty -- but I assure you that I am progressing. My progression just may not be visible, that's all.
In what ways am I "doing things"? Well, for starters (and this is huge for me), I am easing up on my time at the gym. I always have this tinge of embarrassment when I talk about the gym. Gyms are meant for dicks and hoes, no? Kidding. But they kind of are. Anyway, long story short -- I am attempting to find some kind of balance when it comes to physical activity. Running is excellent for my depression and devastating for my recovery from an eating disorder. So. Buddha advocates the "middle way" and, well, the dude's been right on other things before. I trust him and now I just need to take his damn advice already.
I am also trying to "get out" more and try new foods, eat with other people, make and follow through with plans, listen to new music, watch captivating shows, read poetry out loud. These seem small and insignificant, but to me they aren't. I envelop myself with the familiar and stay like a statue in what I know, so to branch out is a big deal. And the more I do different, new, and somewhat frightening things, the easier and more rewarding it becomes.
So does anyone have any gold stars for me? Because I deserve at least two. Make that three. I am proud of myself for not giving up, for seeing areas in my life that are less than and putting in the effort to make them more. It can be exhausting, though, but then again maybe that exhaustion is just from the lack of sleep. Note: As tempting as it may be to drink almost two Rockstars and watch anime all night long, I would not recommend it. Then again, try it and see for yourself. Life is one experiment after another, is it not?
And I am doing things! I am! It may not appear that way because my room is still a mess, my legs are still unshaven, my checking account is still rapidly inching towards empty -- but I assure you that I am progressing. My progression just may not be visible, that's all.
In what ways am I "doing things"? Well, for starters (and this is huge for me), I am easing up on my time at the gym. I always have this tinge of embarrassment when I talk about the gym. Gyms are meant for dicks and hoes, no? Kidding. But they kind of are. Anyway, long story short -- I am attempting to find some kind of balance when it comes to physical activity. Running is excellent for my depression and devastating for my recovery from an eating disorder. So. Buddha advocates the "middle way" and, well, the dude's been right on other things before. I trust him and now I just need to take his damn advice already.
I am also trying to "get out" more and try new foods, eat with other people, make and follow through with plans, listen to new music, watch captivating shows, read poetry out loud. These seem small and insignificant, but to me they aren't. I envelop myself with the familiar and stay like a statue in what I know, so to branch out is a big deal. And the more I do different, new, and somewhat frightening things, the easier and more rewarding it becomes.
So does anyone have any gold stars for me? Because I deserve at least two. Make that three. I am proud of myself for not giving up, for seeing areas in my life that are less than and putting in the effort to make them more. It can be exhausting, though, but then again maybe that exhaustion is just from the lack of sleep. Note: As tempting as it may be to drink almost two Rockstars and watch anime all night long, I would not recommend it. Then again, try it and see for yourself. Life is one experiment after another, is it not?
puppet
Did I overdo it yesterday? I have a feeling I overdid it yesterday. Today might not be any different. In fact, most of my days for the past couple of months have felt remarkably similar. Like, 6 months = one very, very long day. Part of that had to do with me having a consistent schedule with work, but another part of that had to do with me finding almost too much comfort in routine. Routine isn't inherently bad. Of course not. It provides structure and stability. But it ended up stifling my creativity and spontaneity. I think creativity is a form of spontaneity, right? I need to learn to not keep such a tight rein on my life -- because none of us can control everything that happens and we'll just make ourselves miserable if we attempt to be the puppeteer.
What. Am. I. Even. Saying. I am practically typing this in my sleep. Oh, sleep? What's that? I was up until at least 3am, fell asleep for an hour, woke back up and was pretty much awake for the rest of the night. Or rather, early morning. Whatever those secretive, silent hours are. A nap would make sense, yes, I agree. But when have I ever made sense? A shower would also help. Maybe I can even work up the courage to wash my hair, shave my legs, be a lady. Kidding. Ugh, gender roles! You know, man?! Or woman. Or gender fluid human being. All I know is that I am taking another day off from the gym. I guess a little movement would make me feel better, but not much. I will just walk around the living room and read, like I usually do. No need to push myself to conform to society's standard of beauty. I am ready to make "being healthy" my goal. And sometimes resting is the best thing one can do for one's health. That and eating an entire loaf of pumpkin bread.
Words escape me today, so instead I will end this post with the words of another, more coherent person. "You are a puppet, but in the hands of the infinite, which may be your own." -Antonio Porchia (I take back everything I said about not being a puppeteer. You ARE the puppeteer and you always have been! Right on, babes.)
What. Am. I. Even. Saying. I am practically typing this in my sleep. Oh, sleep? What's that? I was up until at least 3am, fell asleep for an hour, woke back up and was pretty much awake for the rest of the night. Or rather, early morning. Whatever those secretive, silent hours are. A nap would make sense, yes, I agree. But when have I ever made sense? A shower would also help. Maybe I can even work up the courage to wash my hair, shave my legs, be a lady. Kidding. Ugh, gender roles! You know, man?! Or woman. Or gender fluid human being. All I know is that I am taking another day off from the gym. I guess a little movement would make me feel better, but not much. I will just walk around the living room and read, like I usually do. No need to push myself to conform to society's standard of beauty. I am ready to make "being healthy" my goal. And sometimes resting is the best thing one can do for one's health. That and eating an entire loaf of pumpkin bread.
Words escape me today, so instead I will end this post with the words of another, more coherent person. "You are a puppet, but in the hands of the infinite, which may be your own." -Antonio Porchia (I take back everything I said about not being a puppeteer. You ARE the puppeteer and you always have been! Right on, babes.)
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