camouflage

There are a trillion -- or at least 3-7 -- things I wish to discuss, but I am "hella" distracted. There are three men in University of Utah beanies and camouflage jackets digging right outside my window. All I see is dirt. Dirt and school spirit. What is going on? Why are they doing this? Who did I offend? I must have pissed off (that's French for "offended") someone at some point and they said, "You know what? I'm going to send three men in beanies and oddly attractive camouflage jackets to your house riiiiight when you want to start writing. It will be a distraction! You will not remember the 3-7 things you wish to discuss! I hate you, but I also love you so much. Please marry me. I will make this up to you." Well, guess what? I don't feel like getting married, especially not to such a reactionary person.

Anyway. My apartment. I know I've been meaning to discuss/vent about that. In no way has my new home exceeded my expectations. In fact, it has helped me to cry myself asleep on a handful of occasions. I've also had to pound on the ceiling when the video games upstairs get too loud (at least 6 nights a week), so that's fun. At least I'm becoming more assertive? And used to the showers at the gym. Have I mentioned that I have to shower at the gym a lot? Because there is a troll living under the house or something and he (she? they?) keep messing with the pipes. Ohhhh... So maybe that's what these three handsome camouflaged gentlemen are doing... They are fixing the pipes? Making a deal with the troll? Answering three riddles? Trolls don't ask riddles, it's wizards. Trolls trick people. And clog shower drains.

Okay, I'm beginning to remember the 3-7 things I wish to discuss. That's what happens when you chill out and ignore the troll outside your window. I wish to discuss my coworkers. OH BUT I CAN'T. I mean, I can, but I shouldn't. Not that they read my blog... Yes, I did post a link to this creepy blog on my Facebook, and yes, I am Facebook pals with most of my coworkers, but let it be known that they do not give one shit about me. If any of them read this blog, I promise to donate 3-7 trillion dollars to Trump's campaign. Hey, coworkers, wanna make America great again? Read my blog.

As always, I wish to discuss food issues and body image issues and issues about having issues. It is, and forever will be, an ongoing battle. Where is my sword? Would a sword even help? Maybe I need a troll. A troll to trick my eating disorder into disappearing without a trace. Things have been better, though. I am beginning to replace some of my negative habits, routines, and thoughts with slightly more productive and healthy activities, such as writing and buying a crap ton of crystals. Right on, Meggie. Keep it up.

Okay, so I have sort of discussed three things. That's good enough for now. It has to be good enough for now because I have to go back to work. My coworkers at Rowland are all pretty topnotch, even if they fail to read this fantastic masterpiece blog. That's alright, I'll forgive you... But only if you can answer these three riddles...

floodgates

THE FLOODGATES ARE OPEN.

Hi! Hello! WHERE THE FUCK DID I GO?!?! Pardon my French, Mama. Excusez-moi. But I have French in my blood and in my bones and in my skin and in my mouth, so the occasional F bomb will be dropped. Enough about bombs. More about ME.

I have about five minutes to write. To type. To let the water flood this great land of the Internet. Does anyone still read this? Did you check it occasionally a few months ago and then gave up after you saw a couple of tumbleweeds and heard a few crickets? Well, come back. If you want. I'd love to have you. I'd love to have me. I'm glad I'm back. BECAUSE I AM.

Transitions, as it turns out, are not the easiest for this creep. I say "creep" lovingly, by the way. PS. FYI. It has taken me weeks and weeks and weeks to go from a pile of confusion, anger, and fear to a pile of acceptance. I am a creepy pile who accepts and sometimes even welcomes the challenges that have arisen from moving out on my own. Cool, huh? Way cool.

It has become apparent that maybe my writing has suffered a bit over these past couple of months. That's to be expected and I accept it. I don't quite welcome it, but I will welcome the opportunity I've given myself to write daily. Here's a real step forward: I've cut down my exercise routine in order to fit in some much needed writing time. Pat on the back. Excusez-moi -- pat on the fucking back.

I'm finally finally finally beginning to realize that I have control over who I am, where I want to go, and how I wish to feel. It's nothing more than a switch of perspective... And maybe a few purified crystals and bundles of blue sage.

I will keep this up -- my improved attitude and my daily blogging. BLOGGING is a silly word, yes? I wonder what the French word is for blogging... Well, Google just told me it is "le blogging," which I fully believe. The "le" makes a difference. The le gives it an air of sophistication. Plan on checking this le blog daily, you creeps. You lovely, lovely, magikal creeps.

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.