toast

I am a foggy brained mess today. Is this what we call a Case of the Mondays? And can one suffer from such an affliction if they are unemployed? All days are Saturdays to The Girl Without a Job (me). Saturdays are my least favorite day. So I guess unemployment really isn't funemployment. I guess truth is stranger than fiction. I guess I'm getting a little sick of fiction. I take a break by reading supposedly true tales of loneliness. I find myself saying, "Yeah! Someone else understands loneliness! Maybe I'm not so alone in my loneliness!" And then I continue to read, exacerbating my loneliness. A curious creature I happen to be. Let it be. To be or not to be. Save the bees. They do far more for the world than just provide sweetness to our single slice of burnt morning toast. Let's offer a toast for the bees. Let's get down on our sore knees and praise what we don't quite yet understand. Let's then stand up and stand for something noble. But don't just stand there, walk somewhere. Maybe walk to the store and buy a toaster that doesn't turn bread black. Not that there's anything wrong with being black. Look, what I'm trying to say is that I don't see color. I joke. I see color everywhere, normally, but lately my eyes have been too focused on the page and haven't spent enough time wandering around, stretching their legs, taking in new sights. My eyesight is failing me because I fail to branch out and see the trees. The only tree I see is the corpse of one in my hands. My hands will never be free of the blood of a thousand and three trees, but my conscience is clean, as clean as the streets in the city in my head. It's all bright lights up there, folks. I may seem dull, but the city never sleeps.

reach

I hesitate starting my post with the word "I" because it just seems so self-centered. But isn't that what blogs are for? To satiate one's ego? And besides, who gives a rat's ass which word I use to begin a post or a tweet or a novel or a poem or a hahahaha, like I'll ever start a novel or a poem. Okay, I might start them, but that in no way guarantees that I will finish them. If there is one thing I can do (aside from toasting an English muffin perfectly), it is not finishing projects.

I (I! I! I!) should ease up on myself a little. I do finish projects -- it just depends on the project. I have to be almost obsessively in love with something in order to see it to fruition. And that kind of obsession tends to drive me bonkers (as obsessions naturally do), leaving me frazzled and anxious and euphoric and distraught and joyous and overwhelmed by the extreme ups and downs. Who wants to feel like this all of the time? I definitely don't, which might explain why I don't actively work on fulfilling long-term goals.

But that's crummy. Why assume my desires are not worth the struggle? The struggle is a large part of what makes the fulfillment of the goal so satisfying. Am I just becoming a motivational speaker now? Like, NO PAIN NO GAIN! LEAN IN! NO FEAR! Climb that mountain, reach that peak, brush your teeth, turn off the lights when you exit a room, mind your manners, respect other cultures, open doors for others, do not forget to floss. Not in that order, but also not not in that order. The order doesn't matter. What am I saying? I have gotten off course.

Maybe that's exactly what I need to do more often -- go of course. I stick to my protective, safe routines and schedules and habits and they do nothing but, well, just what I said: keep me safe. Safety is fine. In fact, nine times out of ten I would say err on the side of safety. But that one time I tell myself to take a risk, I want it to be for something I want. That something that may drive me mad along the way, possibly causing waves of nausea and a series of expletives at times, but man oh man is the view at the top worth it.

be

It is such a relief to sit down. I have recently said this, haven't I? Maybe I should get a clue and realize hey, you seem to like sitting down occasionally. So sit down occasionally. Because I don't. I don't even consider resting unless I have "earned" it. What I really need to realize first and foremost is that one should not feel like they have to earn basic human needs. I want food, water, rest, and genuine connection for all -- including myself.

I do not include myself in many things. I am, whether or not by choice, removed. Blame this on me being an observer, blame this on the trappings of social media, blame this on the weather (because I guess the weather is always to blame for all things). I believe, however, that my current hermit status has to do with me just figurin' life out, you know? Our lives are filled with different stages and phases and we're just going to make ourselves feel anxious and inferior if we fight against this natural flow of life.

So far this post has sounded like a diary entry of an 18-year-old college kid who has just stumbled upon a copy of The Tao Te Ching. I don't know if I am saying anything I haven't said 47,000 times before, but cut me some slack. How about I cut myself some slack? Okay okay, I will. I will cut myself some slack and then I will cut my hair into a conservative bob and shop for some slacks and put them on and put on a nonthreatening smile and step out into the world and step into my new life as a bank teller or gift shop owner.

Wouldn't it be a dream to be a gift shop owner? And by "gift shop owner" I mean Beyonce. It would be a dream to be Beyonce because she is a dream. Beyonce does not run a gift shop, though. She runs the world.

Speaking of the world, isn't the world a sincerely terrifying place? It is, and it's all thanks to humans. Sure, we've created astonishing things, but we've also created the atomic bomb. It's a bit of a blow to the ego to admit this, but I believe the earth would be a better place if all 7.4 billion of us were shipped off to Mars.

But we aren't going to Mars anytime soon. At least not all of us. So while we're still here, how about we try a little harder and try a little longer to make life easier and much, much safer for all sentient beings? I think that might be our one job. And no, that job isn't to be a bank teller or gift shop owner or Queen Bey. Our one important, critical job is to be as radically compassionate as possible. And it's possible. It always has been, it always will be.

islandia

I will preface this post by saying I have nothing in particular I wish to write right now. Nothing of importance, nothing well-thought out or insightful. Nope. Just a bunch of top-of-my-head thoughts in 140 characters or less. Does my blog need a theme? Perhaps, but it's too late now. I'd start an entirely new blog if I ever decide to tidy up and become more cohesive. (Was "cohesive" the word I should have used? It means unified, well-integrated. Hmmm. I think it works. And since language is merely a social construct, the idea of a correct or incorrect word is silly at best. Kidding. I'm just trying to sound smart.)

Iceland. WHAT A COUNTRY, AMIRITE?! I am right. If I had to move to any country, I would move to Iceland. And who knows? Maybe my future includes fjords and elf festivals. I can't get over the feeling that Iceland is a mythical land, but apparently it's a real place??? I'll believe it when I see it/live there with the trolls and members of Sigur Rós. (But let's get real -- I could move there with what money I don't know, but move there and attend a public university FOR FREE and work on a sheep farm and eventually shack up with some native Icelander and become a resident. Wait, I'd have to marry the Icelander in order to become a resident, yeah? Is that how it works? Marriage isn't really a thing Icelanders do. Isn't that cool? Aren't they so cool? They are the coolest and have really terrific looking handknit wool sweaters, which are sometimes called Lopapeysa.)

Fourth of July. I should write about the 4th because today is the 4th and what better way to celebrate the holiday than to write a provocative piece on the failings of democracy? But you won't read that here because remember my preface? Good. Glad you remember.

Also remember that you bought three cookies at Subway today. That was a note for myself, unless you also bought three cookies (oatmeal raisin, white chocolate macadamia nut, double chocolate chip) at Subway today then I guess it would be a note for the both of us. The two of us. The two amigos, the two musketeers, the two stooges. I'm glad I have you, pal.

As is always the case, I planned on writing more. Maybe I was going to write about books? Or food? Or the center of gravity? I don't know, it could have been all of the above. I will get to those topics one day, but for now I must hunt down a bald eagle and ride on its back all the way to Iceland. I'm coming for you, Fjalladrottning.

miss

I am attempting to write without the perhaps necessary assistance of caffeine. By the end of this post we'll see if the caffeine is, in fact, necessary.

Things I miss:

*My long, meandering walks through the Avenues. Good time to chill out, think, fantasize about lives I could live in each of the unique, old homes. I also very rarely ran into other people. And if I did, they were friendly and walking friendly dogs or riding friendly bikes. So many gardens, so many prayer flags, so many Subarus. Man. I think I just miss the Avenues in general.

*Trees. There is no shade down here. HELP ME. Also, trees are kinda sorta totally sacred to me. Not only does my physical body need trees, but so does my soul.

*School. But not really. I don't miss a lot of things about school. I guess I just miss the discussions and some of the lectures and most of the readings and the feeling that I was doing something -- and it was something in which I excelled. I feel like a doofus when I'm not actively studying something.

*Laura. And she's not a thing, she's a person. I mean, duh.

Things I do not miss:

*A lot of people from 2004-2006. Sorry? (I do desperately miss some of them, though. But there are quite a few who I say GOOD RIDDANCE!)

*Uncomfortable jeans. I don't know why I ever wore anything high waisted or without spandex.

*Fried chicken. I guess I just haven't had it in a long time? I dunno. I never get a craving for anything deep fried. I hope that's not an obnoxious thing to say. I'm not trying to imply that I'm some snobby clean eater because I am definitely not. To prove this, I will admit that I am curious how Burger King's new hot dogs taste. SUE ME! Don't sue me. I will sue YOU.

*Secret things I shall not admit to the public, at least not now. Just know that I do not miss it. Not one bit. Nope. Okay, maybe a little. But only a little!

Yeah. I think the caffeine's necessary.

bent

Things I should not do:

*Complain about my ex, at least publicly. Sure, I don't use his name, but I think it's fairly obvious who the ex is. I think a big part of why I occasionally throw out little jabs is an attempt to reclaim my voice, to "prove" that I can speak up for myself and I don't always have to suppress the less-than-pleasant emotions and the less-than-ideal things that he did to me. And letting these things be read by many as opposed to jotting it down in a private journal is somehow empowering... Up to a point. After that it just becomes kinda dangerous. It's dangerous to stay trapped in the past and be bothered by the actions of those who do not deserve your energy. So I will move on and start complaining about more important things, such as that darn rock and/or roll music kids are listening to these days and the lack of pickles on my six inch Subway sandwich yesterday.

*Believe that blended frozen bananas are a substitute for ice cream. They are not. They never will be. Please, Internet and Dr. Oz, stop telling me it will taste exactly like ice cream.

*Go more than four hours without eating. Duh. Big time duh.

*Humor dudes who write/text/message me looking for one thing and one thing only. Use your imagination.

*Get sunburned.

*Get bent. Or maybe I should? Is getting bent fun? Dangerous? Fun in a kinda dangerous way, but the danger is worth it? I don't know. I don't think I've ever gotten bent in my 32 years.

*Worry about being too old to try new things and travel down new life paths. Go back to school if you want, Meggie. Go teach English overseas if you want, Meggie. Go farming in the South of France if you want, Meggie. Go audition for a small community play if you want, Meggie. Give me a fist bump now.

Things I should do:

*Write earlier in the day when my mind is working "properly" instead of right now, in the middle of the afternoon, when all I want to do is chill the eff out in a hammock and/or panic about the impending purge.

*The usual -- meditate, hydrate, yoga, vote, volunteer, help old ladies cross the street unless they are, like, soooo slow. I know the slow ones need the most help crossing that street, but lady! I have places to be and people to see! (No, I don't.)

*Go downstairs and find my food processor, bring it upstairs, wash out all of the spider webs, and proceed to make something that is not banana "ice cream."

*Get bent. Get bent forever.

sub

Do you ever catch a glimpse of yourself in the screen of your computer and go, "Oh boy, that person looks like a tired plate of mashed potatoes!" Because I do, all of the time. And I am tired, all of the time. But the thing with being a tired plate of mashed potatoes (with butter and lots of salt) all of the time is that you know nothing else. So tired is the new normal! It all works out!

I need more sleep, yes. Sure. Okay. Will do. But what happens if I love both early mornings and late nights? I am an early bird and a night owl and those two winged creatures do not get along. I guess I could always sleep away the day. YEAH RIGHT, BUB. Although... Maybe? Maybe my future career will be one with a graveyard shift (and an actual graveyard -- I could be a groundskeeper? OR A GHOST HUNTER!!!) and I will finally thrive.

Today I got into a teeeeensy tiny little itty bitty insignificant still totally stupid and I wish it never would have happened accident. I don't have the energy to tell you all about it -- plus it isn't fascinating in the slightest -- but I will say that I found it interesting how damn nice I was throughout the whole thing. It wasn't my fault at all, yet I still said sorry? And I complimented the driver's shirt, cracked some jokes, tried to lighten the mood. I am always trying to lighten the mood for others, yet I do whatever I can to litter my mood with storm clouds. Make life way easier for others, make life way harder for self: This is the diary of Meg Wiemer.

I do want to write more. I do! I do! But I want to buy a Subway sandwich more. I do? I do. This post went nowhere and it went nowhere fast. I need to start writing more quality posts. Quality > Quantity. Equality < Subway sandwiches. Subway sandwiches > Quality sandwiches. Math > Comes in handy when writing blog posts.