Perfect Weather

where else but Arizona can you throw open the door to your balcony on the 6th of December just because it’s so damned nice outside?

I love the cold but 78 degrees is blissful…

A love note lifted from a better writer than me…

“The last kind of airport kiss is the co-traveler kiss. These are actually the best. I mean, you write poems and songs about departure kisses, and arrival kisses give you that wild adrenaline burst, but co-traveler kisses are still the best in the long run. These occur between two people who have set off on a journey together. Either they’re kissing because they’re happy to be leaving together, happy to be arriving together, or happy to be on their way, but there’s always a shared complicity and a shared excitement in co-traveler kisses that you just don’t find in other kinds of kisses. You’re kissing in a setting that’s different, you’re kissing in the midst of a journey, and a journey shared with someone you want to kiss is usually a journey worth taking. “

I hope we always have those co-traveler kisses…

“I’m crazy for crying and crazy for trying…”

It is an interesting word: crazy.

I throw it around so it ceases to have power, you know what they say: “the truly insane don’t know that they’re crazy”.

Ask me about myself and chances are I’ll disclose the details of my mental illness to you. My entire life I have been an anxious person, and most people who meet me think I’m a perfectly normal, rational human being. I mostly try and put a face to the “crazy”

Until recently, my special brand of post adolescent/pre adutlhood insanity was easily kept under wraps by therapy, sometimes as little as once or twice a month.

But in March, when things went to shit, therapy ceased to be enough. I began medicating myself…or more specifically my mental health provider began medicating me. I was the one who decided I was “well”.

truth is, I was well on my meds. I was well enough to focus and get a new job and travel and make big decisions about my life without having panic attacks. But then they came back. and just like that. I’m back to square one.

I know that it’s not a fun thing to admit that you may not be well. It embarassing and frustrating and irritating. There are a lot of social stigmas attached to mental illness. But being well…being mentally stable…that’s so amazing.

So tomorrow I take up my mothers offer of paying for my medication (even though it’s not the best fit for me) until I can get set up at ASU with a therapist and a new course of meds. I want to get healthy again. To feel like I did this summer…

So let me be the first to say: Hi. I’m Meg. And I’m crazy.

Have I mentioned it’s romantic?

Sight I would like to see before I die:

Someone proposing to their significant other utilizing King Floyd’s “Groove Me Baby” in the most magnificent karaoke proposal ever.

Focus

Last night I sat in the dark trying to describe to a dear friend what it was like to lose my mind.

(He was very sympathetic, one of the things I love about him is his uncanny ability to appear as though everything the other person is saying is fascinating)

I sat there, in the dark, in the lovely weather and I stared at the sky.

I struggled, like I always do when trying to convey the feelings of that period of my life, I struggled to capture what it was like.

And my mind got louder and fuzzier, like it does, it raced trying to beat my mouth, I felt my stutter coming back. I tried desperately to slow my words so I could catch the chaos of my mind.

My mind is often noisy, always chaotic. I am frequently fuzzed out around my edges, trying to express what it is like in there

I settled on describing to him the auditory hallucinations that made frequent appearances in March, I told him about the whispering from razors that they used to torture me with

I fought through the chaos of my mind to convey to him what its like to have a nervous breakdown.

and I realized that when I was at my craziest, my mind was sharper than it has ever been in my entire life

I was just terrified of what it was telling me.

4 from the office

1   Disparateness
Leaving you
I’ve found
rounds me out more
than staying
and screaming till I’m hollow
enough
to be refilled

2   w/e
This circling
is.
a rupture of self and
I
am becoming an ”us” again
and
it
puts me off
balance.
However comforted.

3 Flame

I used to shatter like spent cigarettes on the pavement at your sparkler smile.

Now I just enjoy the burn.

#4

Your face
and
the sea
catch my throat-
intersect in the
space
between my heartbeats
rendering me. sending me spinning.
contemplating
the curve of your mouth
on mine
(not that I’ve fallen into that valley before)…
yet?)
and sometimes…
I spend sometimes studying your eyes (given to pinning me down) or your hands (but not here) or
That
which makes up what it is about you
intoxicating and
That
you know…
or maybe you don’t
that.
That. It. Yourself.

…but you see more than craving
the taste of that curved mouth-that fierce gaze-that, more than
That.-
it is the curiosity
That
kills me.
The wondering
wandering
heart of me.

Uncouth

uncouth    (n-kth)
adj.

1. Crude; unrefined.
2. Awkward or clumsy; ungraceful.
3. Archaic. Foreign; unfamiliar.

I had an uncanny knack “back in the day” for saying whatever came into my head. My filters had been skewed by all the lovely people I spent my time with growing up. My friends from high school found this crudeness charming, although I think that was because we are all under the influence 90% of the time.

As time has passed I found that discretion really is the better part of valor, and I’ve reigned in the impulse to curse like a sailor and make rude suggestive comments at every turn.

Last night I was reminded by a friend of my earlier tendency toward crudeness and it amused me to no end. Because these days I wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction…