Deserted

To the desert I will go

To the desert I’ll forever roam 

To the desert – my home away from home away from home

The travel can be hard. And tedious. Throw some crap in a bag. Walk out the door. You step into someone else’s car as they whisk you off. Down the street. No words are exchanged. Maybe you look unapproachable. Either way you ride in silence. Taking in your last few moments of a city you love. You walk into the airport. Meander through the crowds. You can’t help but watch. Love to watch. Getting caught up. In private make believe moments. Imagining their lives. Wake up. Make it past security. After a small bump in the road. You pick a seat near your gate. Eyes on the door. Scanning the room for a familiar face. Or perhaps someone who looks as lost as you feel. Eyes to the ground. You wait in line. Smiling occasionally at the people in your surround. Hand on hip. Pointed toe. Exhale. You make your way to the back of the plane. Seeking solitude. It’s nowhere to be found. Window seat. You stare out into the vast world. Without trying tears well up in your eyes as you get lost in your thoughts. Your fears. You push them back. Push them down. Push it all away. Chin up. Head back. Push the hair out of your face. You breathe. Deep. Breathe in the soiled air. Breathe in everything. There’s nothing. You nervously adjust everything around you in a pristine way. Your type A takes over. But only for a moment. You sit back. Shoulders back. Eyes out the window. Eyes on the earth. The air. The wing. You are soaring at great heights. It’s mesmerizing. And hard to divert your eyes from. You stare. As thoughts dance around your head. You stare. As clouds whizz by. You stare. What’s out there? You’re lost. As lost as you have ever been. Your inner child begins to step in. You try to put yourself in a place where you have no worry. No regrets. No deep seeded hurt. You long for something easier. You long to be heard. And seen. And to know yourself. You long to know exactly who you are, and were, and will be. You long to be loved. And needed. You long to be held. Firmly by someone who understands all your complications. You long for something more. You won’t get it. Move past it. Away from it. Move into the here and now. Your pain is too severe. Too much to put on another. Too much to take on yourself. You need help. Maybe try something new. Something fun. Light and fluffy. You fail. You get caught up in moments. In secret glances. In feelings you don’t care to have. Where is your inhibition? It seems to have disappeared. Down a hole. Down to me and sometimes down to you. Inhale. And you are gone. But I’m still here. Still lost in my thoughts. In my dreams. Still lost in the way I hope things might eventually be. Life is messy. Complications arise. In each disaster is where my beauty resides. Beauty on the inside. I’ve been told my whole life. Beauty on the outside. That’s more of a daily strife. Everyone has their own opinions. You wallow in the gray. Trying to feel more beautiful each and every day. Trying to wake up and appreciate the pain. Its hard. My heart. It continues to feel like stone. Cold. But cool to the touch. If you care to try. Dare to try. Cool to the world. Thats where I live and die. 

Adulthood makes me cry: Advice for how to deal with me and the C-word.

I’ve been silent for a while. I know this. And saddened by this. Despite having so much I want to share. Or say. I have kept silent. And that stops now. Today. It stops in this very moment. I am reaching out. Sitting up. And speaking out.

Cancer. The very word still makes my body cringe. I have a visceral reaction to this word. I assume there are countless people out there who also shudder at the sound of it. Countless people who have experience with it, be it directly or indirectly. People who understand the thoughts that dance around in my head on a routine basis. People who understand why, often, there are tears that run down my face. People who, at their very core, know what I am dealing with.

So why is it so difficult to talk about? Why is it so hard for me to talk to “muggles” about my feelings? My fears. My heartache. Why is it so strange to find someone to connect with about all of the difficult things I am up against? I’m done with this. Done with caring about whether you are comfortable with the content that I want to cover. Done with worrying about your comfort level over mine.

So let’s begin. Something continues to happen in my day to day life that I am not okay with. And I want to share my experience to hopefully benefit someone else in your life that could be walking in my shoes and feeling my feels. So please open your ears and really listen to me. Are you really listening? Ok. Just because my father has cancer and it’s public knowledge, doesn’t mean it’s the only thing to ask me about. Maybe I’ll say that again and a little slower to give it even more meaning – just because my dad has cancer…and it is public knowledge…does NOT mean that it is the only thing to talk to me about. Maybe you want to show me you care. Or that you are, in fact, thinking about me and/or my family. But this seems a little unlikely when more often than not people only ask me after a random run in. In the elevator at work. Or as we pass each other in the garage. This makes me feel as though I have the word “CANCER” branded across my forehead. That it is the only thing in my life you feel as though we can talk about. And let me assure you – IT’S NOT! In fact, I probably don’t want to be talking about it so casually with you. Scratch that. I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT want to talk about it with you in a casual manner, if at all.

Let me break it down for you. I’m sensing that some people may already be thinking, “Wow, that Megan is so cold hearted.” Maybe you do feel that way. You are probably right. I honestly don’t have the time or energy to really care about that right now. What I do have time for is to tell you that it makes me uncomfortable when someone I barely know asks me how my dad is doing. Especially if I haven’t brought it up. Especially if it’s just out of the blue. In a casual way at work.

Let me give you an example of this. A few months ago I was in the middle of a huge long tech week and I jumped on an elevator to head up to the office to grab something. A coworker walked in at the same time. The doors closed. We sat in silence for a brief second. And then without even really looking up at my face, this person asked me – very casually – how my dad was doing. Now on this particular day I had just gotten some not great news. Another road block on our journey with the C-word. Had this coworker even looked up to see my face before asking me the question they may have been able to sense I was not in a good place. Instead they casually went about their life and tried to make conversation with me about the biggest obstacle I am facing in my life right now. This isn’t a casual thing in my life. This isn’t casual. At all. This is real. This is my dad. My life. My family. And we are dealing with cancer. A vicious cancer. Stage 4 cancer. I don’t know how to make it more serious to anyone and everyone out there. Perhaps it’s hard to grasp because you have no experience with it yourself. And I can relate to that. But don’t casually ask me how my dad is doing if you aren’t really ready for some sort of honest or real answer or reaction. Don’t casually ask me how my dad is doing if you aren’t ready to deal with whatever reaction you are going to illicit from me.

On this particular day I instantly teared up. I took a deep breath to try and fight the tears back. This coworker still barely looked at me. I think I managed to murmur something that day. Something that instantly said things were, in fact, not ok. Because this coworker finally looked up at me. Said, “Sorry to hear that.” And then eyes shot instantly back down to the floor. The doors opened up and this person got to escape. And I was still stuck on the elevator. Trying to pull it together. Trying to keep it together as to not make anyone feel uncomfortable. Which is ridiculous.

I have spent the better part of my life being a strong, independent woman. Songs have been written about me. Okay, maybe not. But it really is a thing. I am a strong woman. Independent. Mouthy. Unabashedly unafraid of what you think of me. I am the type of woman some people would label as a big ol’ “B” word. But most of my close male friends laugh and say I run things the way a “great male manager” would but because I am a woman I am labeled differently. This is neither here nor there. Although it is absolutely true. All I am trying to get at is that all of my life I have been labeled as strong. And because of this (and I am sure several other reasons) people don’t generally know how to handle me when I have a breakdown. When I cry. Etc. If fact, some people tend to get annoyed when I break out of my strong person mold. Because I am the one who always keeps it together. What do you do when the person who always keeps it together can’t keep it together any more?

A friend and I were talking about this very thing recently. This particular friend and I sort of reconnected after the cancer surfaced. Out of the blue. And this particular friend is so good at asking me how I am doing. And other serious questions about my life. He doesn’t shy away from these taboo things the way that most of my friends do. And I greatly appreciate that. But we were recently talking about how so many people don’t know how to talk to me about cancer or the goings on of my life. Because they don’t know what to say etc. And one of us said, “Yes, but strong people need people too”. And this still rings very true. I need someone. Some people. To talk to about serious things. And it’s okay for me to be soft at times. And delicate. And emotional. I have the right. In all my great strength, I am allowed to be fragile.

It’s such a fine line. I don’t want people walking on eggshells around me. But jokes about cancer – not really a good thing to do in front of me. Another instance at work happened where a coworkers spouse began facing some medical issues and cancer was something they were looking into as a cause. I didn’t know this was happening. And another coworker asked about the situation in front of me. I was very confused as I was playing catch up but cancer is something they were in the process of ruling out and this other coworker blurted out, (something along the lines of) “Well at least it’s not cancer.” And then laughed. They laughed. This instantly made me cringe. I sat up straighter. Grinded my teeth. And popped my fingers. Side note: if I pop my thumbs things are about to get serious. The coworker whose spouse is facing the medical issues immediately saw the shift in my entire person and quickly took me out of the room and filled me in on their spouse and apologized for what was said. Some people get it. And some people just don’t. Let me say that again – some people get it…and some people just don’t.

And that’s ok. But be mindful of the things that come out of your mouth. Don’t be so casual in asking how I am doing. Or how my dad is doing. Don’t ask me just to be polite. It’s clear when you ask in a casual way you really just want me to say, “Things are ok” or some other bullsh*t answer. It’s ok if you want to know how I am doing in reference to my journey with the C-word. And it’s ok if you ask me. Just don’t be casual about it. If you want to know how I am doing, ask specific questions about my specific situation. Tread lightly. Be understanding if I don’t want to talk about it. And be understanding if I do. And if you aren’t ready to deal with me in an “off” moment, don’t approach me. It’s ok for you not to make small talk with me about serious things. It’s ok. And most likely preferable.

Now that, that is out of the way. I want to share a little about my last couple of weeks. My mom and dad were back in Arizona this past week for a week of treatment. The first round of treatment since the last brain surgery. Yes, we have had two brain surgeries in the past 6 months. That is crazy. This whole thing is crazy. Anyway, my dad was due to have an MRI of his brain to see how things were settling after this last surgery. My mom called me with the results as she has with anything I haven’t been physically present for. And I just wasn’t prepared for the news. There is a new tumor. This time on the right side of his brain. It’s small. Tiny even. And we are lucky it was found while it is this small. The doctors were quite shocked it showed up on the MRI at all. But the moment I got the news I sort of lost it. In a new way than I have not experienced so far.

This new news gutted me. Seriously. It hit me hard and deep. And I had some strong words with God about it. I’ve cried more in the past couple of weeks than I have in a long time. And honestly this year I have cried more than I have cried accumulatively over my entire life. Adulthood is hard. ADULTHOOD MAKES ME CRY. It seems as though every time we overcome a hurdle on this journey with the C-word – something else pops up and just breaks my spirit. I am a positive person. I try my darnedest to stay joyful. To keep things in perspective. But this is still hard. And it still hurts. It literally can take me to my knees in a second. Steal the breath out of my body. And bruise my spirit.

It’s important to have someone to talk to when faced with any type of hardship. I have a mentor. That I acquired literally the week before we found the cancer. And this person has been there for me every step of the way. She is older. And wiser. And knows exactly what fearing the loss of a loved one entails. I can say things to her I can barely utter aloud to myself. I open up and tell all. Every terrifying thought that enters my little head. Every fear. Everything. Big or small. But it’s taken work. It’s generally easier for me to keep things in. To not involve others. To be strong and handle it all on my own. And God has been slowly, over the course of the last 6 months, shown me that, that is not ok. I can’t handle it on my own. Nor should I have to.

The last week I have been more afraid than any other point of this process. I have felt more defeated. This new tumor makes me question so many things about this process. And I look at my parents, specifically at my dad, and I see a man, fighting against cancer, and doing it head on. Without doubt. With humility. With a great sense of humor. And lots of understanding. We have a family text thread and a couple of nights ago I got this from my mom:

“Thought I would share. Dad’s sermon Sunday was on overcoming doubt. At the end he shared with the Church his copy of the Declaration of Independence that he wrote the date of his salvation. That date was March 13, 1976. That date, 40 years ago, God saved him. Ironic or possibly “a mighty God thing” that on that date 40 years later, March 13, 2016, I believe God saved him again. We needed to know he was sick so He (God) could fix him. Still a God of miracles. I am hoping that finding the 2nd brain tumor 6 months later, September 13, is yet another moment of God saving your dad. I love you all!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️”

And man, oh man did it hit me like a ton of bricks. Right in my cold, bitter heart. I wept immediately. I have been questioning so much lately why my faith isn’t as firm as the rest of my families’. I question so much. I head into everything seeing it from all possible angles. I see grey when so many people so black and white. I have been questioning if my (I don’t want to say lack of faith, because I do have faith…but I don’t know quite how to put into words) lack of faith is what is keeping my dad from healing faster. I question why it’s happening to him, a man who has given his life to serving God. I question why it isn’t happening to me when my dad has so much more to give than I. His life can have a much larger impact than mine. He has a wife. He has kids. He is about to have a grandchild. He has a congregation. He has so many people that depend on him. Every single day. And thinking about this world without him in it today, or tomorrow, a year from now, ten years from now, or fifty years from now, just doesn’t seem ok.

I pray often that I could take his place. That I don’t understand why he has to be the one experiencing this. And there are days where I don’t. And then there are days where I catch a glimpse of how many more people are impacted because it’s him experiencing this. Because my mom is right. My dad gave his life to God on a specific day and 40 years to the day later dad showed symptoms that revealed the cancer. We had no clue before that point. And without those symptoms we might not have caught it in time. God is in this. In every difficult step of the way. And I am not here to debate with you whether or not you believe you in God. All I can tell you is I have witnessed things that I can’t explain without God. Big things. Small things. Things only God could do. And my faith is one of the things that is getting me through this time in my life. Without it, I would want to hide in my bed. All day. Every day. Don’t get me wrong, there are days that still happens. But the feelings of wanting to hide in my bed doesn’t overtake my life. It doesn’t over take my faith. And it doesn’t overtake my joy.

I am here. Trying to live my life. Taking things one day at a time. Because that’s all you can do. It’s the only way to face everything we are up against. The only way to stay sane. It’s difficult. It’s a rollercoaster. Day in. And day out. But I look at the person I was 6 months ago and I can see how far I have come. She was still pretty great back then. But I have changed. In significant ways. In some small ways. I’m constantly evolving. And that is a wonderful thing.

Today someone asked me what my goals are. My answer was simple: I just want to be happy. Life is short. This experience with the C-word is a constant reminder of that. Life is too short to be miserable in something. It’s too short to hold grudges. At some point I am sure I had great aspirations. To work on Broadway. Or the West End. To be the best stage manager. And sure, I still want some of those things. But life, my life, isn’t going to be measured by accomplishments. Or where I worked. It’s going to be measured by the impact I have on people and the impact people have had on me. And hopefully I don’t come up short. Hopefully this crazy journey continues to mold me into something beautiful. And hopefully there will be people along the way who are willing to really listen to me. Who can just sit with me. Hold my hand. Watch some meaningless movie or TV show with me. Laugh with me. Cry with me. All of the things. Hopefully.

The C-Word: Part 1 – The initial findings…

I have attempted to sit down and write about this very difficult subject matter a few times. It’s damn near impossible to find the right thing to say or filter out the things I shouldn’t. A close friend of mine called me the other day and wanted to make sure that I was taking care of myself. He asked if I had been journaling. I sort of laughed and said that I had been writing a few things but that I hadn’t been doing it from the beginning of this journey. Because I wasn’t ready then. Because I needed to be in a more positive place before trying to share any of my experience. So I am trying this again. Now that I am in a better place. To just let the words flow and see what happens.

The C-Word. It’s such an ugly thing. To say. To deal with. Cancer. It’s the most devastating thing in the world. It will sneak up on you without you even knowing. It will crush your world and everything in it that you thought was safe. Everyone in this world will die. At some point. This isn’t new news. It’s an inevitability. But generally speaking we can do a pretty good job of putting this out of our minds. Of going about our everyday lives ignoring it. Until it can’t be ignored anymore.

No, I do not have cancer. That I know of. (Although nowadays almost ever ache or pain I experience I immediately attribute to the c-word. I obsess. I worry. It’s a thing.) My dad, my hero, has recently been diagnosed with cancer. Stage 4 kidney cancer. Even typing this now I am still in some sort of disbelief. It’s unfathomable. It’s unimaginable. And it’s just plain unfair. And yet all of these things don’t change the fact that it is true. My dad has cancer.

It happened just over a month ago now. My dad was experiencing what he thought were stroke like symptoms while delivering a sermon at church one Sunday morning. He felt a little confused and had a difficult time retrieving words that he wanted to say. After struggling a bit my parents left church. I had overslept that morning and I remember my mom coming in to wake me up which scared the crap out of me. I literally jumped. She explained that dad had some problems that morning and that they were heading over to have him checked out. Even her telling me that they were going to have dad checked out made my heart drop out of my chest. At that point, they still thought it was somehow stroke related and that wasn’t sitting well with me. The clinic immediately sent him to the ER. And a couple of hours later, my sister and I arrived to the hospital to a ping pong sized tumor having been found on the left front section of my dad’s brain.

Try getting news like that and not instantly weeping. Or having your stomach all the way up in your throat. It’s impossible. Your breath is taken away. For a significant period of time. Life simply changes. Drastically. And all at once. I am a very different person than I was the day before this all happened. And I am a very different person than I was the day we found out. There is no way to come up against something like this and stay the same. You can try. But there’s simply no point. I remember walking in and seeing my dad being his regular old self. Making jokes. Being calm. And I remember my mom sitting next to the bed holding my dad’s hand. She stayed next to him in that position until we moved into a room and I remember thinking ‘this is so beautiful…this is what “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health” really means.’ It was beautiful. And touching. And heartbreaking all at the same time.

My dad was kept in the hospital for more tests that night. But because he had no other symptoms no one thought anything else would be found. The next morning we awoke to the news that not only was there a tumor in my dad’s head but that there was also a large mass the size of a grapefruit residing on my dad’s right kidney and a couple of other small spots on his lungs. I remember going to bed the night before thinking we had experienced the worst that day when we found the brain tumor. It was difficult to sleep that night. Tossing and turning. Crying. Praying. Crying more. But it was excruciating to wake up and find more masses. To know that life was yet again completely different than the day before. My breath was snatched away from my body in the moments that they told us. I instantly wept again. And instantly sprang into action.

That morning (Monday), I had my first major breakdown. My sister and I had cleaned my parent’s house the night before when we got back from the hospital. We thought that would help, somehow. When I get upset I tend to clean. And that next morning I remembered I needed to take the trash out. I dressed quickly and headed upstairs to the kitchen and came face to face with the trash. It was overflowing. I try to compress it. But it doesn’t behave. I try to pull the bag out of the trashcan and am met with the greatest resistance. I try again, pulling harder, and I pierce the bag. I instantly breakdown. And sob. I’m talking ugly crying to the infinite degree. I tug harder. Nothing changes. I try and carefully ease the bag out of the can by moving it side to side while gently lifting as I try calming myself down. It doesn’t help. The ugly cry worsens. I grab the entire trashcan and head out to the garbage. I tip the can over into the garbage and a few pieces of trash fly out of the bag. This pisses me off. I continue to cry. And shake the can violently trying to achieve a different outcome. Unfortunately more pieces of trash fall out of the bag. After fighting with the trash for what seemed like a decade, I finally manage to get the bag in the garbage and return to my house with the trashcan in tow. I return it to it’s place in the kitchen and collapse on the floor beside it. More tears.

Eventually I pulled it together and my sister and I headed back to the hospital. I remember thinking that it was best to cry in the car. To try and get all of it or as much of it out as I could before seeing my parents again. It helped. But tears streaming down my face after seeing my dad were unavoidable. That day is a blur. Of doctors. Of supposed diagnoses. Of visitors. And family. Of so much pain. And exhaustion. And tears. And disbelief. My brother and sister-in-law arrived that morning. And it finally felt like we could breathe a little easier because we were all together. That day we were moved out of the ICU and into a tiny room. With my immediate family alone there are six of us. That doesn’t include my dad’s siblings. Or their kids. Or church members who visited. It was extremely claustrophobic. And just fed the horribleness of the situation even more.

Within the first day or two I remember hearing from a friend of mine that I work with. She told me something that has been very important in this process with the C-word. She said that this was the time where my parents get to see the sort of kids they raised. That this was our time to be there for them. And boy, oh boy was she right. After hearing that I knew I had to keep it together more than I had been. I started focusing on trying to bring the comic relief like I normally would. And helping out in any way imaginable. Each of us kids sort of took on our own individual roles. My brother, the oldest, was exceptional at holding conversations with all of the visitors. I don’t know how he managed it honestly. I wanted to run away from everyone every chance that I got. I took on the sort of maternal role of wanting to keep people away from my parents. I wanted to keep them from being even more overwhelmed so I was the guard who decided who could and couldn’t see my dad. And my sister ran all of the errands possible. It was nice having all of us there. To figure it out together.

The next day (Tuesday), my dad was released from the hospital. They had taken a biopsy of one of the small masses on his lungs that day but he was discharged because he had no other symptoms. He didn’t feel bad. He didn’t look bad or sick which sometimes caused it to be even more difficult to fully accept the reality of the situation. After having a homemade meal with some old family friends and picking up my dad’s medication, we loaded up and headed home. Home. It was strange coming home. Home felt different all of the sudden. It didn’t feel…as safe. Or something. It didn’t look the same. Or smell the same. Or perhaps we had just been changed so much by the past 48 hours that it couldn’t be the same. None the less it was a huge improvement from our time at the hospital and we were happy to be out of there and in our own place.

The next day (Wednesday), we went back for a round of radiation to try and attack the tumor on my dad’s brain. Just prior to his radiation, we found out the biopsy was unsuccessful which meant we still didn’t actually have a diagnosis. This was unbearably frustrating. It also meant that we were going to treat a tumor in my dad’s head without knowing exactly what it was. We also found out that the more detailed MRI that was supposed to have been done the day before to prep for this round of radiation was not actually performed and instead performed the same basic MRI, again. So. Very. Frustrating. And with that we bid farewell to the local options for cancer treatment. We had already been pursuing a second opinion with the Cancer Treatment Centers of America. And with these unfortunate series of events and the unpleasant beside manner we had experienced locally, we cut and ran straight to them. We went out for one of our favorite lunches and when we got home we were on the phone setting up our first session with the CTCA. They have 5 locations to chose from based on your insurance and what type of cancer you are up against. Travel was booked for that upcoming Monday for us to head to Phoenix. A plan was in place. Now all we had to do was wait. We spent the weekend trying not to constantly think about the C-word. We played games. We watched movies. We laughed together. And of course the tears still happened. That is to be expected. But we were in our own home. Together. Gearing up for the next phase of our process with the C-word.

***A few other things to share about this early stage of our process***
– Always, always, always go for a second opinion. Seek out the best, most knowledgable doctors to help you.

– It is imperative that you keep a positive attitude. No matter how terrible the circumstances seem, going up against anything with a positive attitude, with hope, is crucial.

– It is important to take care of the person who is experiencing the C-word first hand, but it is extremely important to take care of yourself as well. Sleep when you can. Eat. Make yourself eat. Do things that make you happy. Try to be as normal as you can.

– For woman: you may want to reconsider wearing eye makeup for the first few days. The tears will come and go. I found it easier to just avoid the makeup altogether to avoid unnecessary worry about smudging. I only had to worry about the red, blood shot eyes. It was quite glamorous.

– Know that there will be lots of people who won’t reach out to you. It is interesting to see who does and does not reach out to you in this terrible time of need. People you consider to be your best friends or closest peoples may not talk to you at all. They may not know what to say. Or what to do. How to act. Who knows. But it happens. And it isn’t the end of the world. And on the flip side people you haven’t known well or kept in touch with may. It is overwhelming to see the people that reach out to you because they have experienced something similar. My friend that I work with also told me that it’s like a Terrible Club That You Didn’t Even Know Existed Until You Become A Member. These people will know better how to talk to you. Because they have been on the other side.

– It is ok to deal with your grief in your own way. So many people have called me. Messaged me. Texted me. And I didn’t always respond. It’s overwhelming what you are going through. And it’s sometimes even more overwhelming to relay over and over updates. I got to where I had a handful of people I updated and then would do a large update via facebook to keep people informed. Even now (six weeks later) I still haven’t really taken phone calls. And that’s ok. It is how I am dealing with this situation. And there is no right or wrong way to do it.

– It has been completely overwhelming to see the amount of people who have loved on my family. And support us in every way imaginable. More on this soon. But there are great people out there. I can’t even imagine going through this without a community of people around each and every one of my family members. Family. Church members. Friends. Acquaintances. Strangers. I have been touched by so many people.

– This is an important one…so listen up real good…: If you don’t know what to say to a family dealing with the C-word, maybe go ahead and keep your mouth shut. It’s hard. I know. You want to be supportive. You want to help. But it is delicate. And the smallest thing can deeply affect someone. So please, please, please be mindful of what you say. And do. And if you think you have the right words to say, know that what you are going to say could cause tears. And if you cause tears you better be ready to deal with it and comfort them in some way. Me personally – I am a pretty tough cookie. I don’t show my emotions often. And rarely to people who I wouldn’t consider close to me in some way. I know that. And I know because of this people don’t always know how to deal with me when I am emotional. I don’t really know what I am trying to say. Other than please be mindful of the things you say to families dealing with the C-word.

– And lastly, through this first week in our process I learned how important gift bags are for families dealing with any sort of trauma in the hospital. We received a couple of goody bags from wonderful people. Full of snacks. Full of activities to keep us occupied. A travel bag of toiletries for my dad. Blankets. So many thoughtful things. So many times we were hungry but didn’t want to leave the room and those snacks were life savers in those moments. I take a huge bag that one of our goody bags was delivered in (it’s super cute and I am complimented on it everywhere I go, plus it’s huge), along with a Star Wars blanket we were given, and activities to every treatment we go to now. It is my safety blanket in a way. I’m so thankful for the people who did these things for us but I’m even more thankful that I now know how to put something together for a family in the hospital when I need too.

Random Thoughts with Megan

Goals. Lots of people have them. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. And I have recently realized that when I don’t have goals, no matter how big or small, my life tends to feel…sort of…meaningless. That seems like too strong of a word. But I know that when I don’t have goals I get comfortable. I get comfortable and I just live my life day to day and don’t really make anything of myself. And that is not okay. So, starting this month I am setting goals. Month by month. Nothing too big. But things to get me through this month. With purpose.

I started running again. Because when I run I have more energy. I feel better about myself. I enjoy life a little more. I take an extra second to decide if that extra cocktail was needed. Or that piece of cake. Most of the time totally worth it. But sometimes I am strong enough to resist. Ha. Who am I kidding. I am not strong enough to resist. I just force myself to run more the next time.

At work recently I smashed my finger in a flipper door on the set. I was walking backstage and tried closing the door behind me without looking and SMASH! It’s been a while since I have felt that amount of pain. Pain that is instant. The kind of pain that has you shaking your entire hand because you somehow think that will help. My first thought ‘oh god, please don’t let this fingernail end up looking like my other smashed fingernail!’ Ridiculous, I know. It is currently discolored near my cuticle. And I am desperately trying to remember how the process of having my messed up fingernail occurred. I sort of have flashes of these memories but I can’t quite determine if they are real or imagined.

A friend of mine recently told me that all stage managers are insane. This happened on opening night of my current show. I told this person that ‘insane’ may be too strong a word. This same friend also recently told me that my crazy is a fun kind of crazy.

Adulting. It’s not my favorite a lot of the times. I do have moments where I look back on my life and wish my younger self wouldn’t have wished life away so quickly. There was always something to look forward to. Being a teenager – although how I ever wished for that is beyond me. Being old enough to drive. Being old enough to drink. Etc. Etc. There is always something to look forward to. Until you reach the age of almost turning 30. What lies ahead now? I’m not saying that I might as well be laying in a grave. I don’t mean that at all. I just don’t know what road markers are left for me specifically.

My Pilote was in town on tour recently. And my life somehow feels more complete. It’s crazy to think I have only known him a little more than a year. He has been such a great part of my life in that time. And I am always sad when he leaves.

So much change is coming. I’ve never thought of change as bad. Necessarily. But 30 is staring me in the face. Uncertainty about work is always looming over me. One of my best muggles (my loving term for non theater people) is going to have a baby this summer. Another of my dearest friends is also going to pop out a baby. One of my best friends is getting married this fall. Two of my favorite people in the world are getting married this fall. And all of these things are wonderful. Truly. They are. Even though I know I will get less time with each of these people because their lives are about to change. And I can’t help but think, ‘here I am, almost 30, and what do I have to show for it?’ And I hate that. I hate comparing myself to other people because I don’t like to come up short in the comparison. But it’s hard to see what each of these people has in their lives and know that I am no where close to any of those things. The things that my mom is constantly wanting to talk to me about. The things my grandmother always asks me about. The things so many people my age have had, gotten rid of, and gotten back again. My life is vastly different from these people. And thats both good and bad. I suppose.

Perhaps I need someone to stage manage my life. Anyone interested?

I have this thing. Lets call it a disease of sorts. This disease allows me to look in the mirror and see something more appealing than what is actually there. And although this sounds like a great thing. It’s actually not great. I can look in the mirror and not see the extra pounds that are clinging on to my body. Or I can look in the mirror and not see streaks of white hair that are starting to reside on my pretty little head. (I convince myself that they are just a natural highlight but why do I have streaks of white hair when I’m not even 30!?!). I don’t really know where I am going with this. Except to say that I think it’s a harmful thing. It’s as if I am living in some fantasy land. My naivety gets the better of me. And I go about my life thinking I look fantastic. And that is just not the case. A majority of the time. But I am trying. To put forth some effort. I am trying to care about what I really see in the mirror.

Recently I went on a chocolate date with my boss and it was the most splendid thing. Not only was it great to devour some delicious delicatessens, it was lovely just taking a little time out of our days to catch up.

I also had a lovely lunch date with one of my favorite gays last week. I haven’t really gotten to see this specific friend much due to our opposite schedules. And it was so nice finally having a moment to be together. It makes me realize how lucky I am to have some really great friends in my life. You always know they are a keeper if you can go a significant amount of time without seeing them and pick up right where you left off the last time.

I think I am becoming more introverted the older I get. Is it possible to be an introverted extrovert? Because that would be me.

There was a hilarious night at the bar recently where I literally laughed until my cheeks were extremely sore. And my abs (the ones hidden way deep down underneath my burrito baby(ies)). It was exactly what I needed.

In two weeks I will have some significant time off. Two months of not doing a show. I cannot wait for the down time. I cannot wait for the travel. I cannot wait to see so many people I love. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I will get bored with not working at some point in time. We shall see.

So a day or two ago I was sprawled out on my couch trying to get a nap after my student matinee and before I had to be back at work. I am watching friends lately, so it was on in the background. And out of the corner of my eye I caught a figure in my gated back porch. This porch is small. So somebody being in it is quite noticeable. And this person was accompanied by a small dog. I opened my door and she immediately acted as if she were caught. She was digging around an ashtray looking for cigarette butts that hadn’t been smoked all of the way. She had three or four in her hand and when I asked, “Can I help you??!?” she fed me some story about how she collects cigarettes for her homeless friend who will reroll them for himself. She asked if I minded her keeping them. I took one look at my sister who was sitting on my couch and told her I did in fact mind. I held out my hand waiting for her drop the butts in my hand. She reluctantly handed over two keeping one hidden. She asked if she could keep just the one. I refused and told her I wanted it back. She unhappily handed it over. And then she just stood in my gateway. With her dog. I then exclaimed, “And now you can leave, thank you!” To which she did. But it was such an odd encounter. That left me feeling icky. This means this wasn’t the first time this lady had walked into my gated back porch. Not the first time she dug around in old cigarettes. And that is not ok. I came to work feeling odd. As if this person had somehow taken something from me. I somehow feel less safe. Even though this person didn’t seem like a threat. I felt like she infringed upon my security in my own home. I told my landlords who informed our HOA. And I immediately put a lock on my gate. Which makes me happy and sad. We always use the back door to get in and out of the house. Now I have to use the front door which has it’s own set of issues. I want my freedom back.

I dislike people. Most people. A lot. Like a lot, a lot.

I wish I had more time to cook.

I have never understood why people like to smoke cigarettes. And yet something about smoke coming off of a cigarette is sort of sexy.

I need chocolate. Like a lot of chocolate. Now.

Random Thoughts with Megan

Lonely is my only number. Is that lyrics to a song? Why did I just say that? I mean, it feels true. Sometimes. But why in the world are those words in my head?

Have you ever watched Black Mirror? It is a fantastic show. Watch it. But know that is will mess with your head. I often think about strange things that appear in that show. The one that really sits with me the most is the episode where you can rewind life and see what actually happened. Or course, it turns out to be terrible most of the time. But I always think there should be a rewind button to be able to accurately go back and see specific moments in your life.

Sometime before Christmas I was suffering form insomnia even more than usual. I was up super late or super early depending on how you look at it. I had climbed into bed and was wasting time on my phone. I turned my white noise machine on and rolled over to try to get some sleep. I was just about to make the plunge into some deep sleep when I heard something above my head. I muffled the volume on my sound machine to get a better listen. But I couldn’t hear anything. I rolled back over to try to sleep again. And started hearing even more noise above my head. I turned the volume down, sat up, pulled the covers up to my neck, and listened quietly, praying nothing was about to attack me. I heard claws against my ceiling and something moving from one side of room to the other – all the while above my ceiling. I was slightly terrified. And by that, I mean I was actually terrified for a few moments. I convinced myself there was a killer on the loose hiding out in my attic. I have no clue how to get to my attic. True story. Which terrified me even more. Then I talked myself into the idea that a large raccoon was living above my head. After much deliberation I am now under the impression that it’s probably a squirrel even though my dad did try to plant the idea in my head that it was rat. Maybe it’s a cat. I don’t know. I know I haven’t heard anything above my head in a while. But a year or two ago one of my favorite people in the world actually had raccoons claw through her wall in one of her apartments so I am slightly terrified it’s coming for me.

Lately I have really been super aware that I’m single and pretty much out of options. Out of options may be the wrong way of saying it since I haven’t really had any options. It’s not like I am working my way through a list of options. There are literally no options. No one pining away for my attention. No one seeking me out. And that is ok. But for the first time in a long time I am really hyper aware that there is no one. And I don’t like it. I don’t like that people that surround me tell me I am a catch for this reason or that reason and there is still no one. Will I be the last single person on this planet? Yes, that is a little dramatic. But it certainly could be the truth. Did I miss out on somebody because I wasn’t paying attention? Did I miss out on my somebody? God, that’s depressing to think about.

Last night I was netflixing while curled up on the couch. I was enjoying some cookie dough I made the night before. Eating it by the spoonful. And I had a brief moment where I thought how depressing it would be if I died on my couch consuming cookie dough. I picked up my phone and immediately texted one of my favorite people and most trusted of my friends. This person just gets me. I said something ridiculous about being single for life and their response was dead on and so very true. I’m happy to have someone in my life who just tells me like it is.

I look pretty fantastic in winter accessories. Hats. Scarves. Gloves. Coats. Vintage coats. Of course. So much goodness. I am happy it’s finally cold enough to rock out in my favorite accessories.

Sharks.

It’s depressing how easily weight can fluctuate.

The day after Christmas I got evacuated to the basement of the building I work in with several coworkers and patrons who were very early to see our show. I spent more than an hour down there. And that night my parent’s house got hit by a blizzard. A blizzard! I had to wait a couple of extra days before I got to travel home to spend my holidays with my family. When I returned back to Dallas, I arrived home to no internet. No internet! Do you know what it’s like to go several days without internet? Its. The. Worst. The absolute worst. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Yes, I’m being dramatic again. I know. I know it’s a first world problem. But it’s pretty terrible. And it makes me feel worse knowing that I found it difficult.

I’m apparently growing my hair out. Really, I just haven’t made time for a haircut in over six months. I like it at a good medium length. Ch-ch-ch-changes.

I’m really bad at adulting. I literally just this week contacted my optometrist to order contacts that I had already paid for but had been trying several different samples of for over 6 months. I wear contacts so rarely. That didn’t really help with the trying of different samples. But why did I go so long without actually ordering the contacts?

Robes are weird. I’ve never really been into robes. I get why they exist. I’ve just never been a robe person. Or a nighty person while we are talking about it. When it’s hot out I sleep in a tshirt or tank top. When it’s cold, sweats and some sort of shirt. The length varies depending on how cold is it. Currently, I am in sweats, socks, a tank, a long sleeve shirt, and a cardigan. With a scarf and a hat.

Sometimes, people just kiss me. I’m not sure why. But it has happened enough in my life that it isn’t necessarily unusual anymore. Sometimes it isn’t wanted. Sometimes it isn’t bad. Sometimes its awkward. But every time I wonder what must be going through the other person’s head. It takes some gumption to just grab a person and kiss them. I think, anyway. But I sort of respect each of these people just a little for that very reason.

There is a new waitress at my favorite bar and the group of guys I was with a while back that kept remarking on how “unattractive” she was in a very sarcastic way. She was NOT unattractive. She was beautiful in every kind of way. And these men were mesmerized by her. Truly. And for good reason. And I remember for a split second I was jealous of the attention she was getting. I quickly laughed it off and remarked on how I like to hang out with ugly people to make myself stand out more. First of all, this is a lie. My group of people are attractive. All very different. But me saying I hang out with ugly people is a big ol’ lie. Anyway, one of the guys I was with looked me in the eye, ran his fingers through my hair, and said that was impossible because I am the most beautiful compared to anyone. This was sweet. And sincere. And the moment has stuck with me.

My laptop – she is aging. She is getting slower. And slower. And is becoming more difficult to navigate. I get so frustrated with the rainbow circle of death that is displayed more often then not. I don’t even want to think about having to get a new mac. I just want my pro to keep on keeping on. Pipe dreams.

When catching up with a friend recently they of course asked me about my personal life. ‘Non existent’ is my usual answer. This friend asked me why. Am I not putting myself out there? Yadda yadda yadda. First of all, dating is hard. And I say that not as someone who is dating but as someone who can’t even get into dating. I’m way on the sidelines. It’s terrifying. And terrible. And just isn’t up my alley. Singleness, even if it is for forever, seems a much better an option for me. Anyway, I admitted to this person something I was fearful to say out loud. Because I am not a vain person. Because I actually don’t even think that highly of myself. Because I am a good person. Most of the time. I told this person that I thought my standards are too high. That I wanted to make sure I was actually attracted to the person. That most of the people who express interest in me aren’t really people I am instantly attracted to. That it makes me question my own attractiveness. That I grew up being told that I was beautiful. That I am beginning to suspect that that was a lie. Because I feel as though I deserve someone who is very attractive. Because I thought I was a certain level of attractive. Is this getting even more confusing? Because it feels that way even as I am typing. She went on to assure me I wasn’t unattractive. That not only do I possess physical attractiveness but that my personality helps knock it out of the ballpark. That it’d better not to go for someone is who undeniably attractive because everyone is going to want them. They are going to have their pick of attractive people. That I should go for someone who cannot do any better than me. That is lucky for me to even give them a chance. That will worship me entirely. It’s interesting. I don’t know where to go with this. Except to say it has me questioning so many things.

“You dodged a bullet with that one.” Someone said to me this week. Probably accurate. I tend to think that if you are an even bigger hot mess than I am that you probably aren’t right for me. Case and point with this particular individual.

Human sexuality. It’s so very intriguing to me. I remember in college it was something I wanted to study. But the one sexuality class at my private Christian university was only ever offered at 8am. I knew myself well enough to know that I would sleep through that class more often than not and that if I did wake up and attend I wouldn’t really be able to soak up the information in the way in which I wanted to. So I never took the class or studied more about sexuality. Perhaps I can find a class now to take.

I’m an oversharer. I don’t know why. But it is an intrinsic part of me. It’s almost as if I feel as though I am lying if I don’t share everything. I share the most ridiculous and mundane thoughts that go through my head with anybody. And yet I don’t think that I am an open book. I am more complicated than that. But then again, who isn’t?

A friend recently posted something on the facespace that I thought was so funny. I can’t seem to find it to quote it accurately. So to sum it up – there was an old photo posted of this friend with an attractive girl during college. And he commented something like, “If you are bombshell then we are probably already dating.” Man I wish I could find the quote because I fear I am not doing it justice. But it made me laugh a lot. But it also makes me wonder when being a bombshell is going to be the in thing again? Can it happen sooner rather than later so that I can enjoy it??

We live in an ugly world. And it’s only getting uglier.

 

 

 

 

 

Random Thoughts with Megan

I love the smell of coolness in the air when Fall and Winter finally arrive. It feels familiar. The smell of wood burning in a fireplace. Of food being prepared in homes full of happy people eating with their families. The color of the sun this time of year. Wearing vests. Coats. Boots. Hats and scarves. I love so much about these things. The burnt smell of dust when you finally turn your heater on for the first time. Soup. Curling up on the couch under a warm blanket. I live for this time of year.

I can feel myself slipping. Slipping out of my life. Slipping into something I don’t recognize. I’m not sure what’s happening. I’m not sure about anything. I feel as though I am falling behind. As I look around and compare myself to some other people I don’t measure up. I am found wanting. And that feeling. That thought. It terrifies me. Because why do I care?!

The one more difficult thing about this time of year, this year specifically, is knowing I will see my family less. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do (most days 🙂 but the older I get the more time with my family means to me. And I am sad to think I will get less time with them this year. It’s amazing how priorities change as you get older. Used to, work was the thing that I lived for. Now, as the years have past and people have left this earth I have realized how fleeting this thing called life is. And I don’t want to miss out on special life moments that I used to miss out on. It breaks my heart to look back and count the graduations, weddings, and funerals I have missed over the years.

I was lucky enough to catch up with a dear friend from college a few weeks ago. And as we were sharing about our lives I felt a sense of ease. For the first time in a while I felt as though I could admit a few things that I hadn’t been willing to anyone before. Things that I hadn’t said out loud or even recognized myself. It was though a load had been lifted off of my shoulders. And I am so thankful for those few hours we had.

Recently, I posted a school picture for throwback Thursday on social media. I was driving to the theater for rehearsal from a meeting at the other theater and I passed a pedestrian who was wearing black pants and shoes, a white collared shirt, a tie, and a blue sweater and was instantly flooded by memories of my adolescence. Going through puberty is hard enough in general. Try doing it in a foreign country where you don’t always understand the locals. It didn’t take too terribly long to settle into my life in England thankfully. But there were still some rough patches. Many of my friends from England commented on the photo and someone remarked that I was likely the prettiest girl in the school. Now, I am not saying these things to brag. I was quite touched by that because at that age I didn’t feel pretty. I felt ugly, and awkward, and like I stuck out like a sore thumb with my Americanism. It’s all about perspective I suppose. And it makes me curious about how people view me now when my perception of myself isn’t always great.

As much as I don’t absolutely love Christmas music (especially when it starts before Halloween haha) I have to admit that Carol of the Bells is growing on me. And while we are talking about it, I might as well tell you, that I have never been as touched by A Christmas Carol as I am right now on a day to day basis. Our director is not only one of my favorite people to be around because of infinite reasons, she really sees this show. She sees it and she is making it beautiful. And haunting. And…just come see it. You won’t regret it.

I march to the beat of my own harpsichord. See. Now you thought I was going to say drum. Most people would say drum. I like to say I march to the beat of my own drummer. But that is currently not the case. Or ever really has been. So I threw a curveball and picked a random instrument. An instrument I have had to play before. Perhaps the accordion would be more sufficient. Yeah. I can get down with an accordion.

A couple of weeks ago I was approached by someone. Someone I have been giving a hard time to lately about how they never talk to me. They always come up to people I am around and literally never talk to me. This person stopped me recently and made a point to say hello. This made me giggle. This person then tried explaining to me that they were slightly intimidated by me which is why they haven’t really ever talked to me. I laughed and expressed confusion in why anyone would be intimidated by me because I am sweet as pie. Then this person told me that the conversation was going to head in another way and told me they found me to be very attractive. The word ‘beautiful’ was thrown out there. I, of course, just get more awkward as this is happening. Because I am awkward. I mean really REALLY awkward. I laughed a little more and probably said some stupid things and then walked away. Why? Why, oh why am I completely at ease until someone actually expressed interest in me? Life. Why, oh why do I express the desire to have someone want me…and then when there is the slightest option I get so awkward and anxious? Life.

I want to learn sign language. I hate that I associate it with my ex. They were learning it and then teaching me. I loved it. I am fascinated with it. But then there were things. Things that happened. And then I stopped learning. I want to take it back for myself.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my head lately. It can be quite confusing in there.

Being home. I am so grateful for the time I have had with my parents recently. Not many people can take several days in the fall to just come hang out with their family and I can. And honestly, I wish I had longer. This little thought keeps whirling around in my mind. Let’s say I eventually actually meet someone who wants to devote some of their time to me. Someone who is willing to work around my schedule. What happens when I want to bring them home to meet my parents. Now I know what you are thinking – it’s going to take a lot for you to actually introduce someone to my parents…and you would be right – and also ha, yeah right, like you are ever going to find that someone. But let’s say I find a someone. How will I find a time to bring them home? I never have a full weekend off during shows. And when I’m not in a show I want to spend longer than a couple of days away. How will that work? Hmmppffft. I know. No need to worry about that now. Because I will forever be the cat lady with no cats. Ha.

There has been a lot of death around me recently. Not in a direct way. Not with people I am close to. But it’s looming about me. I’ve never prayed as much for my family’s safety as I have in the past few weeks. And although, that’s all well and good, I can’t help thinking about how terrible it is that something terrible has to happen in order for me to think about those things.

I am so sick of living such an average life. There is nothing wrong with an average life. And I am extremely grateful for the things that I have. But I want more. I want to make an impact. I want to be important.

I have been overloaded with kid’s schedules for this show. And although my ovaries sort of explode at the sight of our adorable kids, I cannot wrap my brain around what it has to be like to be a parent. Getting your kid from school and taking them to this, that, or the other. Makes me realize just how much of a rockstar team my parents were with us kids.

Lately I seem to be drowning. More so than usual. I have these moments. These out of body moments. That I can never really explain to anyone accurately. But I feel like me and not me at the same time. I watched Fight Club for the first time recently and I have to say I shared a profound moment with this film. Days later I am still pondering over it.

In the past week a few blasts from my past have reached out to me. It’s a little strange. Why more than one all at the same time? Color me intrigued.

“I need a hero. I’m holding for a hero”…”I’m the hero of this story, don’t need to be saved.” This is a pretty accurate portrayal of my brain. It’s random. It just does what it wants. And it sings lyrics more than it probably should.

I just want to stay in my pjs and hide from the world today. I don’t know what it is. I have so many things I need to be doing. But I just want to eat junk food and watch something on netflix. That has to be ok, right?

I want all of the pie. And someone to snuggle up to. And stretchy pants. Yeah stretchy pants make me happy. So does pie. But not all pie. Mainly chocolate flavored pie.

Yesterday I ate a Kochi bar. It was a chocolate flavored bar that I bit into hoping for some pretty serious chocolate flavor. This bar did not live up to that expectation. I think I remarked that “it tasted healthy” and then I stopped eating it.

Why has no one brought me pie yet?

Random Thoughts with Megan

I blame my parents for a lot of things. They have spent the past thirty years enabling me. Telling me I was beautiful. That I deserved anything I wanted. Encouraging me to be adventurous. Trusting me to make the right decisions. They have advised me when I have sought their advice. Loved on me. Wanted to spend time with me. They are the reason I am who I am. They are the reason I expect so much from life. From others. Their love, support, compassion, everything about them – has molded me into the person I am. I blame them for creating such a cool human being. For molding me into such a wonderful person. I blame them for me being just so freakin’ awesome.

There have been times in my life – recently – where I face some sort of problem and I avoid dealing with because I am not sure the best way to go about it. Example – I need to get a new phone. My dad has always helped take care of this. I don’t know exactly how to go about replacing it by myself. So I avoid doing it. For as long as I can. Example 2 – I haven’t been to a doctor of any kind in years. Years! And I know I should probably rectify that. But I haven’t had to deal with that in years. My mom always took care of that for me. So now I am not quite sure how to go about finding the right doctor and making sure they take my insurance. Blah blah blah. I will have you know that I have been actually trying to find all the right doctors to see. Researching. Baby steps. Next I’ll schedule some other doctor visits and before you know it I will be a real adult. Maybe.

Adulting is hard y’all!

It’s my favorite time of year. Well – eventually it will cool down more and become my favorite time of year. Fall. She brings so much joy to my life. The boots. The cardigans. The many vintage coats I own. I love when it gets colder and I can bundle up. I love the smell in the air when it’s cold. I love starting a fire. Cooking delicious treats. Hosting small gatherings. But three very important events to remember are 1. the Texas State Fair. Because food y’all! And the ferris wheel. And the general merriment and people watching. 2. pumpkin carving at the monk. I’m addicted. Seriously. It’s a problem. And 3. Aurora. I am actually more excited about this than anything else. Perhaps because two years ago I was nervous to go by myself and I forced myself to do it anyway and I had a helluva time with my Leos. I love the lights. I love every piece of art. I love the food trucks and the people watching. Everything about it.

I have been fortunate to have tickets to multiple Rangers games this year. And I think I can finally admit that I may actually be a fan. I love the Rangers. I love going to the games. If I had time I would likely be a season subscriber! Go sports!

Today I woke up, dusted off my running shoes, plugged in my treadmill (after cleaning off everything that was living on top of it) and went for a run. It was nice. And felt good. I am always amazed at how much I love running. It always takes so much effort to get my ass out of bed and in workout clothes…but man, I love actually running. I love having that time to think. To decompress. To just be. I love how good it feels after I am done.

i have this talent – muting people with my cheek while I’m on my phone…without even realizing. I just talk and talk and talk and then hear “Hello, megan are you there? Megan???” It gets me every time.

Lately I am finding it difficult to find the desire and energy to want to do anything. I am still in the process of recovering from a huge tech. I am sleeping alot. Which is great. But there are times when I don’t have to be at work until 6pm. And I still have a hard time putting on clothes and going to work.

I miss my squat butt.

You know what is terrible to be told on a regular basis? This is terrible. I shouldn’t admit this. But so many people tell me things like “one of these days people will wake up and come to their senses” or “you just have to be patient, the right person is out there for you” or “you’re just too good” or ‘you have such high standards” etc etc. I get it. I’m a catch. For all intents and purposes – I know that. But my life and the way it continues to play out would have me believing otherwise.

A few days ago, in passing conversation, I may or may not have said, “yeah we should maybe explore this option further” when discussing the renting out of my uterus. Shocker. I know. I can’t actually imagine me going through with anything like this. And I’m sure lots of people would freak out at the idea. But I have considered donating my eggs before. If I am not sure if I want kids, why not help out people in this world who desperately want kids. In this instance, I don’t have to give up my eggs. I would not be biologically related to this kid. I would simply house them for nine months. What am I even saying? I don’t actually want to give birth. It sounds terrifying. Terrifying I say! But you consider things that you would never normally consider for people that you love.

A friend of mine made a comment recently about how they aren’t runners because they don’t like to run and because they wouldn’t be able to keep their “girls” plastered down. I sort of wanted to slap this person. One – because they don’t actually have big boobs. And two  – because they can’t possibly understand how terrible it actually is. To bra shop in general. But specifically for a sports bra that can actually contain my rack. And the amount of money it costs to make it be. Smack.

I often wonder if I were a superhero what I would look like. And what my super power would be.

I have been writing like crazy lately. Nothing that I am willing to post right now. But countless things. Lyrics. Stories. Thoughts. Personal things. Dark. And deep. And I both love and hate this. I love that words continue to flow out of me. But I hate that I can’t really find the right voice to say some of these things. Or I have so many things to say and don’t actually know how to say it. Blah.

Cowboy boots. I finally own my very own pair of vintage cowboy boots. That are mustard. Naturally. And they don’t feel great on my feet yet. Hopefully breaking them in some more will have them feeling like butter in no time. And by that, I mean, when am I actually ever going to wear them? But I am in lust with them.

I love the smell of my deodorant.

Sometimes you think things are ok with you and someone and then you hear something in passing and realize that is definitely not the case. Life would be much simpler if you were mean to the people you didn’t like and nice to people you did.

I have this pair of shoes that I love. But they stink. Alot. So I tried a few home remedies to get them to smell better. I put baking soda in them one night to absorb the smell. No go. I froze them in the freezer in freezer bags because it’s supposed to kill any smell. No go. But then I tried another remedy. Wearing dryer sheets essentially as socks. And my feet and shoes smell quite lovely now. Way to go home remedy #3! The funny thing is that baking soda is #1. The freezer was #10. I went from the basic to the extreme and somewhere in the middle it worked.

I need a haircut. But I am sort of on the fence about whether I should grow my hair back out. I have had it short for the past two years now. And I love my hair short. I do. But sometimes I miss the the length.

I have worked since I was 16 years old. Yowza! That’s crazy to think about. I remember when I first started looking for jobs during high school I really wanted to work at the grocery store. But not actually in the grocery store. I wanted to work at the gas pump window. I’m not really sure why I wanted this. Maybe it was more money than other places. But instead I got hired at the pizza parlor and video store. I got to work in the video store. I sort of loved it. Mostly because I got to take home movies for free. And watch movies before they were out to the public. Let’s remember that I was quite the hottie in high school. Seriously. And the boys would come up there to talk to me. But I never really thought much about. I was oblivious. Just like I am now. Le sigh. I always thought it was funny later on when my first boyfriend admitted he came up there all of the time to talk to me…even though he had a girlfriend at the time. And I was oblivious. To all. Good times.

A dear friend and coworker recently left to move on to other things. We had a spirit week to celebrate this individual. Which was tons of fun. And brought back many high school memories as well. I skipped out on pajama day. Mostly because I don’t have any really awesome PJs to wear to work. But also because I also just sleep in a tshirt and panties and that really isn’t acceptable to show up to work in.

I hate people. In general.

Rangers game. Monday night. The cast and a few….ahem…special guests will be singing the national anthem. Now, if you recall, I am sort of scarred for life from a previous national anthem moment. But dang it, I want to go on that field. So I’ll be sucking it up and putting on some big girl pants. Get ready!

My parents were in town this weekend!! And saw my show! And I’m so happy I got to see them. We spent a few hours the other day just talking about lots of things. The family tree came up and we started trying to piece ours together as far back as we can remember. Things we learned: I have some pretty great family names on both sides. Malcolm Othello. I mean. Come on. That’s so freakin’ awesome!; One or more of us kids would like to name a child after our grandmother. I basically told everyone I would cut them if they even tried to use it because I called it.; And that our family is crazy. I’m sure everyone things their family is crazy. This is pretty legit in my case. And I don’t think I would have it any other way.

I went to the optometrist recently. Yes. I scheduled my own appointment. Drove myself downtown. And took an eye exam. And answered so many questions. I told them I wanted to get contacts. I rarely wear them but partially because I no longer have any. So after my exam I put a set of contacts in…which made me tear up. Of course. I never really have problems putting contacts in my eyes. But I did when professionals were watching. Ha. And all I could say was, “I just can feel them. I can feel them in my eye. They are very present. And I don’t think they should be.” I haven’t ordered in bulk because they know I will be hard to please. I wore them all day the first day. And only complained about my eyes feeling like they “weren’t breathing” a few times. At intermission I sent our intern out to my car to get my things so I could take my contacts out and get back to my first love, my glasses. I just don’t want to feel the contacts on my eyes. And I certainly don’t want to feel overly dry. Adulting. Terribly.

I never can really quite remember what I have and haven’t talked about on here. I am currently on the search for a therapist or counselor of some sort. I’m not ashamed of this in the least. I am going through some things. That seem heavy. And I don’t feel like I have the right person in my life to talk to about them. I can certainly talk to many people in my life about so many things. But I feel strongly that I just need someone in my life that I can sit and blabber on to that doesn’t know anything about my life. That doesn’t know my family. Or my friends. That I can talk openly with about anything and everything. I am starting to realize that at some point in my previous relationship I shut down. And stopped talking about a lot of things. And I don’t feel like that has changed. I haven’t talked to anyone about all of the things in my life I am feeling. And there are a lot of things that need to be addressed. Before I can move on. Before I can just live my life. Without feeling pent up. And crazy.

I have the opportunity to do something good for someone in my life. A chance to be selfless. A chance to have a reason. I feel like I have lost that right now. At some point in my life I knew why I was here on this earth. And right now, I am flailing. Doing this thing could help me rediscover what my reason for being is. But it’s a big thing. And it will have a big effect on me. I think.

Loneliness is creeping up on me. It’s sort of hard to sit back and see so many people find their person. And know that you are no where close. And know that it shouldn’t bother you. And realize that it sort of does.

Burrata. It’s a new favorite thing of mine. I love food. I love that I live in a city that has a lot to offer in that area.

Yesterday in between shows a group of us went out to eat together. We ordered several appetizers, several main courses to share, and dessert. And it was glorious. Simply glorious. I literally ordered three appetizers. And was excited about all of the options. And one of the girls laughed as she said that I must be a lot of fun to take a on date. This made everyone laugh. Because yes, I am a handful. And fun to be around. I guess…

I want someone to take care of me. Which sounds absolutely ridiculous coming out of my mouth. Because I am very self sufficient. But maybe that’s why I want it. Because it’s not a necessity. Because it would just be nice.

I’ve been in my head a lot lately.

I need to plan my next escape. My next vacation. Oh where oh where should I go?

My Cailin will be here so soon! And I cannot wait. To play in Dallas with her. To just see her. To commiserate with. To drink with. To laugh with. And cry with. To just spend some time with. Time with her is just good for my soul.

So many big decisions are lingering about. I need to stay focused.

I want chocolate cake with rainbow chip icing. And I want someone to make it for me. Rainbow chip!!!

Random Thoughts with Megan

Music. It touches the deepest part of my soul. Music. It can completely take me out of reality and transform me into another time, another place. It can lift my spirits. It can mellow me out. It can make me feel infinite things. And I am in love with it. I am in love with the way it makes me emote. The feelings it causes. It can overwhelm me. Music. It’s good stuff.

I have this annual dinner with a special group of friends tonight. It’s our fourth year in a row to spend a lovely night at Abacus for restaurant week in Dallas. It’s one of my favorite things. Restaurant week is like a gift from God. It’s delicious food at wonderful restaurants all over that serve a three course meal for a fixed price and part of the money is donated to the North Texas Food Bank. Literally – it’s my favorite thing. Ever! Our group has grown over the years. Significant others have come and gone. People have married into the group. And tonight for the first time ever we are all bringing someone else. Our group of four will be a group of 8. And although this is exciting it was sort of difficult for me to figure out who to invite into my special group. The reservation was made months ago. And although I would have loved to invite a romantic interest of mine I was terrified of the thought of introducing someone I have spent little time with to my group of friends. I don’t know why. My friends are awesome. But I just couldn’t. Instead, I am taking one of my favorite friends. And this person was excited when I asked them. They knew it was a big deal to meet my other group of friends. I’m excited for tonight. Excited to get dressed up. To shave my legs. To wear some makeup. To look like the sexy woman that I know I can be. Sometimes.

“Sarcasm is the refuge of losers” -Richard Hoover, the dad in LIttle Miss Sunshine. If he is right, I must be the queen of the losers. The queen!

I have not had the best of weeks. Personally. Things are going crazy. I am going crazy. There has been alcohol.

Washing dishes. It’s a safe haven for me sometimes. I came home the other night after a long day at work and knew I needed to clean up my house a little or it would just get completely out of control. I did several loads. And I sort of have a system. Plates first. Then glasses. Silverware. Then pots and pans. Then anything else. Wine glasses are delicate so they are saved for last. And as I was being delicate with my wine glass I looked down and realized glass had broken in my hand while I was washing it. Thankfully I didn’t hurt myself. But I remember thinking ‘how in the world is it possible for me to break something with my own two hands and not even realize it?’ My mind must’ve drifted off.

I love the way smoke dances when you blow out a candle. It’s so sexy.

Procrastination. I excel at it.

I am finally unpacking from my summer in Maine. It has only taken me a month to do so. Laundry is happening. Clothes have devoured my bed. And at some point today, I will hang everything up and things will be back in their place. The chaos that was my room was just feeding into my insanity. That will be rectified.

Oreos. Double stuffed. They are my happy place right now.

There was a really bad night this week. I know I mentioned that it’s been a rough week. And it has. I don’t want to go into too much detail. Because I don’t have to share anything and everything. But also because I feel so stupid about some of the feelings that are currently inhabiting my body. Anyway, one night I couldn’t contain my usually easy going, calm, happy nature. I met a large group of friends at the bar because several people who have moved away are back in town and we were celebrating us all being together again. I sipped my beer and sat quietly overhearing lots of conversations going on. After a couple of more drinks I ended up by my dear friend and I instantly teared up. We were talking about life and I couldn’t maintain my composure. I sat crying. At a bar. For a significant amount of time. I told her I needed to leave. We tabbed out and I got in my car and drove away. I lost all composure in my car ride home. I cried the whole way home. I texted my friend that I had made it home. She offered to come over and help or make me food or just sit with me. I refused her help. And after half an hour of crying with no end in sight I texted my dad to see if he was awake. He responded immediately and I called him, still sobbing. I can’t imagine what must have been going through his mind. Not only was it late I could barely get words out inbetween the weeping. He sat patiently. And listened. And tried to comfort me the best way he could from hundreds of miles away. After an hour of talking I was finally in a better place. The sobbing subsided and the numbness was wearing off slightly. I don’t now exactly why I am sharing this. Other that to admit I am human being like everyone else. And there are days where I hurt. So hard. And that despite those days. I know I am extremely lucky. Because when those days happen I have numerous people to turn to. I can call my dad at any hour and cry on the phone. And he will remove the doubt I have in my life and assure me that I am beautiful inside and out and that I have worth. He reminds me that I am meant for greater things. And sometimes a girl just needs the first man of any significance in her life to say those those things. My dad is truly the greatest. If I can be just a quarter of the remarkable person that he is, I would say I am doing petty great. Also, I could never have been more thankful for his insomnia than I was on this terrible night. That’s all.

To another person who often reminds me that they think I am beautiful – sometimes I just don’t know what to say to you. This most recent time was the morning after the above mentioned awful night. And although I don’t always know what to say or how to respond I am so thankful for your sweet words. Seriously.

I am having the hardest time with my best friend being so very far away. The night of crying started because he was texting me. I feel so very special when I get to hear from him. Now that he is officially in his village I won’t hear from him very often at all. And this last week when I was hearing from him every day was so bittersweet because of this. I feel like my life is slowly falling apart and I feel like I could handle that better if he were here by my side.

Marathons. I have to pick my races quickly. Currently I am looking at running the half in Dallas in December. And running the full in either Vancouver or back in Hawaii this spring. It’s been sort of tricky to find races that I can get in around show schedules but I think it’s all going to work out fine. Now I will just have to get my ass in gear and get back to my old running schedule.

There is something so lovely about the view from my couch. I can’t quite my finger on it. Other than I love the way my place looks. And the windows allow me a view of a green courtyard with a few flowers and my vintage metal lawn chairs. Even the gate. I don’t know exactly what it is. But I like it. It somehow makes me feel…home. Safe.

I feel like I am somehow missing out on greatness.

I fear my simple life is about to be interrupted.

There has been construction happening across the street from me for months now. Months. It seems so pointless when you can’t see the results.

Are you playing some sort of game?

I have this friend. Who loves me. But dear baby Jesus he makes me so mad sometimes. Sometimes I just need you to get that I am a girl. And that sometimes girls just need to feel things. And that that is ok.

Last night I decided I wanted to go to my favorite bar. I didn’t really have specific plans to meet anyone in particular. It was late. And I texted a couple of people to let them know I would be there. But I sat by myself for a long time. I had two drinks. I sat alone. And I wasn’t even the least bit anxious about it. I sat and enjoyed the patio. The weather. My drinks. And I sort of felt like I reached adulthood. A couple of years ago I would have been terrified to sit by myself at a bar. But last night. It was nice. Loneliness didn’t really bother me last night. Let’s see how long that lasts.

It makes a girl feel good when people see your ex and they tell you that that person isn’t looking cute. Ha. But it makes you wonder what people would say about you to your ex…

I am about to head into a very long tech/preview process. And although I love this show and the people involved I am already sad my life will only be about work for the next month. This is about the time that I wish I had someone to come home to. Someone to cook for me. To clean my house. And to rub my aching body at night when I get home from a 14-18 hour day.

I have this friend who I have been tempted to kiss lately. I don’t know what is going on with me…other than that craziness I keep talking about.

I’m ready for a roadtrip.

I want to go camping.

Baseball. Oh man. I went to a Ranger’s game this week. And sat practically on the field. Right by the dugout. It was amazing. I keep thinking it would be awesome to have season tickets to something. And I think if I were ever to have time and money I would love season tickets to the Rangers. I love so much about going to baseball games. The atmosphere. The food. The drinks. The game. The sexy men in uniform. So many good things.

I love the way my skin feels after I shower and bathe myself in lotion. So soft. So sexy.

Things I am excited about: fall, cardigans, campfires, s’mores, Aurora, the Texas State Fair!, cooler weather, going to the shooting range, writing more, my next trip, Africa!!

Things I am dreading: running into you, the holidays (mostly because I won’t really have time to celebrate or see my family), that one person never actually making a move, growing up

One on my favorite compliments to date – being told I am incredible. I need more of that in my life.

I want to be pursued.

Recently, I found a white hair on my head. Yes, I have found these before. Usually they are short and not very noticeable. But recently I pulled out a long strand of white hair. And I have to say that didn’t really make me feel great about myself.

I was reminded tonight that I never really celebrated my 29th birthday in Dallas. This is true. Perhaps I will do a roaring 20s half birthday this year to make up for it. Get excited!

Puppies. I think I want one.

It sort of makes me feel good to see people from high school or college who were teeny tiny who are now normal sized people. But I have to say it makes me feel terrible to see myself now compared to then. I was something back then. I was vivacious. And stunning. And now. I am different. Older. More jaded. Less appealing. But I guess that’s what life does to you.

I’m terrified of being average.

Lately I can’t hep but want a pair of cowboy boots.

Never in a million years would I have imagined that I would like moonshine as much as I do. Especially the Dixie flavor. Dear God. It’s good.

I had the worst dream a couple of nights ago. Cockroaches were involved. I have to say, I didn’t really know what a cockroach was until I moved to Dallas. I never saw them growing up. They mortify me a little bit. Because they can endure so much. And squashing them takes so much effort. So gross. Dreams about them are the worst!

I want something more in my life right now. I can’t be more specific about what I want. I just want something more than I have.

There are so many bruises on my body. I am not certain how I got them all.

AHHHHHH!!!!

I hate when you get a pedicure and then come home to find that one of your toenails already has some problem. Perhaps I leave to quickly. Always on the go.

I miss running through the sprinklers.

When did I become so cynical? I am pretty sure I texted a friend today after they were checking up on me. I think I said something to the effect that I am not a pessimistic person…but that I am realistic. And that is a big reason I don’t just chase after every dream willy nilly.

Yes I just said willy nilly. With no regrets.

Pretty sure I am currently sleeping with a spider. I have so many bites on my today.

There is this bet that I have going with a friend. I will be interested to see who wins. Or if anyone ever wins.

Sleep. I need sleep.

I want to be wanted. And needed.

I also want chocolate.

Random Thoughts with Megan

Sometimes I pee in the shower. Because…why not? Its not weird. Really. It’s not. Someone once told me you are supposed to pee in the shower because it keeps athlete’s foot at bay. Perhaps that is what made me start peeing in the shower. Fear of athlete’s foot. But there is something so nice about being in a hot shower and needing to pee and just doing it then and there. I suddenly want to take shower.

There was a point in my life where I believed I could have absolutely anything I wanted. I blame my parents for this. They have always encouraged me to dream big and chase after those dreams. Encouragers through and through. But that’s not really how life works out. I won’t actually get to marry a prince. I will never have wild amounts of money. Or live in a castle. I will have to work for the rest of my life. And all of those things are ok. I just wish I hadn’t had my hopes set on something else for so many years.

Someone recently commented about how I have a pretty pessimistic outlook when it comes to love. I hadn’t really thought about it in those terms. I’m not really a negative person. Pessimism sounds like such a negative word. But I suppose if I am being honest with myself then I would have to admit that the words of this person ring true.

I may or may not have eaten Chickfila twice in one day last week. Sweet baby Jesus. I love that chicken. In my mouth.

I think I may be going crazy. I don’t really know what else to say about this. Except for that it’s an actual thing. Not a joke.

I have been having the most vivid dreams lately. Dreaming about people I shouldn’t. I love sleeping. I love the feeling of laying my head down at the end of each day. Thinking about something or someone lovely. Smiling. And then closing my eyes while my thoughts swim around in my head for a while. Once all is calm I can finally let go. Of everything. And this is when the dreaming begins. When everything and nothing meet inside my head. The colors are vibrant. And I always seem slightly disappointed when I wake up. Because that dream is snatched away from me and I am brought back to reality. I wake up in my delicious bed. I stretch out and roll around. Trying to slip back into my dream. And then it is gone. I am fully awake. Facing a new day.

While I was on a walk with my Pilote in Maine this summer we starting talking about the future. I admitted that something that has been consuming me lately is the idea of buying a house. I’m not really in a place where I should buy a house right now. But I want one. I want a place that is mine. Something I can do anything and everything to. A place that I can fill with my belongings. One of the biggest reasons I want a house is because I sort of daydream about being that person who hosts things all of the time. I love have people over. For dinner. For drinks. To watch a movie. For a party. For a holiday. Or just because. I love hosting. And I love the idea of having a place that allows me to do that more often. I feel like I will be more of an adult once that happens.

I clearly need a sugardaddy. Or sugarmama.

Friday. I wake up. Naturally by 8:30am. Gross. I wake very suddenly. I roll back over immediately to try and go back to sleep. It doesn’t happen. I get up and pee. Crawl back into my bed. And try to sleep. Nothing. I stare up at my ceiling fan for several minutes. And finally decide to just get up and start my day. I shower. I consider cleaning my room and after looking around instantly change my mind. I head downstairs. Put an apron on. Turn on some music. And start washing the dishes. Have I ever admitted that I sort of love doing the dishes? It’s apparently a thing. I wash several loads. By hand. I am patiently waiting for the maintenance guy to show up. I sort of daydream about this person I have never met. I imagine he is rugged. And sexy. And that when he shows up at my door he will instantly be taken with me. Because I am lovely. And in an apron. I continue to clean my kitchen. Because it is terrible. And needs it. Once that was completed. I clean my living room. And then decide to make a pizza from scratch. The maintenance guy finally shows up to fix my washer/dryer. Let me assure you he did not look anything like what I imagined. I sort of smirk at this. And continue cooking. I realize the guy is taking too long and let my people know I am going to be running late for work. He finally finishes up. I take my apron off. Grab my bag and head out the door. All before noon. It’s amazing what all you can accomplish when you wake up before ten.

I think one day someone is going to be very lucky to have me. Because I am adorable. And sometimes sexy. Because I am honest. And loyal. Positive. Funny. Nerdy. Inquisitive. Because I laugh. A lot. Because I am just me. It doesn’t hurt that I have an amazing chest. It doesn’t hurt that I have a “great personality.” Some day someone will be lucky to have me. Even though it seems like such a foreign concept to me right now. I can’t imagine that someone will get me to settle down. But if it happens, that person will be lucky.

I was looking at a mid century modern sofa on craigslist. I do that from time to time. Even though I don’t have room for any new furniture. I still have to look because you never know what you could be missing. Anyway, I was looking at this sofa. And I remarked, “Oh, it’s so ugly sexy.” My sister had no clue what I was talking about. I scrolled through more of the pictures and felt myself falling in love alittle more. I laughed and handed my phone to her and said, “Yes, it’s ugly, but it’s ugly sexy.” She wasn’t a fan. But I think ‘ugly, sexy’ is a new thing. Sort of like ‘skinny, fat.’

I was at a dinner party this past week that was quite lovely. Great food. Great friends. You can’t ask for much more. But there was a moment in the night where several people stepped outside to smoke. And in their time away the conversation moved to Star Trek. Now, let me just say that I don’t really think there is anything wrong with Star Trek. I grew up with a dad and brother who watched it. A lot. I remember possibly even attending a convention when I was really young. I am not stranger to the Star Trek. I could possibly even have an intelligent conversation about the topic. But my friends really started geeking out. Hard. Over Star Trek. I sort of smiled and let it happen for a few minutes. The conversation got even more involved and without even thinking I yelled out something along the lines of, “I don’t know that I could be any dryer right now. Yep, this conversation is literally drying me out” all while pointing to my lady parts. Ha. My mother would be so proud. Except that is a lie. She would be mortified that I said anything like that. But I did. And it was funny. And it still makes me laugh thinking about it now. Days later.

I’m eating Shock Tarts right now. Do you remember those? They are my childhood.

Radiohead. I continue to fall even more into them. In Rainbows. I mean seriously. It is the soundtrack to my life right now. I. Cannot. Get. Enough. The Reckoner. Weird Fish. Videotape. So stinkin’ good.

I spell wierd incorrectly. Because ‘I’ before ‘E’ except after ‘C’. Get it together English language.

I want tacos. All. Of. The. Time. I had tacos four times this week. And I still want tacos. Right now.

Fuel City!

The first person to grab my boobs was Lee. Lee Havard. I was in Year 7 or 8 at the Daventry William Parker School. We were out on the green back behind the gym. Several students were roaming around. Eating their lunches. I can’t for the life of me remember who I was with. But I was standing next to a friend. And Lee walked right up to me. And put his hands on my breasts. And then immediately ran away. I was an early bloomer. Although I imagine it was a little more difficult to tell under our school uniforms. But I will never forget his gumption. Just walked right up to me and grabbed what he wanted. It sort of makes me giggle now. But at the time I can assure you I was absolutely mortified. Puberty. Is. So. Terrible.

In one of my scene shop classes a year or two later my so called “best friend” at the time stepped behind me and lifted my skirt up for the entire world to see my knickers. This person did a lot of not great things to me. Hence the quotation marks listed above.

We are apparently just taking a trip down memory lane. It makes me want some fish and chips. And just another visit back to England. It was such a lifetime ago.

I have a new show crush. Per usual. Actually I have a couple on this show. But no show crush can ever compare to my last show crush. Or can it? Imma gonna go with no. But maybe.

Someone. Take me to a baseball game. Pronto.

Last night I had a date night with my frand, Sam. She is one of my favorites. Ever. And I haven’t seen much of her since I have been back…even though we work in the same building. We watched Inside Out. Being a giant Pixar fan, it of course made my day. Then we went to a bar on lower Greenville and spent an hour or two catching up. I admitted that lately I have felt like I am going crazy. Re the aforementioned thought. I am starting to feel myself losing it. I couldn’t quite put into words what I am/have been feeling as of late. But I’m starting to think I should actually go see someone about it. I don’t feel like myself all of the time. It’s not depression. It’s not anxiety. I don’t know what it is. But it’s starting to creep into my life more and more. And I don’t like it. I don’t like not feeling in control all of the time. I think having an outlet….having someone to talk to…that doesn’t know anything about my life…or the players in it…could be such a nice thing for me. Perhaps I will treat myself!

Today seems like a great day to go for a run. And a swim. It will be the first run I have gone on since I hurt my foot in Maine. I’ve been nervous about it. It’s still tender. And I don’t want to hurt it more. Hmm. We will see what happens I guess.

I am working with a new stage manager right now. And I have to say, I love working with new people. There is something to be said about working with people over and over. You learn each other’s styles and how to read what the person you are working with wants or needs. It can be pretty fantastic. But. I am loving learning someone else’s style right now. It’s exhilarating. And refreshing. And extremely beneficial.

Yesterday, as I was ending my work day, my Leos called me. It was such a surprise. And much needed. The call didn’t last very long because of poor reception but we texted back and forth for a long time after that. I told him that he looked skinny in his pictures. He agreed he had lost weight. And cue Megan adding tons of food to his care package. I can’t have my boo shriveling up on me. Protein it is.

I miss him terribly. Not really any differently than I thought would happen. I just. I feel. I think he was such a big part of me, that now he is gone I am feeling that in my personality. Is that a thing?

I had a grilled cheese last night. I don’t eat grilled cheeses. Ever. It stems from years of cafeteria food whilst growing up I think. Tomato soup and grilled cheese day was one of my all time least favorites. But I love cheese. And I love bread. And I love bacon. Avocado. And jalapenos. So when thinking about all of these things together. It seems pretty Heavenly. So I sucked it up and I ordered this grilled cheese stuffed with deliciousness. And it was worth it. Maybe I don’t really hate grilled cheeses any more. God knows I love tomato soup now. I think having multiple tomato soup shooters at Rachel’s wedding a couple years ago really sealed that deal for me.

Speaking of Rachel. I have this fancy dinner to go to next week. It’s a tradition with this group of friends. And I am supposed to take a date. And I have no clue who to take. I mean, this is my group of non theater friends. My ‘normals’ if you will. We all work in the arts. But it’s different. And it’s hard to know who I want to introduce into that. Plus it’s semi fancy. Which means I will shave my legs, wear a dress, wear makeup, and likely trade in my glasses for my contacts. Adulting is hard, y’all.

Postsecret still makes me so very happy. I get giddy when I realize new secrets are out. It doesn’t matter that I used to share that with you. Because it started as my thing and is my thing again. Without you.

I don’t want to clean my room. Ever. So what if I still haven’t unpacked from Maine. So what if there are piles of clothes everywhere. So what if there is barely space to walk around the bed. So what. I don’t wanna. And you can’t make me.

I want to someone to find me simply irresistible. Is that too much to ask for? There are millions of people out there is this great big world. Can there not be one person? Preferably someone I also find to be irresistible. K. Thanks.

Chocolate covered strawberries. These should be in my future. Oh, and a trip to the Emporium Pies!

Enough of these thoughts. Time to lay poolside and get some color back on my skin. My freckles are trying to retreat. And it just isn’t time for that yet.

Random Thoughts with Megan

I am sitting in my bed. In my house. Listening to music. After taking a four hour nap. After a very long travel day. And I couldn’t be more happy. I can’t tell you how great it feels to be home. Home. Wow. I think I may have just given Dallas a promise ring. Remember those? I had two of them. From the same boy. A lifetime ago. Things change. But for now, I am so at peace with being home.

What is it about travel days that is just so terrible? Normally I would say not much. But when I have to be up by 5am to be on a van at 530am to catch a bus at 7am to take me to the airport for a 11:20am flight – I would tell you everything about that is terrible. Why God, oh why, would anyone need to be up so early to travel? Why do people not travel at night? I prefer it. Clearly.

Today I was in four states. Maine. New Hampshire. Massachusetts. Texas. I’m exhausted. And feeling so many things. I am already having withdrawals from the east coast. From the beach. From the cove. From the boats. From my Pilote. From the ocean. All of the things.

It feels so very odd to be away from Pilote. We have spent the last 10 months together. I could have created a baby in that time. And then we have to quit each other cold turkey. Not sure how that is going to happen. I have a hard time thinking about my life in Dallas and him not being in it. And I can’t imagine how he will live in the Hobokes without me. So many great memories from this summer together! Sometimes people just invade your world and leave a mark on it. He seems a significant chapter in my life. And I am not saying that chapter is over. Because it’s not. Because, as he said to me last night during our closing show, “We are a versatile couple.” We can both be in charge and also assist. I have a feeling we will make a comeback sometime soon. Es snoopy.

I am not a highly emotional woman. Which I believe to be a good thing. Most of the time. But every now and then. Things sneak up on me. The last few days I have certainly been feeling things. Alot of things. Somewhere in the middle of an awesome birthday day I switched gears. I got home from the show and laid down on my bed and cried a little. I am not even sure what for. I needed a release. I guess. But apparently that release wasn’t good enough. Because I found myself tearing up a few times on the plane ride today. I know! What?!! Who am I??!! I can’t even really describe to you what I was emotional about. I was happy to be heading home. Sad to be alone. Overwhelmed by the future. Overwhelmed by the past. It just all came creeping up on me. Flashes of people danced around in my head. And tears were the result. Even now, just being home makes me emotional. I need a hug. Or to be held. Or something. Oh life.

“There’s no ‘B’, just an ‘aaahhrrrrrr’!” has made me laugh entirely too much this past week. Even now. It makes me laugh.

Why do birthdays get harder the older you get? Everyone keeps saying things to me that make me think I am supposed to be freaking out about being close to 30. And at times I am. I think back to that episode of ‘Friends’ when Rachel turns 30 and has a hard time because her life isn’t the way she imagined it to be at that age. And I can relate to that. The biological clock is real. I refuse to give in so early. I refuse to feel pressured into finding a someone. Or popping out a kid. That just isn’t my story. I have no clue what my story is exactly. But I refuse to feel sorry for myself because I don’t have the things society would like me to have at this age. My story is somehow still just beginning. I choose to let it unfold in it’s own time.

Growing up we always had cookie cakes for our birthdays. I love cookie cakes. But with very little white icing. Ya know, trying to think back I can’t remember too many of my birthday parties as a kid. I know there was a time where we did pool parties. And skate parties. And maybe even a Mr. Ghattis party. Oh to be a child again.

Irony. When you spend your entire childhood wishing to be an adult. And you spend your entire adulthood wishing you were a child.

I am missing my family lately. I see them several times a year which is great and better than lots of people. But I miss them right now. Something fierce.

Birthdays. There is something about them. That always feels so underwhelming. Why is that more often than not I haven’t enjoyed my birthday? Perhaps I am celebrating the wrong thing. I think of it as celebrating myself. Because I am awesome, mainly. But because 29 years ago I managed to pop into the world on my own accord. But we all know that isn’t true. I am here because decades ago my parents were both seeing other people and happened to change that so that they could be together. First came love. Then came marriage. Then after a few years of wedded bliss they popped out my brother and without realizing it got knocked up with me. Yay for being unplanned. I wonder if knowing I was unplanned has messed me up in some way. Food for thought. Anyway, all I am trying to say is that maybe my birthday should be about celebrating the day I was born. Celebrating that my parents came together and made me. Celebrating my family. Perhaps in that, my birthday might feel more special.

On my birthday I was reminded of a few things. One – people love me. Two – people I didn’t think would contact me did – which made me feel special. Three – people I assumed would contact me didn’t – and that made me feel not great. Four – sailing is amazing. A must for all to do at some point. Five – Lobster is like manna from sweet baby Jesus himself. Five – from certain angles anyone can look beautiful. Six – from certain angles anyone can look their worse. Seven – I want to be done with this list now.

There are days where I just want to be kissed. I just long for some sort of physical contact or touch. And as independent as I am, there are days where I just want to feel protected. Safe in someone else’s arms. Perhaps these feelings are normal.

There is this spot on my knee that I somehow keep missing as I shave my legs. It’s a little ridiculous. And I thought extra hard about it as I was shaving today. And I still somehow missed it.

I have this friend. Who will not stop harping on me. About my love life. Or lack there of. Sometimes this person makes me laugh. And sometimes I want to punch this person right in the baby maker.

Last week sometime my sister texted me that she needed to tell me something and that I wouldn’t like it. After what felt like an eternity, she confessed to somehow staining my beloved mid century modern surfboard coffee table and sent me a picture to show the damage. She promised to refinish it for me and apologized. I told her it was fine – even though any damage to any of my vintage pieces breaks a part of my soul. I told her I was afraid she was going to tell me she had wrecked my Sweet Caroline or that she had stolen my crush. She laughed and told me she hadn’t been driving my car much while I was away and confirmed for me that stealing my crush would never happen. I told her it would be the unforgivable sin. Ha. Dramatic much?

I still haven’t sent my Leos a letter. I am the WORST!! Ever.

Confession: my dad has a thing for grape candy. But it’s sort of hard to find good grape candy. As I was visiting one of the many candy stores in the resort towns of Maine I stumbled on grape Frootsies which I had never seen before. I bought a bag for my dad. Because I love him. But I ate on them throughout my time in Maine. And there is no grape candy to give to my dad now. I still love him though.

There were a few moments backstage during this last show that sort of stole my breath away. There was a night when a man picked me up. Off of my feet. And held me there. For a while. And I felt…lovely. Giddy. And sexy. As a woman, as a curvy woman, as an above average sized woman, these moments seems to be less and less frequent. People don’t just pick me up. I don’t really know what I am wanting to say here. It was nice being swept off of my feet literally. To be picked up by a man. To feel weightless. Petite even. To feel free. I need more of that in my life.

I tried to have a lobster dinner down in Perkin’s Cove a few days ago. And I have to admit it wasn’t as delicious as the first lobster experience I had at the Clam Shack. It may have had something to do with the fact that I had a lady lobster this time. And she had eggs all up in her. And that really creeped me out. Super hard.

Where have all the cowboys gone? This is an interesting lyric. One that is in my head often. And yet the idea of a man in a cowboy hat and boots does nothing for me. Are the cowboys just good men? What is about these cowboys that made them leave? And where did they go?

I visited a dearly loved and well known hot dog place several days ago. I love a good steamed hot dog. The years of working at the Coolboose did that for me. I typically eat a hot dog with a line of mustard on one side and a line of ketchup on the other. This is a new thing. I would never have let ketchup near my hot dog in recent years. It seemed undignified. But having a mix of it with the mustard. It’s wonderful. And reminds me of England in a weird way. So I thought it was amazing when I posted a photo of the place on Instagram and a friend remarked that he bet I ruined my hot dog with ketchup. Ha. Too true. I got two. One made the house special way which included Flo’s relish and mayo. And one with ketchup and mustard. There was a sign in the little shop that said ketchup was only for those under 15 years of age.

I need someone in my life that wants me. That needs me. That desperately desires me. That is so incredibly turned on by everything about me. I don’t want to feel like I have to look a certain way to be sexy. I want someone to want me. Exactly as I am. Hot mess and all.

Remember that time when I stepped out of the airport and nearly died from the heat? Yep, that was today. I was not ready to come back to Dallas in the worst couple of months of ridiculous heat. When I get hot, I tend to get cranky. When I sweat from walking from my car to my house of place of work, I want to throat punch a baby. It is terrible!!!

One of the best things I did during my time in Maine was sailing on my birthday. I have a new love for boats. I need one in my life. I long to be on the water. Soaking up the sun. And the wind. Water is so fascinating to me. It’s such a force. The weight and force of it can be devastating. And yet it’s beautiful how weightless one feels when in water. It’s beautiful to look at. I am not articulating well. Water. It’s the bee’s knees.