Staying hot.

Um, how 'bout you do it yourself, yo?

Relationships are ridiculous. My relationship is ridiculous. How else can I possibly describe something that involves being with a whole entire complete other person, another human being, who has an entire life of their own, who thinks thoughts that are their own, who has been and done things for a lifetime that have made them them? Relationships are crazy and hard and anyone who says otherwise is wrong wrong wrong (but not really - I just like being right).

I struggle with wanting to control other people. I struggle to admit that I am wrong. I am defensive and angry when I'm scared, and other people scare me all the freakin' time with their otherness. I struggle to be myself in the presence of other people, to truly be myself and not adjust myself to be more in-line with the other person. I am weak in that way. It worries me.

All of these things are compounded exponentially in an intimate romantic relationship, in a one-on-one, no-one-else-sees-this-but-us kind of relationship. And my flaws are microphoned out on a loudspeaker with the person that I love. I am ugly when I don't get my way. Ugly ugly ugly.

I am drinking a cup of coffee from a small coffee cup, and it gets cold very quickly. It is hot for a moment, and then it is cold. I have to refill it if I want it to be hot, or have one of those constant-candle-warmer kinds of things. I need a bigger mug. It needs to be thicker and deeper so the coffee stays hot. I need my soul to be thicker and deeper so I can stay hot and grounded and steady. Some people call this an ego. It's all the same thing. It's my innermost part, my deepest me. This is the thing I am working on, this thing I carry around in my broken human body. This is the thing that matters. I have to trust that God is in control and can do all of those impossible miraculous things I've seen over and again, and sit in stillness and wait. This waiting will make me better. It will make me still. It will keep me hot.

Isn't she lovely?

I have a broken heart. It's so so very broken. I think about my broken heart when I wake up in the middle of the night. I think about it when I wake up in the morning. I work hard all freakin' day long to keep from falling apart. I have a broken heart.

"People are better than no people." When I'm sad, I need to be alone a lot. I need to sit in a quiet room and not think, maybe cry, but mostly stare at the ceiling and be sad. At some point in the sadness, I begin to wonder if it will ever end, and if I'm isolating myself to the point of depression. Then I hang out with my people, and I feel a lot better, and I realize that things will not be awful forever.

Right now, I am trying to live my life as normal. I go to work. I go to yoga. I try to feed myself on a regular basis. I cry and get mad at dumb things and then say "I'm sorry". I have good moments. I have bad moments. I try not to cry at the pharmacy when they mess up my prescription for the hundredth time (even though I try to keep this from happening, and plan ahead, and check and double check, it stills happens - I have no control). I try to keep my life as stable as possible. I take a lot of walks at dusk. There have been times in my life when the walks at dusk were accompanied by swinging on swings at the park, but I don't have any swings near me now.

I don't know what is going to happen in my life, or with my heart. I'm learning to be a person who tries not to control everything. Not trying to control everything is probably why my heart is really truly broken. I'm proud of myself for letting that happen, for letting my heart be broken. That's progress.

The ideal is not real.

This morning, whilst en route to an estate sale a hundred miles north, I heard an interview with Nicole Atkins on NPR. She talked about Marcel Proust, and how he had influenced one of her songs with the idea of "the ideal is not real". She talked about how we, as humans, try to idealize our romantic partners, but in the end, it's all chemical and we have no control over who we end up with; that felt empty to me.

Couples were everywhere at the estate sale: sixty-year old antique dealers beside me in line, a man who told me he had to find something for his wife so she'd forgive him for all the junk he bought, wives asking their husbands to bring the trucks around to haul their finds, a hot bearded man with his wife and son that I couldn't take my eyes off of. I wished I'd brought a person with me to hold stuff, haul junk around. save my place in line. I couldn't stop thinking about it as I was alone in that line of fifty people, pushing my box with my feet because it was so heavy.

I ask strangers to hold my place, to watch my stuff. There are dogs and kids, and workers moving around constantly. I love people-watching, but in that moment, I wanted to be share my awesome thrifting life with somebody. But I guess I haven't found that special smelly somebody yet ;)

I don't want all the things.

I don't want a diamond ring
I don't want a backyard, or a big house
I don't want a wedding with everyone we know
I don't want you to not be you

I want simple, and quiet
Something that says "for keeps"
On your knobby broken fingers
With fat Elvis in Vegas, in white

I want a porch or a stoop, a place to sit and watch
Space to lay down, take a bath, wash the dishes
I want music, and windows, and light
And you, just you, only you

You don't understand.

Taylor & Ng has an entire collection of animal orgy mugs - classic

There is something that happens when a woman becomes the only single person she knows. And the secret is that she knows plenty of other single people - they just don't count. I have been through season after season of seeing all of my friends get married, and having to make new friends. Now it's been about a decade, and a new normal has set in, a realization that this is my life. There's a good reason that the men I date are still single in their thirties. There's a good reason I'm single, I suppose. Girl can't take a hint.

After a while, after a breakup, I make a decision to just stop already. It's the smart thing to do. But then I go and do it again: open myself up, let my heart stretch and hurt and soften in ways it never has, and then I get to today, the morning after, and remember why my life is the way it is, even if it hurts sometimes and is lonely in a way that other people cannot possibly understand.

I wonder why God chooses some people to have lives of stability and love and family. I wonder why God hasn't chosen me for those things, why I'm different. I'm pretty tired of fighting it. Fighting God is futile. And the hope of beauty is only crushed when reality steps in and shows its ugly face.

I'm afraid of new things.

I'm pretty much on vacation right now, focusing on my store, resting, considering the possibility of reading a book instead of watching old Law & Order episodes on repeat, and just generally attempting to re-center, ground myself for the pending new year.

I have this new thing in my life, this new person, and as I move through the unknown of this relationship, I am faced daily by all of the things I try to avoid most of the time. I'm recognizing how much I avoid risk, perhaps not risk in the standard sense (I'm not risking my life or anything), but risk in terms of my own heart and soul. See my thrifty heart is a frugal heart. I calculate and recalculate. I weigh pros and cons. I anticipate potential problems so when they come, I'm not surprised. I know when to throw in the towel and call it quits. Thrifting is the way I control my life. Thrifting is the way I make sense of my own soul.

But nothing new and wonderful can come out of something known and understood, at least not intentionally. I've made a lot of choices in my life for the wrong reasons, and they ended up being for my benefit in the end, but I couldn't have orchestrated that; I couldn't have known the future.

So yes, I dig for treasures, but I don't know what I'll find. I don't go looking for particular things; I find wonderful things because I open myself up for them. I spend time preparing, and at the right time, I know what I'm looking at.

People are like that, in some ways. We become people who know what they're looking for, so when we see it, we'll know. I guess I'm wondering if I know what I'm looking for, after all this time, if my years upon years of singleness have taught me anything, or if I'm still just my naive sixteen-year-old self in a grown up woman's body.

Only time will tell, because only time can do the hard work of growing up. Being a grown-up is hard.

The Bachelorette returns...

Vintage NKOTB pillowcase :)

Due to my lack of a television (not because I'm some uber-hipster, but because I'd have nowhere to put it), I don't have cable. This means that I'm one day behind the blogosphere in terms of commenting on The Bachelorette. I know. I know. I've failed my strange niche of reality television/theology/recycling-loving crowd, all two of you. My apologies.

The first episode of this new season was the first time I was able to really start seeing pathology right off the bat, to trust my gut, to allow myself to say "something's not right with that guy". Of course, this is all hyperbole, since I'm not on the freakin' show, but nevertheless, I'm learning to trust myself. Creepy comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes, it can be really attractive on the outside, but it shouldn't take long to reveal itself. It's shallow and self-centered, needlessly self-deprecating and hyper-focused on flaws. Creepy people make you feel "icky".

My love of pop occasionally feels shameful ;)

I felt "icky" several times this evening, as I ate my favorite homemade vegan mac-n-cheese. Shirtless dude took too long to find a shirt. Dancing dude had zero ability to laugh at himself, and stared a little bit too intently - ack! But then...Bikram guy had the potential to be too intense, but was successfully able to be chill in stressful situations. And this guy looked like he was holding back tears as the final roses were being handed out and he was roseless - perhaps overly emotive, but able to be real in a strangely stressful situation.

The whole thing is a cluster-fuck of emotional absurdity, yes. But it's also an opportunity to do some self-reflection. While watching the Bachelorette meet her men, I'm wondering if I would be pretty enough for a group of men, or if they'd think I was weird and crazy, and if I'll ever be running through an orchard, holding hands with the person I love, who simultaneously loves me, and wondering at the beauty of sheer existence.

So many things to think about. What a great summer show - I'll keep you posted ;)

So yeah, this is me.

Vintage Crewel Embroidery Kit :)

I feel alone right now. I feel alone in a way that is new, not terribly painful, but strange nonetheless. I have, for the past twenty-some odd years, sought to demand love from other people. I have done this in a variety of ways, and have failed, miserably, time and time again. I have wanted desperately to fill holes in my heart that were never filled, holes that make me feel weak and vulnerable, scared and crazy. I have tried to get other people to fill them for me. Let me be perfectly clear: this does not work.

Now, all that "love yourself first" and "self-love" bullshit is true. I believe it. I call it bullshit because I think people use it to avoid pain sometimes, to mask a carnal dependency we all have as human beings. We all need other people. We all need relationships. But we cannot make other people love us if they don't. We just can't. I can't. I want to, but I can't. I want the people who I love to love me back, to feel as deeply as I do, to cross that relational barrier that divides us all. But this doesn't always happen. It actually happens very rarely, and that's okay.

The answer to that is not to turn inward and avoid befriending, coffee time-ing, and generally reaching out to other people. It may be appropriate to take a moment to deconstruct the reasons why a relationship didn't work out. It may help to make stronger decisions in the future. But it doesn't mean that we quit loving others, ever, or that we avoid the intimacy that got us tangled up in the first place. I've fallen down so many times now in romantic relationships that I don't want to get back up again. I don't want to bother. I'm a big fat failure, and I want to turn in my "coupling" card. I want to stop pouring my heart out to people who don't love me. I want to stop loving people who can't love me back. I want to stop obsessing over things I have no control over.

I think loving yourself means filling up your own damn holes, and then reaching out again to find someone who honors them.

A beautiful thing :)

Anthropologie sweater from Field Flower

Two and a half months ago, I closed my poetry journal. It has remained on the floor beside my bed, and I have had no desire, or need, to open it, until today. I didn't want to look at all the poems I'd written for a man I no longer love. I didn't want to see the proof that I didn't know enough to say "good-bye". I didn't want to see my tears in words, all over the page, remembering how I cried through most of them, cried through nights for years, wanting the feeling inside of me to leave. But it never left.

It has now left, and I am reborn. I am solid and sure. I am open to radically new things. New has entered my life in a way I never expected, but has been an incredible gift. One day, the burden was lifted. And now there are things I do not know. There are things I have not planned. I am free in a way I've never been. It's a beautiful thing.

Thrift store conversations.

A section of a beautiful handmade square dance skirt - my new thing :)

Yesterday, at my favorite cheap thrift store downtown, where they let you barter, and still sell things for ten cents, this conversation was overheard between an employee and two volunteers. I, a recognized regular, am the only shopper in the store.

Employee: [referring to an old friend] Oh! She was the most wonderful person. One time, a woman came up to her and complimented her earrings - would you believe it - she took them off and gave them to her!

Volunteer: What?! That's like giving away your underwear!

Employee: [completely flustered] Well...uh...oh my! Why are you talking about underwear?! Oh my goodness. This is so inappropriate...I can't believe this is happening...

Volunteer: Oh no. You misunderstand me. I'm just saying that that is how I see someone giving away their earrings. That's a personal item, just like underwear.

Employee: [laughing anxiously] He said it again! Oh my goodness. This is too much. You need to go in back and move furniture. Underwear! He's talking about underwear!

Several minutes later...

Employee: [to me (volunteers are in back, out of hearing range)] Did you hear that man? He is after me! I don't know what to do about it. It's been going on for a while now, but today was just the worst! He was talking about underwear! As if he wanted to talk about my underwear, as if he thought he might be seeing it soon!

Megan: [nods sympathetically] Yeah, wow. Hm. That's a tough one.

Employee: What do I do? This needs to stop! [turns to another employee who has just approached] Did you hear him? Talking about my underwear? I can't believe it! I don't know what to do!

I love you, all of you :)

It's a belt buckle! Isn't it so pretty?

I've always been tall and awkward, and being thin makes me feel less like a total troll, but I still feel it sometimes. Early on, I developed a tough exterior to cope with the teasing I received throughout elementary school, all of which had to do with how I looked. How I look can bother me. It matters to me, because it is the thing that can either lead to teasing, or help me to avoid it. I like to pretend that I have control, even though I know I don't.

Last week, the day before Valentine's Day, two thrift store employees had gotten off their shift and were looking through the lingerie to find something special. One was totally committed to the project; the other, less so and was berating herself in front of the mirror we were sharing, "I can't wear this!", My butt would look too big and he'd be distracted by it!" And for whatever reason, I felt like it was my responsibility to tell this woman, emphatically, that there was nothing wrong with her, or her body, and that anyone who thought so had a problem. So I did. And she listened. I felt good about myself.

I wish I had never been the recipient of someone telling me that I was fat, or ugly, or disgusting. I wish that no one ever did. But for whatever reason, most people have felt these things, experienced these things, and then we all, collectively, internalize those messages and believe them about ourselves.

So I am now taking brief moments, all the time, in thrift stores, to send positive messages to women trying on clothing, to join with the sisterhood, so to speak, in an effort to turn the tide, however slightly :)

Daaaaaaamn girl! You look gooooood.

Sterling silver :)

The ultimate thrifting problem: non-working watches

So I was out-of-town yesterday for a meeting and needing a thrift fix before I drove back home. I stopped at a large charity store en route, and was happy to see that they were open 'til 6 (it was already 5).

I wasn't very excited, until I remembered that I, as a reseller, actually look for specific things, and that I might find cool stuff (I know, I'm weird - thrift wandering is good on its own). So I walked over to the mugs, looked through the vintage ties, found a man excitedly looking through records, all with empty hands. I found some red Vara bow Salvatore Ferragamo shoes, but they were in bad shape, and they were size 7AA, so I didn't feel up to fixing them, only to have them sit in my shop for a year.

Behind the front counter, the store had small plastic tubs, filled with jewelry. I asked the employee to let me see them, which he gave me one at a time, and I slowly went through the hundreds of pins, earrings, and necklaces, all in small plastic bags, looking for sellable pieces. In the end, I found about 2 ounces (over 50 grams) of sterling silver jewelry for a little over $4. I can't quite explain it, but it made my day. It made me feel smart and thrifty and productive for the day.

I finished off this awesome day with a taco truck burrito and a crazy-exciting high school girls basketball game. The team I was there to see was up by eleven in the first few minutes, only to find themselves down by two, with two minutes left in the 4th quarter. A foul, followed by two perfect foul shots (Ack! One minute left!) and a three-pointer with 21 seconds on the clock. Booyah. Great game.

Cool mug share :)

"All I ask is to be left alone"

These mugs are marked 1954, but that seems impossible since they're in such good condition. They probably have lead paint, and merely touching them has already given me cancer. They reminded me of a friend, as if the friend had made them in a previous life.

Other side reads, "Public opinion no longer worries me"

Why the woman is naked bewilders me, but it really makes the mugs special, almost Picasso-esque. I haven't been able to find any information about the artist, which makes me sad, because I know someone out there would love them so much. They're signed "Sandy".

I tried to get a flu shot this morning. I went to Target first, since that's my pharmacy, and they told me that no one was there who was certified. So I went across the street to CVS, where there I waited for twenty minutes to talk to someone, then was told to get in another line, where I kept waiting...and waiting...and waiting, until I left. I wanted to get the symptoms out of the way this weekend before I return to my desk job and am surrounded by more people (and thus, more germs), but it wasn't worth it. I was losing my mind. I'm pretty loyal to Target pharmacy, because every single one I go to is run the same way - streamlined. And every other pharmacy I go to is a cluster-fuck where nothing is getting done, but everyone is harried. Rant over.

All is well :)

Way more play...

Made in France! Who knew they loved self-help books?

This guy kept passing me in the aisles today making weird noises, almost like clicking, but not quite. The first time it happened, I figured I was hearing something. The second time, I figured out what was happening, and it did not feel good.

Maybe it's my terrible hair making me more approachable; maybe it's my ever-present smile scowl - but I've been getting way more play in thrift stores lately. Even the female employees are becoming more friendly, and I talk to them about things other than thrift! Isn't that cool? I'm becoming an almost friendly person, perhaps even likeable. Or maybe it's because I shower regularly and have all my teeth. Meh, it's a crapshoot, really.

I'm so into mugs right now. It's a thing. Usually my thing is food-related, but not currently. I can't even remember the last time I ate a burrito. Now how weird is that?

Upside down.

I got a few Vera scarves that don't quite scream "Vera!" This is one of them.

this love has made me
undone, loose from my bones
like a yogi, upside down

I've been inspired by Heidi to put some poems up on the blog. But poems are so raw, so exposed. I feel naked in all of my poems. I guess that's the point, in the end. That's why it's art. But it's difficult. I'll say that much. The funny thing is, people see me as open and honest. And I suppose I am. But there's a whole lot more to me than I put forward. That's why I can afford to be so open. What seems open to you is not full-on exposure to me. This allows me to protect myself, all of the vulnerable parts.

Anyhow, in the interest of being a writer, I think I'll try to find some poems that I feel okay about posting. Obviously it will take me a while, since it took me ages to post this one, but I strive for growth, so...peace out.

I never want to let go.

The most difficult things I have had to do in my life have been to see people as they really are, not what I imagine them to be, but as they really are. And this process usually ends in tears, tears of regret and grief, and then the ultimate work of figuring how to move on.

A few years ago, I had to do this over and over again, and it almost killed me. And I never wanted to do it again. I never wanted to be disappointed again, I guess. But then, this year (oh God), I've had to do it again. I've had to see the people I love for who they really are, and figure out whether or not I'm going to accept them, or whether I'm going to move on (fuuuuuuuck).

The thing is (and this is the most difficult thing), I don't have a lot of relationships that I've had for over a decade. And that makes me want to cling to the ones I have left, to forgive and forget, to make it work when I'm pretty sure it won't. Because I don't want to go on in my life and leave everything behind. I don't want to leave my younger years behind me. I don't want that part of my life to disappear; I don't want that part of me to disappear. And I'm willing to compromise big-time to salvage parts of my life that have all but disappeared. I don't want to lose everyone, because it makes me feel like I'll lose myself in the process.

Sad day.

I guess I'll make do.

I've talked about finally selling the bike. Well, here she is, in all her glory :)

So being "thrifty" or "frugal" or, I dunno, drawn to simplicity, means that you'll probably come across things in your life that you want or need that you don't have access to. Or maybe you've lived in the West all your life, and this concept is foreign to you (you probably aren't reading my fascist commie blog then). But just as I am drawn to apocalyptic television (um, BBC's Surviviors? Fantastic), I am drawn to the idea of making more with less.

Well, sometimes this is not about making chocolate chip cookies with 100% whole wheat flour (which I've done - bleh), or riding your bike when you sold your car (thus the above bike being in my possession), but about relationships being imperfect and going without the things you want and need. I wish this weren't the case. I wish I weren't an idiot a lot of the time, and instead, said and did the right thing at the right time. I wish it weren't so difficult to repair the damage I've done with things I say. But instead, I have to make do with what I've done. I have to accept that life is imperfect, and I'm imperfect, and sometimes (most of the time), I use the wrong ingredient in the cookies, and I say "sure whatever" when I should be saying "I love you".

Making do with who you are, and what you're capable of at any given moment, is a painful thing, because it means not hating yourself, but at the same time being hopeful that things can and will be different someday, which is painfully challenging.

So, um, yeah...

Physical urges.

The ultimate question - "Is it suede?"

I've been sick all weekend, and it's made me kinda crazy. It's also completely taken away any kind of verbal filter I usually have, so I'm saying "fuck shit" whenever something doesn't go my way, which is about every five minutes.

So, I've talked about want before, want in the sense of a physical urge, a primal thing that gets fed when we're young so when we get to adulthood, we understand the process. And the over-consumption of modern wherever is probably some sort of psychological commentary on our ability as a society to effectively cope with that wanting mechanism inside of us.

Well, my want mechanism was extinguished early, so now when I want, I question feelings of want incessantly. If I want something, I try to figure out why, and if I should want it, and what it means that I do/might want it. The whole process is ridiculous, because most people just want something and then they go and get it. But I want something, and then end up cutting myself bangs or professing my undying love to one of several people. Want makes me a crazy delusional person. It makes me illogical.

All of this has to do with sex. So, yeah.

How long?

The nuclear symbol on a vintage tie - how cool is that?!

Have you ever held on to something for so long that it was unrecognizable? What immediately springs to mind is baby blankies. When I was four, my mother decided that the milestone of my pending entrance into kindergarten warranted throwing my blankie away. Now this was bad, especially for me, but the sentiment was in the right place. She wanted to mark the transition into school by saying, "Hey, you need to leave this behind. New things are coming."

Now that I've written that last thing, I'm starting to think about what I need to leave behind. I cut my hair. It's super short, but no fat face = okay with short hair. I'm actually not terribly unattractive without my usual fro overwhelming my face.

I've made two significant decisions this week: 1) I am no longer having freak-outs. I am calm and cool. I am an adult who handles her business and does not lose it at any given moment. 2) I am no longer chasing men. It hasn't been working, so I'm done. You've all been put on notice, I suppose.

Peace out.

Actually, you're pretty awesome.

We all have baggage. We've all made decisions we regret. I mean, if you're over the age of 30, you've had lovers, haters, and maybe even some pregnancies. You've been drunk one too many times, written one too many poems on your arm, and made out with the wrong person in front of a room full of people.

You've dropped out of school. You've broken up with the love of your life, "...because while he was sweet and sexy and basic, you were afraid you wouldn't be able to discuss Russian novels together (The Deep End of the Ocean, Jacquelyn Mitchard)." You've listened to more Phil Collins and Taylor Swift than you care to admit. You have a tattoo of someone's name that treated you badly. You've loved other people, taken care of other people, more than you've taken care of yourself.

You've hurt people on purpose, and said nasty things that still haunt you. But you deserve to be loved unconditionally, with abandon, just like everyone else, no matter what you've done.