just exactly how it is.
my life -- kinda -- up 'til now.
I'm 31 years old, but I don't look it. The area around my eyes does, but only because I always perch my sunglasses on top of my head and squint into the light. I'm short, and I have some odd proportions: tiny hands, big feet, small mouth full of crowded-in teeth, and giant earlobes that could hold many more earrings than they actually do.
My dad has no earlobes to speak of; well, okay, he does, but my mom wanted her kids to be a bit more lobe-y. Apparently she prayed for earlobes for us (tongue-in-cheek or not, I was never sure) and my brother (the firstborn) ended up with perfect ones. Did she think to put a stop order on the lobes? No way.
I have enough lobe for two people, or perhaps the other five kids she intended to have.
I went through the double-earring phase, and even considered the triple, but I'm a jewelry minimalist, and ended up yanking out everything but the main set.
That's a lot of text to devote to earlobes. That digression is about as classically me as anything could be.
Where did this girl come from? Ah, the union of two wacky kids.
My father is a Baptist minister, and my mom is a Jill-of-All-Trades: artist, caterer, maker of dresses,substitute teacher, florist, sculptor, and tryer-of-things. My father is a natty soul, and carries his post-high-school experience working in the suit department at Eatons into the level of detail he exhibits in his toilette and grooming today. My mother is more of the wild child, with fabulous hair and a penchant for giant earrings, black clothing, and heels.
I take after both of them in almost equal amounts. I have my mom's flair for making a spectacle of myself, and I love people just as ardently as she does. I have his way with words, fiercely-attuned sense of justice, and love of product.
They've been married 35 years, and as much as they do argue and poke at each other now and then, they make it look easy. They are best friends, debate opponents, dippy lovers, total opposites, and complete kindred spirits all at the same time. They raised two kids, my brother and I, across three provinces, one territory, and one US state (Texas, where my dad went to seminary).
When you're weary, feeling small, when tears are in your eyes, I’ll dry them all.
I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough and friends just can't be found,
like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
They are conservative. They don't drink or smoke or swear. They are firm in their faith. They hold political opinions that veer to the right, but not in the way that many of my fellow bloggers might assume.
They are ardent givers-to and supporters-of a variety of charities and international development efforts, and they have given their last twenty dollars to someone in need more than once. They are also some of the most academically and socially astute people I've ever met, and they read voraciously, listen to a variety of music, and watch a wide variety of films on a regular basis. Their sense of cultural diversity would put a lot of people I know to shame.
They raised me with complete devotion and love, and supported me in almost anything I wanted to do and try, as long as it wasn't immediately dangerous or utterly stupid. They don't approve of every aspect of my lifestyle now, or the way I live out certain elements of the faith I still share with them, and I know they'd rather I not drink or swear or say some of the things I do. They might even cringe at this entry, though they'll read it like they've read every other one.
I don't doubt their love. Not for a second. Nor do I doubt how proud they are of me, though sometimes I really gotta wonder why.
We never did have a ton of money, but my mom made me the prettiest dresses, and my dad indulged me way more than he had the resources to on many occasions. If there is anything of the princess in me, I blame it on him -- happily.
I was a mouthy-yet-charming, fierce-yet-laid-back, graceful-yet-perilous child, and I had a natural kind of leadership that was evident from a pretty young age. I've always had a sense of the dramatic and of the absurd, and I embrace both with vigour.
I am a typical youngest in that I love to be the center of attention. I am an atypical youngest in that I have always been a pathological worrier and compulsive caretaker. I was (and am) both a devoted and a belligerent sister, and as much as I admire my brother and his exceptional mind and heart, we didn't always sail too smoothly. But we laughed more than we fought, without a doubt, and still do.
A move that we made to a new town in the fifth grade had a significant impact on my teenage years and essentially, how I would live out the rest of my life. Even as I type that, it sounds absurd. But it's true -- to say otherwise would be to paint a whole different picture than the one that actually exists. I didn't want to move -- not in a bratty way, but in an "I like my life here!" kind of way. Upon our arrival at our new home and my arrival at a new school, I made friends soon enough, but something changed in me.
A couple of difficult experiences that I am happy not to talk about made me recede back into myself a little and see my world and my life differently than I had up to that point.
I made new friends, I was active at church, and I was fine with my grades and most activities at school. But I became more shy almost instantly in a way I'd never been before.
And like most shy-but-funny kids, I found myself a long series of friends who verbally abused me at the same time as they craved my company.
I helped people make fun of me for years; I still do.
I stopped feeling pretty somewhere in my mid-teens (though my dad and mom told me almost daily that I was nuts to feel that way -- they have always told me how beautiful they think I am, and they continue to do so to this very day). I also stopped trying out for some sports and some clubs, and that's when my writing became absurdly important to me.
I could always write.
I was yearbook editor, newspaper editor, and a star English student for a good portion of my teens. I was either going to be a lawyer (a goal that led to my English-Political Science degree) or a journalist when I graduated. Of course, I would get married young and have a family, too, but I'd have this amazing career as an author to undergird it all.
I am neither a lawyer or a journalist. I am not married and I don't have kids. I do work as a writer. I am thankful for this.
The best parts of my high school years were spent as a counselor at a summer camp. During university, I worked as a summer program director at that same camp. When I graduated, I worked as the year-round camp director at that same camp. Why did I spend so much time there? Why did I care enough about it to put off the writer thing in favour of it for years?
Simple.
Camp saved me in high school.
My parents made me go when I was 11, and I cannot tell you how much in the way of thanks I owe them for that. I was terrified to go because of the uncertainty and the insects (ha!), but I couldn't have enjoyed the whole experience more in the end.
Whereas I hated the town I lived in, I loved the island the camp was on. Whereas my high school friends could be cruel, my camp friends were (and are) some of the kindest, funniest souls I know. Whereas I was made to feel lacklustre in my town and my life there, I was like a firecracker at camp.
I starred in all the skits, I sang in all the talent shows, I was a social butterfly. Every summer.
And then I would go home, and I would wait quietly for the next summer to come around.
I have not told my parents or my friends all the things I experienced in high school, and I doubt I ever will -- those things are in the past now, as much as they inform how I respond to the present. But now that I see that influence, I can deal with it more effectively. That took me years to figure out.
Once I was in university, the me I allowed myself to be at camp made appearances everywhere, and my life became a much more even, healthy thing. I still have my friends from those years, too. They are dear, amazing people.
I've never been terribly lucky with boys. If I wasn't crushing after the impossible dream guy, I was putting myself in the position of setting up my semi-dream guys with my friends. The guys I dated or almost dated were always looking for something else other than what I was, and I didn't begrudge them that. The one I loved the longest was always clear about how I didn't measure up, but he was always the first I thought I could convince of my worth over time.
I don’t know why we can’t talk
Every time we try we get choked up
Running with the feelings that get caught in our head
‘til I can’t remember what it was we said
All my friends say I’m in love
is this what I think they’re thinking of?
I didn't manage it.
I'm hoping my fortune improves soon.
I have gone through phases where most of my friends seemed to be male and phases where my girlfriends were the most important people in my life. I get along equally with both genders and have a diverse enough range of interests that I can hang with pretty much whoever.
But I have a terrible habit of falling in love with my male best friends, so the relationships with girls have been much, much more peaceful.
Today, I am a bundle of contradictions. Fierce shyness and ardent extroversion. Absolute klutziness contrasted with a strong sense of rhythm. Manic energy at odds with total laziness. Quick thinking combined with incredible moments of ineptitude. I can cook you the best meal ever, but I can't figure out calculators. I can draw and sketch and paint with some facility, but I cannot put together an Ikea desk to save my life.
One day, I can stand up on a counter at Starbucks and sing "Danny Boy" with perfect pitch and an Irish lilt.
The next day, I'd be scared to hum a tune to remind someone of how a song went.
I'm tired a good portion of the time, but I sure as hell don't sleep, and can function quite well without it for days and days.
I'm a really good listener, but I also have a wickedly dismissive and sharp temper. I will forgive and forgive and forgive, but if I finally cut you off, you won't hear from me again.
I am a devoted companion and ally and supporter, but I send the most strident emails and leave the most shocking voice mails when I'm pissed off. I'm not proud of that, but it comes from a place of wanting so badly to be honest, and then being terrified of what I really think a good portion of the time.
This has also been the primary challenge in living out my faith. I'm a Christian -- I don't fly with any particular denomination, and I intend to stay that way. I am conservative in some ways and liberal in others, and I doubt and question and fuss about it all with as much fervour as I actually believe. But I do believe.
I don't defend all people of my faith as reasonable any more than I defend all people as reasonable in general. There are, sadly, as many asshole Christians as there are asshole Atheists or asshole anything elses, and yeah, I do think they should be better people if they claim salvation, too.
But -- there's the rub -- they shouldn't claim to be. They should focus only on loving others and loving God. That's all I can do, and that's what I try and do. It's about what you're called to be. Talk less, act more. That's my faith.
i do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl
because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world
i do it because it's the least i can do
i do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to
My friends come from a wide range of other faiths and non-faiths (that's how my one friend speaks of his beliefs), and I can say with confidence that they are as real with me about it as I am with them and that we love one another across any boundaries other people might try and bring to the fore.
That's how it should be, I think.
Now -- how did I get here?
I write this blog because my friend Jonathan (who at various points I wanted to both marry and kill) got me a premium subscription to Salon in January of 2004. For some unknown reason, I saw the Salon Blog thing and started one, without having a clue what the heck a blog was or what you wrote about in them.
I owe you bigtime for that, Musser. But you owe me for making me be seen with you in awkward pants for years and years. Oh yeah, and this quote is for you, because you sang it to me:
You know I only say it 'cause I'm truly genuine
Don't be a hard rock when you really are a gem
I lost that blog in a computer crash in March 2004, but the bug had bitten me badly. I made several attempts to restart that blog and failed. Then I would start other new ones, and they would die. I have bloglets all over the blogosphere, orphaned forever to Google Cache.
This blog, despite another ominous software crash, lives on. It will be seven months old in four days. Most of it lives in Google Cache as well, but I'm going to keep hammering away with what is left.
I have a PayPal link. It is very lonely, and mostly silly.
That takes us to today, and Meg as of October 3rd, 2005. She is gainfully and thankfully employed after some nightmarish freelancing fun, extensively roommated, mostly single, partially healthy, overly wordy, highly prolific, privately emotional, vaguely naive, obviously distrustful at points, publicly silly, agonizingly worryish, and completely in the dark about what the next year of her life will bring.
I can two-step, I make a mean cup of coffee, I am a knower of trivialities far and wide.
I love hockey. I am absolutely bored out of my tree by Harry Potter. I own sixteen shades of lip gloss, my grandmother's wedding rings, two of my mother's paintings, and several books that my dad used during his university days (we have the same bachelor's degree).
I cannot sit through a whole DVD but I can listen to the same song over and over again 25 times.
I don't know if I will ever get married or have kids, but I am entirely open to both with the right guy. I used to want a big mother-of-all-weddings, but now I just want to throw a hell of a party. On my dime.
Pack my bags and mount my horse
I`m gonna ride on into the next town
Spend all my money on absolutely nothing
Don't need no man to pay for anything
I will be debt-free as of this April, when I turn 32. That thought just made me smile (at debt-free) and feel totally ill (at 32) at the very same time.
I'm gonna love what I love and do what I do and say what I say until I feel like stopping.
And I'm gonna keep blogging until someone duct tapes me to a wall.
Ok?
9:13:50 PM 
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