we can go our separate ways if you want to

so i woke up this morning and wrote a song. this is a big deal because i haven't written a song in a very long time. when i told tito about the song, i told him that i've always written from sadness or loss and this is the same case with this song. he asked me if i would rather have song writing or my friend back. i said song writing is nice, but i do miss my friend a whole lot more than i ever missed writing songs...
i told him that was quite a bittersweet way of looking at the situation...
and this is what i wrote



dawn breaks
and i'm staring at the ceiling tiles
thinking of you again
wondering where you have gone

i think
was it me or was it you
and i know
it's somewhere inbetween
somewhere inbetween give and take
we lost our balance
and fell in two directions

sometimes
i forget the present
and get lost in the past
thinking all this is just a temporary state
of tug of war

but i've said too much
and you not enough
though three little words are all it would take
to bring down these walls
to carry us home

so come to me
come come home to me
and i will carry you
if you will carry me
before it's too late
or is it too late

dawn breaks
and i'm staring at the ceiling tiles
and sometimes i miss you
and sometimes not at all
but today
i'm thinking of you again
wondering where you have gone

cuz i've said too much
and you not enough
and could three little words be all it would take
to bring down these walls
and carry us home

i miss you
and i love you
and i'd like you to come on home
do you miss me
do you love me
would you like me to come on home?

so come to me
come come home to me
and i will carry you
if you will carry me
before it's too late
or is it too late

this is what it means to be a woman

the other day i was riding down the street on my long board. a car full of dudes drove by and screamed 'get on the sidewalk you fucking bitch!' i responded by flipping both my middle fingers into the air and doing a little dance as i rode.

the 'you fucking bitch' part seemed pretty unnecessary to me. it seemed to allude to the fact that these guys didn't seem to think it's acceptable for a woman to be riding a skateboard.

most of you will probably stop reading several words into the next paragraph. but i suppose i challenge you to consider ideas you might not have possibly considered otherwise.

from the time we're born, everyone is told by the media, by our parents, by our social and cultural norms, how we should behave. both men and women. for women, there's a pretty specific yet rather contradictory set of rules that we're supposed to follow in order to be women. we should be simultaneously strong yet nurturing. soft and curvy yet physically fit with 6 pack abs. we should have large breasts that we're supposed to show off (but not too much cuz then you're a whore) and tiny wastes. we're expected to be monogomous but sexually knowledgeable. our magazines give us such pertinant information as '10 ways to please your man and he'll be yours forever!' we need to know how to cook, clean, be smart (but not too smart), and have a career where we will automatically make less than a man because of our gender while we raise the children.

my friend kochis and i had a debate about abortion a while ago. he argued that we use abortion as a form of birth control and that we're not responsible for the consequences of our actions, ie if you have sex you should expect children. i argued that for centuries, it has been socially acceptable for men to have sex regardless of the consequences. it was deemed natural for them to fuck whoever they wanted and weren't expected to stick around to help raise the children. biologically, men are not physically constructed to be responsible for their actions. they are not the ones with the overies and the uterus. when a women gets pregnant as a result of having sex with a man, she is the one left solely with that responsiblity: the life of another person. the advent of contraception again made it the man's choice to impregnant the woman or not. he's the one who can wear the condom or not. he has that choice. i guess you can argue that the choice the woman has is whether to engage in sex or not. but often times that doesn't seem to be the case. whether through direct pressure from the guy or from social pressures that this is what we're supposed to do, sex is something we're supposed to simultaneously want and yet abstain from. not too little, not too much. seems either way we're fucked. but i digress.

the option of abortion puts control in the womans hands. she has the final say as to whether or not she will raise a child. it levels the playing ground. it allows her to take the same stance as the man, decide why she is having sex, and have a child or not. she is in control in a game we have little control over.

my favorite matt finley cartoon was about the plan b debate. it said plan a: and had a drawing of a shark on a stick. then it said plan b: and had a drawing of a coat hanger. plan c was a noose. at the bottom there was a little asterisk that said *you're beautiful baby

we're raised to think that sex is something we should want, and something we should give men. i saw something on dateline about girls in elementary school who are giving blow jobs because it makes boys like them. parents and teachers are appauled and shocked. i'm not so shocked. it is a product of our social structure, and we have created these little girls. we have raised them to think that this is what they should do. this is what it means to be a woman.

i grew up playing with legos and dirt. i ran around in the woods and got bruises on my legs. i played with dolls, but not barbies. i played 'house' with my cousins. i was never specifically told what it was to be a woman. but late elementary school into middle school, my peers made it abundanlty clear that whatever it was that i was doing, that i'd been doing for my whole life, wasn't it. i was made fun of for not wearing a bra even though i had nothing to put in a bra until my junior year in high school. the notion of a 'training bra' amuses me to no end. 'training.' we didn't talk about sex or 'womanly' issues when i was growing up. i remember the first time i asked my mom if i could shave my legs, becuase i was the only girl in gym class with hairy blonde legs, she flipped out telling me i didn't need to shave my legs. i just wanted them to stop making fun of me.

becky told me one day in middle school a group of girls, probably the same 'popular' ones i tried so desperately to be friends with and fit in with, stuck a bunch of pads to the outside of my locker. she removed them before i could see them. to them, i was not a woman.

i remember starting to like boys, and they wanted nothing to do with me. my first boyfriend broke up with me because his friends told him i wasn't pretty enough. i was heart broken. i thought there was something wrong with me. i realize now it wasn't me, it was them. to them, i did not comply with their notions of what a girl was.

i've never been with a man who i didn't feel was objectifying me in one way or another. it's never been about me. it's always been about them. always.

there's been this wave of sexual liberation in the wake of the sex & the city thing. we exclaim, 'it's my body and i'm gonna sleep with whoever i want and have sex and that's what makes me happy!' and as a concept, that's great. the idea of a sexually liberated woman who can essentially view sex as men have for centuries is awesome. but it's practically speaking, it's impossible. no matter how much control we think we have over the situation, we are never in control. because in the end, he can walk away and we are left with the consequences of our actions, emotionally and physically. eventually, we will feel dirty and used. and we blame ourselves. i don't know if we can ever be truly sexually liberated in the same way men are.

today jamie and julia and i were talking about how biologically, we're constructed right from the start to 'not be whole'. we are literally structured to be a receptical, and we are then socially constructed to be emotionally and physically incomplete without a man. not another person, a man. because he is the only one that can fill our void.

i very recently learned about the word heteronormativity. it means: Those punitive rules (social, familial, and legal) that force us to conform to hegemonic, heterosexual standards for identity. The term is a short version of "normative heterosexuality." i listed the definition because if you try to look it up in the dictionary you won't find it. i wonder who writes the websters dictionary? so not only should we be all these things as woman, but you're automatically assumed to be straight, though that goes for women and men.

our language is extremely gendered. we call something we don't like, or something we think is stupid 'gay' because gay is bad. gay (in men) means effeminate, and the feminine is always less than the masculine. my sister says gay all the time and fails to see this, no matter how many times i try to explain this to her.

i looked feminist up in the dictionary, and mr webster told me that a feminist is an adjective and is of or relating to or advocating equal rights for women. so at least they got that one right. but socially, it's to declare ones self as a radical hater of men, and is definitely not seen as a good thing to be calling yourself.

the other day kat and i were talking about our childhoods and how cruel kids can be. i guess it's a natural product of the development of the id, the part of us that is only capable of thinking about our own worlds. can we hold these kids responsible if their behavior is directly tied to their physiological development? i don't really know. i guess it would be nurture fighting nature...

i watched cartoons with my young cousins when i was home. i realized that i didn't ejoy these cartoons nearly as much as i did the ones we watched when we were kids. they're extremely fast paced, all the kids scream and they have extremely uninteresting story lines. i can still watch the cartoons that i watched when i was a kid today. we talked about the themes we see in cartoons today: violence, super powers, and slapstick humor which i guess aren't a far cry from what cartoons have always been. none of these cartoons seemed to be saying anything of substance. i wondered what if there was a cartoon that taught kids not to be cruel to each other. what if through entertainment, we could educate them on how to be kind, caring, and generous, though i guess this is what things like sesame street try to teach. but that target audience is too young... we need something 'cooler' for older kids. i said 'kat, i smell a comm design project!' and she said she was done with those and she couldn't wait to have someone tell her what to do. she's ready to be a mac monkey for a while, and i don't blame her. but i digress...

i guess my idea kind of reminds me of the nicktoon 'doug'. he was just a normal kid with an imagination doin normal kid things. i wish the media were more socially conscious. we have this tremendous vehicle for disseminating information and instead of using it to free each other, we use it to bind and oppress. this is how you should look, act, walk, talk, wear and if you don't, you're outta the club and we're gonna laugh at you. adult-hood isn't a far cry from childhood. i want to use my knowledge of design and advertising to infiltrate the crap with good stuff!

if you've read this far, and i can assume most have stopped after the third paragraph, you're probably wondering why i'm 'bitching' about all of this. i've had a lot on my mind lately. and i hope that my words and my actions spark at least some kind of thought. challenge the stereotypes and constructs that are ingrained in us and inspire us to speak up about whatever it is that we believe in. in the end though, i think we all want the same thing: a home where we can be loved and accepted, and a greater web of a community that also accepts and loves us while accepting us as individuals as well. nothing will change if no one does anything. i guess that means you and me...

sush hates cell phones

so it wasn't even noon and these are the events that have ensued thus far:

1.) i woke up early and couldn't fall back asleep. sush was cuddled at a very aesthetically pleasing angle in my armpit so i laid in bed for a while, not wanting to rouse him. when the blinds are down and the pigeons fly through the alley, they make really amazing shadows that i see on the blinds... i would like to take a picture of this, but the pigeons aren't very reliable subjects.

2.) miss kat woke up and promptly puked in her trash can. i did not know she was doing this, so as she was exiting the front door i asked her if she was doing laundry for some reason... i think it's cuz i have a shirt that needs washing. so she told me she'd puked and i fealt stupid for asking her about the laundry.

3.) i went into the kitchen to make myself a bagel. i put the bagel in the microwave (not evil) to thaw it. as i placed it in the toaster (pure evil) i said to myself 'now megan, don't walk away and forget about this bagel because you know what happens when you forget about things in the toaster.' so i go into my room and sit down in front of my computer and decide that now is the time to make myself a photoshop droplet! so i basically completely forget abot the bagel. that is, until the smell of 'bagel' wafts into my room, and i yell 'fuck!' and run into the kitchen, continuing to yell 'fuck' through the smoke that is now burning my eyes. as i pass kat's door i hear her say 'miss meg?' thank god our fire alarrms work, and by thank god i mean thank god they didn't start making that really irritating beeping noise to warn us of our imminent death!!!

because the rule we've learned about the toaster is 'if you can smell it, it's probably burned.' (same rule applies to the poop box: if you can smell it, it probably needs to be scooped) so the good bagel smell was followed by a very foul bagel smell and a whole hell of a lot of smoke. i open the toaster and there are two small flaming brickettes inside. we don't have a fire extinguisher, so i do the first thing that comes to mind: blow. note: this is not the first time i have had to do this. we open all the windows and attempt to air out the smoke. we then proceed to remove the 'bagel' from the toaster. it is making noises and is really silly looking, so of course we find it necessary to photograph it for posterity's sake. kat declares that we will now end any bad story with the words 'and then meg lit a bagel on fire'. we will start a bagel/english muffin photo graveyard and put pictures up on the wall with little photoshopped halos on them. we giggle and continue to pose with bagel. RIP blueberry bagel...

4.) several minutes later, kat returned to the bathroom to throw up again. this time, she is also exploding from her other end as well. i think i'm going to start putting pepto bismol in all of her foods. i think there is someone, somewhere floating on a cloud that does not want her to graduate. so we're gonna take that little fucker and put him in the toaster and then i'm gonna go make myself a few photoshop droplets.
MWOOOHAHAHAHAHA!!!

and this all happened before noon.

you'll never feel the heat of this soul

i'm peacing out, she said
later, i said
i watched her out of the corner of my eye
leave her bag on the table as she walked out the door
she came back into the room
i walked up to her and asked her about her project
i couldn't help but think my photography has influenced her ideas

i wonder if she realizes this
i wonder if she'll think of me when she takes the photos
i wonder if she's trying to hold onto something she valued in me
probably not

she pulled out a cloth and wiped her glasses
i watched her hands as she spoke
small, soft
trembling
the same hands i've held
the same hands that have held me
comforted me
as i've cried so many times
a product of the sacred, unique bond we'd shared
and watched unravel

i watched her mouth as she spoke
can't bring myself to look into her eyes
those eyes, so wide
that used to sparkle into my own
and made me believe in myself
and in her
the electricity that used to flow between us is all but gone

i looked up
into her eyes
they were watery, glassy
her voice trembled as she spoke
she seemed to be holding something back
i think she had left to cry in the bathroom
so i would not see
i had cried for weeks, months
over the disintegration of our memories
mourning a loss of something that was once so beautiful
now fades to steely grey

i'm not sure what she was upset about
she won't, can't, tell me
maybe it was me, or nothing to do with me at all
maybe it was her realization of what she'd lost
maybe it was allergies
maybe it was a realization that i am happy
can be happy, without her
something i haven't been in three years

maybe she realized that i don't need her
that i can form new friendships
that i can move on
that the ties of love are strong
but can be undone

isn't this what she asked for?

maybe she realized that for once i was serious
i can not care about her anymore
can not bear my soul
to someone who neglects and mistreats that beauty
and truth
that glows like a super nova

maybe i was cold, indifferent
was i cruel?
'i want to live life and never be cruel'

we'd overturned rocks and leaves and city sidewalks
in search of what was real

i guess in the end my reality is different from hers

i wish i could say that i wanted to take her in my arms
like i've done so many times before
tell her everything is ok
that i am sorry
that i love her
that i'll never give up
and everything is ok
but i can't anymore

can't let you in
can't let you in

and i can't ask her what's wrong
can't reach out to her
she must learn to reach out herself
and to reach out to others when they are in pain
asking for help is an admittance of a fault she can not bear
i can not lose another piece of myself to this battle

i look at the pictures of us together
there must be hundreds by now
i remember the day i im'd her to tell her
i couldn't stop crying when i'd look at them
she told me well then don't look at them
and that she had to go
i couldn't stop crying
that was the day i went home
and laid my head on nonnie's pillow and watched her die
my mom said maybe her cruelty was a blessing in disguise
i wouldn't have gone home had i not been so upset about her

today, the same pictures make me smile and laugh
they are a reminder of a time past that was happy
what is done is done, what is gone is gone
but nothing can take those memories away
and hopefully they will wash away the bad memories
i will keep them somewhere safe inside

i ask her where her voice has gone
the one that sang so brilliantly
the one that drove and inspired both of us for so long
she offers no reply

and i realize that voice was mine all along
the voice i'd loved was my own

she will have to travel her own path
feel her own pain
feel her own joy
make her own mistakes
wage her own wars
and wear her own scars

i can not protect her forever

our paths have divereged
and i will go on alone
but i will stand tall
singing and dancing to my own rhythm
the drum beat of the earth, sea & streets
and she will have to find her own voice
among the stars

and maybe one day our voices will ring together
in beautiful harmony

all that we can't say is all we need to hear

she walks in my door like a burst of light
radiating, strong and bright
her eyes clear like water
deep and blue
intense like a thunderstorm
her smile matches the intensity of her gaze
i am happy

i wonder what it is that draws us to people
why we connect with some instantaneously
and others never
why some connections fade away
and some stay strong until the day we die

the other day i thought about connections
how we are all tied together
i thought about how we pass each other every day
lost inside our own shell
ignoring everyone around us
for fear we may catch a glance
and be forced to share a piece of ourselves
with a complete stranger
a risk, a chance
a fear of rejection

i thought about how our minds are capable of bending time
stretching it out
a touch, glance or exchange of words
can seem infinite in length
when processed through our minds eye

i find these are the things i remember more than anyything else
things that are the most painful to remember
that i bring out briefly
only to be carefully tucked back inside
somewhere safe, dark
your smile, laughter
the way it fealt to look you in the eye
the comfort of sitting silently for hours
exchanging thoughts wordlessly

we can no longer feel
or no longer wish to feel
what has been fealt
both unwilling to reach out
the fear takes hold, inhibits and binds

new memories are of walls being formed
bridges burned
faces and hearts turn to stone
hardened by pain
numbness has become a friend to us both

wrap me up

began an end today
gave and got given
you made a friend today
kindred soul cracked spirit
it has to end to begin

i've been hesitant to post my thoughts lately... not really sure why.

i feel like i'm completely ready for this chapter of my life to end. i need to leave this place and go somewhere new. i need to break the cycles i'm in here. i'm ready for this change.

the other day this was my away message:
hold me
wrap me up
i am small
and needy
warm me up
and breathe me

daver said that sounded like i was a burrito. a very needy burrito. i miss daver.

i got a new monitor the other day. it makes me feel as though i'm piloting a rocket ship... it seems to have cured my gnome posture though.

what is a heart worth if it's just left all alone?
leave it long enough and watch it turn into stone
why must we always be untrue?

there is a new threadless shirt that i would really like. it shows a bunch of little hand drawn stars, and each one has words next to it. it says:
wished for more time
wished my car would start
wished i could fly
wished i was happier
wished i could be invisible
wished i had a puppy
wished you'd forget me
wished i had said something more clever
wished we kept in touch
wished i had witty comebacks
i wished for you

i've wished for some of those things...