Tuesday, October 13, 2015


It's cold in my house tonight.  I am not sure what the temperature is, because, to be honest, I've been at work all day, and I just don't feel like getting up and looking.

Plus, I am all cozy under my fuzzy blanket.  That would wholly disrupt the captured warmth currently surviving under my fuzzy blanket.

Y'all, seriously.  It's probably like 55 degrees outside right now.  In the whole grand scheme of things, not at all cold.  However, my body is coming off of balmy 70s. It's a shock to my delicate system.

I am losing more of my Northern-ness every. single. day. I live south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Siiiiiigh ...

{shakes her head pitifully as she rereads the word delicate}

As I stated, I went to work this morning.  I had a two hour meeting, so I figured I would work from 8 to 10 a.m., go to my meeting, and then finish all my work after lunch until I started getting cross-eyed.

Two things occurred ... two things that ALWAYS inevitably occur:

  1. I highly underestimated the amount of work I had to do and the amount of time it would take me to do it.  Therefore, I created a TO DO list that God himself would be all, "Ummm, seriously, Megan?"
  2. I severely misjudged how quickly my eyes would go cross-eyed.  
I got home at 4:30 p.m., chatted with my parents on the phone, and then settled in to do some writing on my computer.  Only, after getting my jammies on, warming up a mug of apple cider, crawling under my fuzzy blanket and grabbing my computer, I had the yet once again inevitable result of aforementioned comfying.  My eyes started drooping.  My yawning became uncontrollable, and the desire to crawl off to bed became overwhelming.  

My goal is to get into bed by 9 p.m. every night, and, ladies and gentlemen, it is 9:03 p.m.  So, I am going to call this what it is ... another night of ill-planned productivity.  I am going to assume the Scarlett O'Hara stance and just say, "Fiddly dee!"

Tomorrow is a new day, right?

Monday, October 12, 2015


My Dear, Sweet Neighbors,

I just finished mowing my lawn.  As I sit here, devouring a sandwich whilst brushing off bits of leaves and grass clippings -- on the floor I just vacuumed two hours ago, I can't help but feel a bit of guilt at the complete and total lack of "giving a crap" I seem to have for my lawn.  And so, I find myself in need of apologizing...apologizing to  you dear folk for having to endure my slovenliness this entire lawn-mowing season.

I apologize, my dear neighbors, for leaving my lawn to look as though the entire place has been abandoned.  It's not. Although, to hear my next door neighbor tell it, he never sees me, hermit that I am.  So, perhaps I have abandoned it.  I suppose what I've really abandoned is the idea that my lawn is ever going to look like anything other than what it looks like -- that being the anti-thesis of ANY lawn care advertisement upon which you've ever viewed.  In retrospect, I pretty much abandoned those notions as my tender, young self was learning the finer points of lawn care lo those many years ago whilst still under my parents' tutelage. When I had to trim the edges of stuff with hand trimmers, I pretty much decided lawn care wasn't for me.

Dear neighbors, I also apologize for the dead flowers you had to look at most of the summer.  I started off with such grand intentions. A green thumb that would blossom into all sorts of green fingers.  But then the monsoon season hit ... and then the humidity ... and I no longer cared about anything. Nothing at all.  You precious people had to sow what I reaped.

I must also apologize for my non-Pinterestesque front porch decorations.  I really try to make a cute, rustic-looking front porch.  But even my headless scarecrow has bowed his headless ... what? ... his headless head? ... in defeat ... in shame. It is pititful.  I acknowledge this. Bless your sweet hearts for the atrocities you must endure.

As this season winds down to its inevitable end, my dear neighbors, I ask that you give me grace. Perhaps, as the 2016 season rolls around, by chance some miraculous event that could only be described as serendipitous, will occur, and I will become the neighbor you always hoped I would be.

The Chick that owns that Hot Mess on the Corner


I have been suffering from a severe lack of motivation for a while now ... like a year or more.  It's bad, and it's only gotten worse as the years have gone by ... read, as I've gotten older.

I am not sure if it's the depression (my medicine should be helping that) or just my complete lack of caring, but I've just been in a funk.

My house shows it.

It's not filthy by other people's standards.  It is by mine, but I suspect, most people would come into my house and be all, "Well, this place looks great!"

They've not looked that closely though.  Oh boy, if they did!

When I first moved out on my own, every Saturday morning, I'd clean my ENTIRE apartment.  From top to bottom.  The ENTIRE thing.  Now, it was an apartment.  It had all of four rooms in it.  But still.  I could do it in a morning, and still have all of the late morning and afternoon to do whatever I want.

Now?  The mere mention of getting my vacuum out overwhelms me.  Why is that?

I honestly used to like cleaning, and I live in a lovely house now.   By far, one of the best places I've ever lived (well, besides the house on Burr Oak Street back in Michigan). This mere fact should motivate me, right? So, what is the problem?

I think it's overwork.  I'm not trying to make an excuse, but I think I get such a lack of sleep and am so overwhelmed by exhaustion that by the time it comes to doing work at home, well, let's just say the spizerinktem has all but left my body.

And the spiders overtake the place ...

The other thing that has taken a lot of my time?

Social media.  I spend a lot of time on social media.  A LOT.  And while I get to see what others are doing in their busy lives, I fail to live mine!

I read an article today that said one of the ways to boost motivation is to not sit down for more than an hour.

Yep! I would agree.  Sitting down for me is terminal.  Fatal.  DANGER, DANGER, DANGER!

Today, while sitting here in my jammies at 10:48 a.m., I am turning over a new leaf.  Yes, my dear readers, I am going to take back my life.

Lest you think I am loafing today ... okay, I loafed for a bit. However, I just vacuumed the ENTIRE house, researched homemade spider sprays, and am getting ready to go out and mow the lawn, hopefully, for the very last time this year.

So, taking back my life.  I guess that means, I am only looking at social media once a day. ONCE A DAY.  I am going to care a little less what the rest of you are doing with your days.  I love you, but seriously.  I need to take back my life.

I am going to look for ways to be more active.

I am going to look for ways to decompress.

I plan to be in my bed by 9 p.m., a book in hand, readying myself for sleep.  If I can get a handle on the exhaustion, perhaps I can finally feel like tackling more things in my life.

This is a marathon, not a sprint.  I will likely fail miserably, but if I can pick myself back up and get moving again, I feel like I might find my motivation again.

Wish me luck!

Saturday, October 10, 2015


I'd like to thank Hallmark for yet another movie that shows a syrupy, sweet ending where everyone gets their significant other in the end.

One happy ending after the other.

Two hours of my life I will never get back. And that's not even close to how the real world works ... or at least my real world.

Not everyone gets kissed under a full moon. Not everyone meets Prince Charming. Not everyone gets the guy in the end. Not everyone gets to ride off into the sunset.

Sometimes, there is no Prince Charming. Prince Charming isn't really looking for a fat, single, 40-something. Forty-something Prince Charming is looking for a 20-something that is all cute and pert and svelte and, well, the anti-thesis of me.

So, thank you, sappy movie writer, for taking me down a rose-petal covered lane for two hours. I nearly slipped in the sugar and drowned in the sweet.  I am now going to pick myself up, wash the stickiness off, and floss my teeth or something.

Tuesday, October 06, 2015


Throughout my time wandering the White House and the Capitol, I was struck by this thought: "If these walls could talk ..."

The history wrapped up in those walls.

The decisions that have been made.

The choices that have affected generations.

The secrets that have been hidden.

These walls have seen them all!

I think one of my favorite shots I took the entire trip was the one above. I couldn't help but wonder at the time (and still now) how many presidents looked out over the White House grounds toward the Washington Monument and contemplated the heavy burden of their job ... or the sheer magnitude of the job ... the excitement of getting the job in the first place ... the "pinch me" moments ... and the incredible sadness involved in being the voice of the people.

I had a photography professor tell me once that a picture tells a thousand words is just a farce.  That a picture captures just one moment in time.  I suppose he's correct, but looking at this picture, remembering myself standing in the people's house ... I'm sorry, but there were more than a thousand words wrapped up in this picture!  There were the thoughts and dreams and hopes and failures and celebrations of a nation wrapped up in this one picture.


My initial reaction to the Metro was I HATE THIS!

My initial reaction was based on two very key issues:

  1. I was rushed.  I LOATHE rushing to things. Puts me right off. Nothing gets me more stressed than running late to something.  Okay, well, maybe there are other things, but that sure is a top 10 stresser.
  2. I need to get the lay of the land.  If you throw me into something that I haven't been able to investigate before hand, I get cagey.  The Metro with its stinky tunnels and red, blue, yellow, orange, and silver lines ... it threw me right off my game.  
However, once I did get the lay of the land, I LOVED it....well, except for peak commuter time.  I did not at all like standing for a 20 minute ride in to "town."  I like being comfortable.  Can't be comfortable when your grasping a bar over your head ... that heaven only knows how many people have touched before you.

Which brings me to my next point ... 

I ate Airborne chewables like they were my job! 

The mass of humanity crammed into those cars sneezing and coughing and hacking and picking and wiping heaven only knows what all over the place?  Oh yeah. GERM CITY! I boosted the immune system into overdrive.

I failed to put hand sanitizer in my purse, which, if ever on the Metro (or any public transportation of any kind) again, I will be hand sanitzing it up.  Just see the aforementioned germaphobia paragraph for further details. 

The Metro was filled with people-watching opportunities. Alllll kinds of people. And allllll kinds of fashion.  I realized a couple of things by all my people watching....
  1. I need to step up my fashion game! I've become lazy. These ladies showed me up in a BIG way. Operation Re-invent My Closet Begins today ... or maybe tomorrow ... or the next day ... yeah, I'm pretty lazy as I've already mentioned. 
  2. No one talks to anyone on the Metro.  It's sorta sad. There we all were just staring off into space. No one made eye contact with any one.  No one smiled. When eye contact was made, it was quickly averted. I get the Big City mentality, but where does general human kindness and interaction come in?  
  3. If folks aren't just staring off into space, everyone has their faces in their phones.  They were emailing or Facebooking or texting which is a symptom of our society. I will admit it.  I did it too.  I think I'm going to make it my goal to NOT have my cell phone in my hand much these next two weeks ... heck! For the next parts of my life! You lose so much when you are skulking about others' lives and not living your own!
The Metro, with its crazy tunnels and colored lines, was certainly an adventure, and I loved the adventure.  But I am sure glad to be home with the crazy Frankfort traffic and curvy roads and hills and valleys and small town life. 

It's where I really belong.



This is a biggie for me.

I suspect it is for everyone.

The thing of it is, if I trust you enough to tell you the things closest to my heart, I sorta expect that you will do the same for me.

So, when you lie to me ... even fib a little ... omit all the details ... hide the truth from me ... you lose me, and I'm going to be honest here. You lose me for good.

I know, I know.  I am called to forgiveness.  I am called to show grace.

Thing of it is, that stuff is just plain hard. That trust has been broken. You couldn't find it in your heart to show me the common decency to be just plain honest with me. Straight up honest. I'm not sure what you want me to do with that now.

I will slap a smile on my face. I will attempt to be cordial (lets be honest here ... kindness isn't what I want to exude in these particular situations), but bring you back into my inner circle? Share that degree of closeness we once shared?

Nope. That's gone.  Maybe forever.

I've watched people I know and love journey through ugly breaches of trust. They've come out the other side better for it. Stronger.

I am in awe of that journey. I'm not sure why I find it such a struggle, but I do.

Monday, October 05, 2015


Things break.

That's how this world works.

Sadly, things don't break at convenient times.  That's also how the world works.

A friend and I had planned a trip to Washington, DC for last week.  So, of course, two days before I am to leave, my refrigerator decides to stage a coupe and leave me holding the bag. The bag full of spoiled food.

I don't even want to begin to calculate how much food I lost.  If I attempt it, there will be crying involved.  I promise you that.

After discussing in-depth with the appliance place, what we were going to do with this little sticky wicket, it was decided that nothing would be done to the dang thing until after I got back. This furthered my foul mood.  To avoid an electrical fire or a super high electrical bill, I unplugged the thing and gave it the middle finger on my way out the door.

Then Tropical Storm Joaquin started stirring.  I really didn't think anything of it because in my little neck of the woods, tropical storms don't really phase me.

Only, we were driving into what would become Joaquin's neck of the woods.

At the same time, Joaquin was growing from a tropical storm to a hurricane, a nor'easter started forming.

I've heard of nor'easters.  I have friends who live in the Northeast.  They have infamous stories of nor'easters.  It usually involves snow.  Didn't really think about the whole rain factor ... or that I was now heading toward the Eastern Seaboard.

Y'all.  It rained the entire time I was gone.  THE. ENTIRE. TIME.  I am counting Wednesday as a rain day as well because even though actual rain never fell from the sky, the atmosphere was so heavy, I was drenched as if I'd been standing out in the rain.  There wasn't any glistening about it, ladies and gentlemen.  I was a sweating fool!

I am home now.  The skies are blue, and the sun is shining. The refrigerator is working once again ... for now (we're taking a wait and see stance ... don't even get me started).  Balance seems to have been restored.

It feels like I can finally sit back, close my eyes, and truly relax.  I am ready for a nice, calm remainder of this break.