On Midnight: A Free Form Thought Free Write

There’s a mist on the wind as she crossed the street to the 7/11. She wondered why the streets smelled old on this deserted road and why the five dollar pad thai she ate earlier that afternoon still resided at the back of her tongue- a mix of coconut and forced pleasantries as she tried to explain her lack of shoes and her lack of direction. The shoes were easily explained. She had lost her shoes in a bet miles south near Tuscon. The bet was whether or not she could….

She wondered what it was like to be a ghost and then rationalized it might be slightly less lonely as ghosts at least get programs on the Discovery Channel and Destination America. What would it be like to be a ghost, hounded by the future that didn’t give a damn about the peace and tranquility of a past best left behind…? Theoretically incredibly unpleasant.

Chapter 1: The discovery of midnight

The thing about magic is that its most potent 3, maybe 4 times a day. Dawn, noon, dusk, and midnight. Transitional periods where light and time change are fixed points in which people change and react. It’s not really understood if people change in a response to the ebb and flow of time, or if time changes in response to the ebb and flow of people. It might be both. Who knows. Noon is the iffy one because the only thing that really changes are how people talk about it.

“It’s already noon!”

“Better start lunch, it’s noon”

“There’s so much I want to do this afternoon”

In reality, time is what you make of it so the transition from action to inaction is of little consequence. But what is of consequence is the shifting of midnight. People change at mi

From a young age (greek for dusk) wasn’t sure whether or not it was her mother that taught her that time was a transitional entity which controlled her magic, or if she was the one who molded time.

It’s possible it was both.


Memoirs of a Millennial Chapter 3: Mindfulness for the Anxious Millennial

I’d like to take a moment to talk about something that might sound a bit spiritually-wishy-washy to some people but is something that I legitimately has helped my own life and I think/know can help other people.

I’m going to talk about Mindfulness.

  1. 1.
    the quality or state of being conscious or aware of something.
    “their mindfulness of the wider cinematic tradition”
  2. 2.
    a mental state achieved by focusing one’s awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one’s feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations, used as a therapeutic technique.

Essentially, Mindfulness is about taking a fucking moment to breathe. Let’s face it. Right now we are all scared, anxious, and a little overwhelmed. And that’s OKAY! But what is even MORE okay is taking a minute to just relax. And not just a Netflix binge watching party relax, but to ACTUALLY be at ease with ourselves, our lives, and our time. That’s the hard one. I think think we all have a weird sense that we aren’t allowed to be that relaxed in our lives. Like, there’s always something we can be doing to be improving something. Why is it that when we find someone who is truly at peace with themselves we can’t help but throw a side eye and be like, “Really? There isn’t ANYTHING you could be doing right now? Bitch, please.” I also think that’s a lot of jealousy and envy. We envy those people. We wish we were that chill.

But here’s the secret that I’ve found in my ripe 23 years of over thinking. You don’t have to be that chill in order to be Mindful. You don’t have to just sit there and allow life to pass you by or you don’t have to be some, “feather in the wind.” You can still be assertive, powerful, and dominant WHILE being mindful. The mindfulness is just to help lower your blood pressure and make you even more aware at how boss you really are. 

The moment you accept that you are off your own path, that you are unhappy, that you are unfulfilled, is the moment you begin to heal and move forward. I think there’s a misconception that in order to be happy you have to force yourself to refuse certain truths in your life that you feel. Like it is shameful to admit that you are unhappy, or sad, or angry. So you suppress it and convince yourself that, “hey! it’s not that bad! It could be worse! Other people have it worse. Someone just dropped their toast. I didn’t drop my toast. ” Well, I think I’ve come to understand recently that it’s OKAY to admit to yourself that even though conceptually you know it’s ok and not the worst thing in the world if you drop your toast (RIP), you’re still bothered by the fact that you dropped your toast.

The problem lies in people who never move on or forget or take the time to miss their toast. It’s okay to be strong and tough, but it’s also okay to be emotional vulnerable because it gives you a chance to be strong and tough again. I’m not saying it’s cool to wallow in self pity or never-ever-never eat toast again ’cause that one time you were traumatized that your dropped it. I’m saying that it’s cool to feel disappointed and, “aw shucks” that you dropped your toast. But then be like, “ok cool I have more bread,” and make another slice.

It’s all about taking a second to actually acknowledge how you really feel and to be honest with yourself. Nobody else has to know. But at the very least, be honest and kind to yourself.

This goes for larger things in life as well. Like a job. A real life thing. Ok, so you have a job. You hate this job for whatever reason. You spend your time telling yourself, “I am grateful for this job, I am paid, these are the positive things about this job.” And that’s good! Being grateful is A+ life material. Optimism is hard and being grateful is too sometimes. But! You can be grateful for an opportunity and to realize it’s not the thing for you.

There’s a Taoist concept that I read in, “The Tao of Pooh” (AMAZING. Legit changed my life.) called, “The Block”. Essentially, if you are a square, there ain’t no way you can try to fit or change into a circle. You cannot change who you fundamentally are. If you feel out of place or that you don’t fit, you don’t have to try to change to fit there. This is the kind of nonsense that our 1st grade teachers taught us. I know. But as we grow up I think it’s important to realize who we actually are, and to not try to fit in some job or box that we obviously are uncomfortable in. We don’t operate well when we feel so uncomfortable. We aren’t as great as we could be.

In this job scenario, in this job you hate. It is okay to one day REALLY acknowledge the fact that you are unhappy. To actually take a second from being grateful to realize that, no, in fact, you are not happy. You are not balanced. You are not living your true potential. For the love of God, it is OKAY to be grateful for an opportunity or a job, but to realize it isn’t for you. When you realize that you are unhappy, it’s kinda incredible the release you feel because you can stop pretending and can take steps forward to finding a job you DO like. To becoming a person that you want to be. Mindfulness makes us take a second to be honest and to live in the moment enough to realize things as they are.  It is not bad that you hate your job. It is not good you hate your job. It just is. When you realize that, you can move forward! But it is up to you to move forward. Nobody else is going to do this for you.

You can transform yourself into whatever YOU want to be, because you are being true to your true nature. If you want to lose weight or pick up a habit or a skill, you are changing yourself under your own derision, and therefore are listening to your true self. You are paying attention to what makes you happy. And that is Mindful. 



I wake with the story of my life ringing in my ears, a dream barely forgotten, and a pulsating of anxious energy. It is raining again this January morning. The sun weakly smiles through clouds of intermittent thunderstorms relieving me of the damp that has settled into the soles of my feet. The rain is not lead. Yet for me it is not peace. It is a call to stillness and silence that weighs my restless mind to soil. I am anxious about the future. this endless rain does not soothe but rather ignites the desires that have rooted in me and pulls me up and forward with the knowledge that my physical body can only move so fast. It is exhausting.

I woke this morning dreaming of whales. I looked at a website and it contained such pointers as, “emotion, creativity, breath of life, compassion and solitude.” I am an emotional creature dependent on the encouragement and touch of others. solitude frightens me. yet I will not pretend that a breath of creativity has swept through my body like spring. I feel as I once did. I am listening to the style of song and the style of art that is simplistic at its base and exudes a melancholy joy and appreciation for the least expensive pleasures available. I say melancholy, but perhaps that isn’t quite right. It is a joy that is not forced, it is a realness of experience and attitude that is not dripping in excitement and money. But is has waves of a reality burdened by price tag and desperation for interaction. Desperation that clings beautifully to people.

I woke this morning with a need for air.

I woke this morning with a need to feel alive.

Memoirs of a Millenial Chapter 3: Don’t let go of what’s important

I’d be lying if my aspiration in this life is to inspire people. But I’d also be lying if I said that I want to live this life unnoticed.

You know what gets me? It’s that people have to do things, “ironically” for them to feel as if they are worth while.

Example, “ironically” liking anime. “Ironically” enjoying makeup or fashion. “Ironically” writing poetry. “Ironically” becoming an artist.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the fascination with irony is a defense mechanism to protect what is actually important to us. The greatest defense for passion is to pretend that that passion does not, in fact, exist. Yet the ignorance of this passion and the undermining of it’s importance does not make us untouchable Gods.

It makes us fools.

What is so wrong about giving a fuck about something? In 8 years I might look back at this whole blogging thing and think, “HA. Holy shit I was so pretentious what the fuck. What a whim of living in your 20s.”

But why does it have to be? Why should I have to anticipate feeling embarrassed with this whim of mine? Why is it that in order to actually feel something, we hide that real emotion under a thick, heavy, suppressive layer of sarcasm and cynicism and call it authenticity? That’s not authenticity. That’s cowardice. I may be a coward, hiding behind these “essays” I barely proof read which are riddled with cliches and wit. (Or so I hope it appears witty.) But, I don’t want to be.

You can’t let go of what’s important. Those things that make your skin crawl and your heart beat and make you feel like sin- those things that make you  lust for life and for people.

I think, once you’ve allowed yourself to feel that passion, it might be time to find something to be truly passionate about.



Memoirs of a Millennial: Chapter 2, Deep in a Coffee Shop


I’d like you to know that I am writing this blog post while being a stereotype in a coffee shop. It’s raining outside. It’s early December. The wind is chilly as the rain clings to my eyelashes and seeps into my socks, giving the unpleasant feeling of constantly sloshing through a puddle and because I am me, I am constantly tripping. (It was a mistake to wear leather shoes today.) I got off of work early and decided to work a little bit on pursuing my dreams of being a writer. I decided to pursue this dream while sitting in a coffee shop. Sipping my latte. Waiting to approach and be approached by any of the men that are here. I wrote a short poem about this whole dating thing, I think it’s pretty profound:


that is the question

for in this free style poem

lazily disguised as a sonnet

or literally any other type of poem

we will discuss

tinder, bumble, and okcupid.

The stress of the swipe

and the stress of the “match”

is undermined only by the horror

of having no “matches” at all.

I am in a relationship with the possibility of a relationship

which is a sad and slightly over dramatic way...

of saying I’m single asf


Isn’t it weird that coffee shops are analogous to mating holes in the wild? Think about this for a second. Here we are, all high and mighty about our thumbs and shit when in reality, we have grounds that we go to find mates. For sex and for lifetime partners.

I’ve thought about this a little bit. Bars are for sex, coffee shops are for long lasting monogamous relationships. (not that I’ve had luck in either but hey that’s not the point. SOME people do.) I’d like to know if there’s a baller out there that goes to a coffee shop and walks out with a one night stand… if there is and they read this post, please by all means hit me up. You sound dope and we could be friends till the end of the end of the end (that’s forever).

(This was a Sponge bob reference by the way and if you got that then by all means you should hit me up, too.)

Anyway. So I’m here pretending to write something worth while that will change your life and will make you think of me, and of life, as something  deeper than either actually are. Life ultimately is a lens that is viewed by you and in which this lens is your reality. Life is not deep, what is deep is you. 

I read a poem or two the other day. Lemme tell ya. It was intense. I actually felt real emotion. Not stale sarcasm. ACTUAL emotion about ACTUAL THINGSs. incredible, I know. I want to let you know that I have a super deep insight into the state of our reality of being hyper sensitive, egotistically, lonely nimrods. But I really don’t have one.

I’m just sitting in a coffee shop, writing about it, just like everyone else. Hoping to be noticed. 

Memoirs of a Millennial: Chapter 1

The Introduction: A Year and a Half Out of College. The Awakening


I am a Millennial.

Just so you know, I don’t plan these collections of essays or whatever to be some sort of biting rhetoric discussing the socio economic and emotional standpoints of people within my generation. I’m pretty sure that’s been done somewhere. I don’t expect or plan to really have any sort of anything, “New” or, “Fresh” to tell you.

I’m a Millennial, and I’m just trying to figure out who the fuck I am.


I’m 23 at the start of this whole shebang. I graduated college about a year an half ago with a degree in Historic Preservation. I liked it, but the big thing here is that I decided to be an idiot and follow passions and get a degree related to  history. Rather than computer science. Which would’a been smart.

I’m employed tho, yo. I’s gots meeself a couple of different gigs over the past year an a half. I interned for a museum so as soon as I graduated my old boss lickity split called me up and was like, “You want that job that you need a degree for which was basically your internship but more money and better title?”

I said, “Ye.”

So! I’ve been there. I’m a “Special Assistant” to a curator. I call myself an Assistant Curator because that isn’t a lie, and it also sounds better for when I’m trying to talk myself up to boys and employers. This is how I imagine that conversation going.

Boys in my imagination:

“Hey so what do you do?”

“Oh, you know,” I say tucking my hair behind my ears, “I’m an assistant curator. I work with incoming collections in order to write research and write reports and catalogue some incredibly moving, and poignant artifacts.”

“Oh snap,” he says getting flustered, “That’s so hot. Can I get your number?”

Boys in real life:

“Hey so what do you do?”

“Oh, you know,” I say tucking my hair behind my ears, “I’m an assistant curator. I work with incoming collections in order to write research and write reports and catalogue some incredibly moving, and poignant artifacts.”

“Oh. Cool.” He goes back to his drink.

I’d do the same with employers, but it’s essentially the same scenario except for instead of being all hot and bothered and wanting my number, they give me a job. Which, if we’re super honest, is kinda a better fantasy.

So, essentially, I was rolling in this post grad lifestyle alright. I had a (part time) job at a museum, I was in my field, I was gold. Living at home, but gold. So November 2k15 rolls around and around that time I was going through one of many, “What the fuck am I doing?!” panics. These panics usually tend to last a few days, and are usually emotionally draining as all get out. I am not unique in these panics, but it’s always unique when it’s you. See, I have this thing about not wanting to waste time in my life. Real talk? One of my biggest fears is to be be 40, and utterly and completely disappointed in my life. I’m intimidated, overwhelmed, and excited about how much life has to offer. I want to suck up as much as I possibly can before I’m old. So, in this effort, I decided to start thinking about teaching English abroad.

Now, this sounds like a super cool plan. I could be one of those token white girls who went and had a huge, life changing experience overseas. Plus, I’d get to travel for a year and get paid for it. Like it sounds like a solid plan.


Where do you draw the line between running from your actual life goals, and experiencing pleasure and adventure?

I couldn’t decide. But, I decided to enroll in a teaching program that would, after a 6 month or so period, hand me a TEFL certificate saying I was qualified to teach English globally. I liked the class. It was online, I did it while working, I felt full filled. I ended up doing my practicum at a local community college. This happened Jan 2k16.  I brag about this bit all the time. I was less than a year out of school and I was teaching college to kids my age. I have stories from this time, but I’m trying to give you all context to who I am as a person first so bear with me.

So I get this certificate, right? I’m even qualified to teach business english and young kids. And then I start questioning if I really wanna teach English, just even as a year long gig.

Which I’m still messing with like how many months later, by the way.

So, by this time it is spring of 2016. April, I believe. Good month. ( I guess?) Essentially through my boss at the museum I score a second part time job as a receptionist at a gated old people community. Sorry, “active living” community. Essentially they all had their own houses but didn’t want any kids, or their neighbors kids, ruining their golden years. (Whatever.)

Not gonna lie, it was the easiest yet most frustrating job I’ve ever had. Easy cause I worked evenings and nights so I was essentially paid to chill at the front desk for 6 hours. It was frustrating as all get out because some of these old people were THE ABSOLUTE WORST.


I’ve never had so many crusty old people whine about where they were going to sit at a picnic IN MY LIFE. Or how someone’s dog crapped on their lawn. The rumors were true! I swear to whatever deity you worship people.

It goes something like this:

“Meg. I know there is nothing you can do about this, but there is a dog… on the nature trail… and their owner… their owner just lets them poop! EVERYWHERE. They just leave it! Can you believe it?! THEY JUST LEAVE IT.”

I left that job at the end of September and I’ll tell you what it feels like an eternity since i’ve been there and to be frank, that is a-ok.

Quit that job because a restoration/admin job landed full frontal in front of me. So I took it. I’ve been spending the past- sheesh has it been almost 2 months now? Driving up to Alexandria a couple times a week to a Gilding shop.

For those who don’t know, and I’m not making fun, it’s essentially taking frames and other decorative things and applying gold leaf to them.

So I’m learning how to do that as well as taking care of the antique shop out front, and keeping inventory, the books, bills, etc. I’ll be real, I’m still working the museum gig so when it rolls round to the shop time, I forget things. And I feel REALLY bad about it. I hate asking for help at work, guys. I really do.

It’s the end of November, now. And this is where I’m at. 23, vaguely confused, and fundamentally, a millennial.

I’ll be back.

Roses…why the romance?


Right! So roses. A quick study in pink. I would agree. Roses are pretty dang spectacular. But you gotta ask yourself… out of ALL the flowers EVER, why are roses so heavily coveted as a romantic flower? Sure, you gave your girlfriends roses in school on valentines day to make up for the absence thereof, but still- they heavily exude this kind of power over people and society. But why?

Let’s research this, shall we? Let’s take a brief cruise through history to get a basic answer.

So, from what I gather, it is entirely possible that the rose originated from Asia around 70 million years ago. Through trade and general displacement of seed and flower, the rose made it’s way over Asia through central Asia and Europe. There is general disagreement in the scholastic world over how roses ended up in the Americas, but that discussion can wait for a different time. What interests me, and hopefully you, is the symbology of the rose and why it is a form of symbolic and metaphorical fixation within our current society.

Let’s start off with the obvious. The general form of the rose is incredibly reminiscent of the female form. Soft, petaled, tons of layers. In the Roman empire the rose was associated with the goddess Venus which was then adopted by the Christians to represent the Virgin Mary and was then eventually used in rosaries. In the Middle East, especially seen in Iran, roses became an internal part of geometric  gardens. In Europe, the rose became the national flower of England after it’s civil war. (The Wars of the Roses, circa 15 century.) When the flower made its way to the Americas, it interbred with the surrounding species and developed new variations. These have been adopted as many state’s flowers.

Ok that’s settled. But what about the color theory?

RedLove, Beauty, Courage and Respect, Romantic Love, Congratulations, “I Love You”, “Job Well Done”, Sincere Love, Respect, Courage & Passion Red (Dark)Unconscious beautyRed (Single)“I Love You”Deep BurgundyUnconscious BeautyWhitePurity, Innocence, Silence, Secrecy, Reverence, Humility, Youthfulness, “I am worthy of you”, Heavenly White (Bridal)Happy lovePinkAppreciation, “Thank you”, Grace, Perfect Happiness, Admiration, Gentleness, “Please Believe Me”Dark PinkAppreciation, Gratitude, “Thank You”Light PinkAdmiration, Sympathy, Gentleness, Grace, Gladness, Joy, SweetnessYellowJoy, Gladness, Friendship, Delight, Promise of a new beginning, Welcome Back, Remember Me,  Jealousy, “I care”Yellow with Red TipFriendship, Falling in LoveOrangeDesire, EnthusiasmRed and White Given together, these signify unityRed and YellowJovial and Happy FeelingsPeachAppreciation, Closing the deal, Let’s get together, Sincerity, GratitudePale PeachModestyCoralDesireLavenderLove at first sight, EnchantmentOrangeEnthusiasm, Desire, FascinationBlack *Death, FarewellBlue *The unattainable, the impossibleSingle – any colorSimplicity, GratitudeRed RosebudSymbolic of purity and lovelinessWhite RosebudSymbolic of girlhoodThorn-less Rose“Love at first sight”

Roses by the Numbers

  • A single rose of any color depicts utmost devotion
  • Two roses entwined together communicate “Marry me”
  • Six Roses signify a need to be loved or cherished
  • Eleven roses assure the recipient they are truly and deeply loved
  • Thirteen roses indicate a secret admirer 

I got this from rkdn.org, by the way.

My question, though, is how on earth did flowers somehow get their own language? Who made up that red roses are love and blue roses (not that I’ve actually ever seen one) means the unattainable? Lucky for you all, I found an answer.

It’s all thanks to the Middle Ages and those Victorians. As a brief recap of the Victorian era. We got Queen Victoria whose reign lasted from 1837-1901. This era is in direct response to the Enlightenment period, which was all about reason and fact. So the Victorian era swoops in and we got romance. We got industrial revolution. We got deforestation of countryside and mass influx into cities. Essentially back in the ye olde day of the Middle Ages, people attributed different “magical” qualities to herbs and plants which they in turn used for medicine. It kind of snowballed from there so giving certain plants became equivalent to trying to project a certain emotion or feeling. So when the Victorian Era rolled around, Queen Victoria thought that it was of upmost importance that gentlemen knew the, “language of flowers,” or to know what different flowers and plants represent.

For a more complete look at what different plants meant in the Middle Ages, check out this link.

So, in a SUPER condesned form that covers centuries of history, religion, social and political movement and academic ideologies; roses were a religious symbol from the Roman Empire espousing the beauty of the Goddess Venus which was then adopted over the globe as symbols of power and beauty. Coupled with the Middle Ages pattern of attributing meaning and purpose to plants, the Victorians cemented the importance of the, “language of flowers,” among the upper class which has permeated time and social custom to this day.

And THAT, my friends, is why you give red roses to your Valentine.

These are the links I used to form my analysis- take a look!