Snow Day

Check out this snow, guys! This is from Thursday after work, and it's been snowing off and on since. Cars are covered in snow, people are skiing around town; it really is a... dare I say it, snowpocalypse?? Okay I fucking hate the term "snowpocalypse" because everyone uses it every time it snows anywhere, even in places where it's supposed to snow in the winter, but in Portland the whole city shuts down when it snows.

Unfortunately, for whatever hellish reason, I broke out in really bad hives right after I took this picture. So now I'm laid up at home, itchy and bright red and kinda miserable. I'm comforted by the fact that I probably wouldn't be out doing anything in this snow anyway, but I'd like the option. I wish there was some way to know what the fuck these hives are all about. Every doctor and allergist I go to says something different. Two doctors have been convinced it's a food allergy, one allergist says it's probably a viral infection, but the third doctor thinks it's definitely not. For now I'm not eating any berries, chocolate, or artificial food coloring, because I ate all three of those on Thursday and apparently they're common causes of hives, and the doctor told me not to. And I'm taking so many steroids I might Hulk out at any moment and run screaming about town, clothes torn asunder.

I think I could write a full novel just about how much I hate these hives and wish they would fuck off forever and die, but that would be entertaining for no one! I have been thinking about writing a lot though, since I joined the writing group. We're going to try to put together an anthology of short stories about "coming to Portland", with a sort of existential theme? I really want to write something for it, but I can't come up with anything that would make a good story. Writing about myself seems narcissistic (said the blogger), especially if it turns out to be an unbearably boring story. Plus my experiences seem so cliche and uninteresting. Oh, I broke up with my boyfriend and moved away, so exciting! I was unemployed for a bit and went on some dates later, wow! Portland is great and moving here made me happy! All of these are things that could, and have, happened to someone else. How do I write something engaging and meaningful that's true to who I am, but not affected and pretentious? And most of all, something that hasn't been done before?

I've always had such a hard time writing short stories. With novels you can let the words run a little bit wild. But with short stories, every sentence needs to work for its keep. And it's so easy to let plot or character take the center stage, letting the other fall into the background. Balance is hard. I was never good at writing short stories, but it's something I want to get better at. Maybe I just need to start writing with no plan in mind and see where that takes me. I don't know how else to begin at this point! What would you do?

Now I think it's time to drag myself out of the Pit of Sadness (my room), take a very lukewarm shower, and stop being such a giant sad sack.

Video Game Music

I talk about this a lot, but oh well. Have another post about video games and/or their music.

Last night I was having a serious bout of nostalgia over video game music. Some people say smells bring back the strongest memories, but for me it's always been music. I used to listen to Enya while falling asleep after my dad would read Lord of the Rings to me every night, and so I've always associated Enya's Shepherd Moons with those books. I always listen to music when I read, so I have a very long list of books that go with specific albums or songs.

But when I associate music with a specific period in my life, that evokes such strong emotion that I feel like I'm almost traveling back in time, feeling the exact emotions I felt when I was listening to a certain song or artist, months or years in the past. Florence + the Machine's Ceremonials will always bring me back to London, riding the bus on dark rainy nights, watching the blurred lights of the city pass me by as I lean against the fogged-up windows.

When I listen to music from video games, though, it's powerful in a different sense. It's bringing me back, not to a time or place in my own life, but in another world altogether. I've never been a realist, and I much prefer escaping into fantasy worlds to doing whatever it is other people do (read crime novels? Eat cereal? I don't know). Video games are so important to me in that respect. They're not a waste of time or a distraction, as many people would see them. Last year while I was in Utah, I was trying to figure out what I could do to make myself happier, so I made this thing Greg suggested -- a value map. I had to write down my most important life values, and then gauge how my life was staying true to those values. One of mine was "escapism". It's a term with negative connotations, but it's always been of incredible importance to me. Ever since I was a kid, my dad and I escaped into magical worlds together. We both longed so much to eat at the tables of Rivendell, to lie on our backs in the grass of the Shire and gaze up into the sun-dappled trees. We ached to open up a wardrobe and find ourselves in Narnia. It was such a huge part of my childhood, and I wouldn't be who I am today without that desire to go somewhere new, and magical, and full of adventure.

I never stopped yearning for those worlds. When I started playing WoW it was for a boyfriend, but I hadn't expected to be so drawn to that world. It was beautiful. There were skies with northern lights that you would never see on this earth, mountains that disappeared into the clouds, fjords guarded by dragons, islands that drifted in the sky. Sometimes it took my breath away. It felt like I was really there, in that world, a world that would never exist in this reality. And there was always music. 

It's silly, but I remember the day the Wrath of the Lich King expansion came out, and I boarded the zeppelin that would take me from Orgrimmar to the Howling Fjord. That music, the music you can only hear on the zeppelin for some tragic reason, made me cry. Which was the first in a series of Meg-crying-in-Northrend moments, but as silly as it sounds, it really meant something to me. And it still does.

So when I listen to music from a video game that I love, it not only reminds me of the fun I had playing that game, but it brings me fully into the world again. Listening to music from Fable II takes me to the shores of a lake, gazing across dark water to the distant lights of the city, and above them, Fairfax Castle. Last night I spent a long time listening to music from games I used to play ages ago on the N64, and was instantly in those worlds again. It's comforting being able to get so close to reliving past moments that way, if sad in its own way. But you know me. I love a bit of melancholy.

And if you're really bored, here are some of my favorite songs from video games.

That song on the Northrend zeppelin:

Bower Lake, from Fable 2:

People have been known to say that video games aren't art, but I can't see how one could possibly think that. Just look at the music, guys. I could listen to video game music all day every day and be happy. It's some of the most beautiful music I've come across. Not to mention amazing concept art, as showcased above, from Fable and World of Warcraft.

And okay I've never actually played Skyrim (I know I know, shame), but you should really check out this arrangement of the theme. It's incredible. You're welcome.

Happy & Home

I've been thinking about my home and how much I love it. I haven't really loved my home this much since I lived in Portland last. Which I guess says something about Portland. Maybe everywhere feels like home here, because this city feels so much like home. Either way, I revel in my own room, decorated the way I want, shared with my little dog and way too many DVDs (I have no other bookshelves you guys it's a sad state of storage affairs).

Today I got up at 9:45 on my own, which is insanely early for me on a weekend, and spent the day getting things done. I didn't go out at first because I've been feeling under the weather -- strep throat, hurray? -- but I baked brownies, trimmed Lyall's toenails, did two loads of laundry, took Lyall for a walk, helped Louise organize the shed out back, and joined her on a Fred Meyer mission to gather ingredients for these bad boys. Then we went out for fish & chips with her boyfriend, and here I am now, snug in bed with clean sheets and clean pajamas, totally content.

I haven't felt this at home in a long time. I know I bang on about it all the time, but Portland is it for me. I'm not going anywhere. I've only lived here for what amounts to about... well, a little less than two years total, but it feels like forever. I love it so fucking much. And good friends can make any place feel like home.

I've joined a new writers group, which is really exciting as well. I've only been to one meeting so far, but it seems like it'll be really fun, and a good way to meet other writers in Portland. Plus it seems like a lot of the writers lean toward scifi/fantasy, so I'll fit in nicely. I'm hoping to get some feedback on my novel, which I want to revise a bit more and start shopping around again. I'm so excited to start writing again, and talk about writing, and read other writers' work. I'm just excited about LIFE YOU GUYS. Because Salt Lake City was the actual worst, and I thank god every damn day that I'm not in that horrible place anymore. 

I also thank god for the following:

1. Modern medicine. Oh my god modern medicine yes. I had strep throat but now it's almost completely gone! Because pills! And I feel amazing!
2. Health insurance. Oh my gaawwwd health insurance you guys, is like Christmas every day when you have a boatload of weird health problems like I do! Went to urgent care and didn't pay a thing. And my employer pays for my health insurance completely because I have the greatest job of all time. Which brings me to...
3. My jorb. I love it. I get to edit grammar and spelling and punctuation all day because I'm a copy editor of sorts and it is grand. I work downtown and I can get lunch with Rose and I take the bus every day and I just can't get over how awesome it is!
4. My dog. Lyall makes me laugh, keeps me on my toes, loves me unconditionally, and gives me an excuse to take walks in the gorgeous late afternoon sun. Also he is a cuddly heater on cold winter nights. He's everything.
5. Louise. She is the greatest housemate. She is the greatest house/roommate I think I have ever had, and it's amazing! She brought me tea the other night when I was a sack o' sick. And she bought me caffeine free Diet Coke one night when I wanted a Coke but it was near my bedtime. She's the best okay.
6. EVERYTHING ELSE BECAUSE MY LIFE IS AWESOME. This list could very well go on forever and ever okay so I'm just gonna calm down and stop now.

So yup, life is good. Life is tremendously good. I am home, and I am happy.

Fuck Yeah 2014

It's almost 2014, guys! Hurray! When you read this it will almost certainly already be 2014. And that is a good thing.

2013 wasn't my best year. It was, for the most part, a barren stretch of time in which I went to work, came home, felt sorry for myself, went to bed, woke up, you get it. And that was rough. It was easy and it was a routine, but I was so unhappy that I don't even know who I was for that six plus months or so, after I came down from the high of being in the same country as Greg again. I was so, so unhappy in Utah. What an awful part of my life. Important, and probably necessary in some things-happen-for-a-reason sort of way, but I'm so glad it's over.

The stupid part is that I don't think I would have realized how unhappy I was, or how much I wanted to leave, unless Greg hadn't told me himself that he had planned to break up with me over some major future life plans he'd casually made without me, but thought he'd let me make that decision myself. And it took being told finally, after five and a half years of him dodging any discussion of the topic, that my partner hadn't thought about marriage at all, to realize that I needed to go back to Portland. I had this completely skewed idea of what my life and my relationship were like, or what they were going to be like, and I was just waiting for something that would never happen. So I decided to leave, because I was depressed and lonely and stifled, and if he liked it then he should've put a fucking ring on it.

Thank god he didn't, though.

It's almost 2014 and I'm in an honest mood. More honest than usual, which is a lot. But I take pride in the fact that I don't sugar coat things on my blog, or anywhere for that matter. It's probably a turn-off to a lot of people, and it leaves me more vulnerable than I might otherwise be, but I don't know how to close myself off. I kind of wish I did, to be honest. Sometimes.

I'm looking forward to 2014 because it will be devoid of Utah, completely. It will be whatever I want to make of it, and that is amazing. I have two comic cons planned, I'm saving up for my next tattoo -- holy shit I can get whatever tattoos I want now, it's like I'm in charge of my own body or something omg -- and hopefully I'll do something worthwhile with my writing.

The idea of a clean slate is just the most appealing thing in the world to me right now. I'm tired of all the loss, the grief, the loneliness. I'm so much happier and more alive now than I was only a few months ago, and I'm ready for my breakup to not be a huge part of my current identity. How about I just focus on being awesome.

Fuck exes, fuck Utah, fuck self-pity. Fuck yes, 2014!

8 Minutes Idle

Tom Hughes has cheekbones. (via)

All right everyone! I'm plugging a thing. Get ready. It's a good thing I promise.

So as most of you know, I was sort of recently living in London, doing an MA program in Creative Writing at Brunel Uni. For my dissertation I got to work with Matt Thorne, one of the instructors of the Novel Writing program, whose book Eight Minutes Idle was being adapted to film at the time. Matt co-wrote the screenplay, and when the film was finished he invited Lucy and me to a screening in Soho. I absolutely loved it; it had a distinctly British indie feel, whatever that means to you, and was sweet and quirky without being twee. You would like it. Also it's about people who work in a call center, and you know everyone has had that one shitty call center job!

After the screening I kept sending Matt nagging emails, asking him when the film would be released, why he hadn't written a sequel yet, etc., and he said they had yet to find a distributor. Well they eventually found one, only the distributor promptly went bankrupt before the film could be released. Sad trombone.

Now the important bit! 8 Minutes Idle has now turned to Kickstarter, where they are trying to raise £20,000 to bring the film to cinemas. You can read more at the Guardian, and their Kickstarter page is here. Also check out IMDb for a plot summary and stuff.

So far they've raised quite a lot (£16,930), but I thought I would boost the signal here on my blog because it's a really great film, and I want it to get its ass to cinemas so I can force everyone I know in the UK to go and see it! I know a lot of my readers are in the US, and may not be able to see the film for some time after its hopeful release date of Valentine's Day 2014, but it's a project worth supporting! Not least of all because Matt helped me write my horrible rambling novel, and his awesome movie really deserves to be seen by the public.

SO BACK THIS THANG. 

There are only 9 days to go, so even if you don't contribute, boost the signal!

Also look at Tom Hughes and those cheekbones, guys. Those cheekbones have got to be worth $8 at least.

Grief

I've been so busy and so distracted lately that I forgot to grieve.

Not that I thought I was over Greg. Though I'm not sure how you define being "over" someone. Are you over him when you no longer want to fall asleep in his arms every night? Or are you over him when the vaguest thought of him doesn't make you want to cry? Maybe you're truly over him when you don't think of him at all.

I'm none of those things sometimes, and at other times I am more than one. I've found it has nothing to do with the time of day, or the music I'm listening to, or how much sleep I got the night before. It just happens, and one moment I'll be at work sipping 7-Eleven coffee, the next minute I'm holding back tears. And there are, maybe, entire days that pass where I don't have a single conscious thought of him.

Perhaps there's not a set definition for getting over someone. You just move on with your life, and as the days slip by, the memories soften and blur. They begin to hurt less. And soon enough, they hardly come at all. There is no line to cross, no moment of being over him. Just like there is no moment of falling in love, or out of it. It's a feeling that builds, is cultivated, and then fades away. For me, anyway. Even when I was hurt by the person I loved, I didn't fall out of love with him in an instant. I didn't suddenly snap out of that reality and into one where my heart wasn't his entirely. 

So I guess I'll never really know exactly when I'm over Greg. There won't be a flash or a moment of clarity. I suppose I'll be minding my own business, doing my own thing, and I'll think of Greg and think -- he doesn't matter now. The feelings will be gone, and I'll realize that I haven't thought of him in weeks or maybe months, and... it will be okay. I'll be happy, and I won't mind. I'll have moved on.

Part of me wants that day to come quickly, but it's a small part. Most of me wants to hold on to these feelings and memories that are still important. That are still raw, and rough, and tender. Five and a half years with someone is a long time. Almost a fifth of my life. It meant so much to me, and it was so happy for so long that I can't bear the thought of it ever not hurting a little, to think about. I can't bear the idea that Greg won't always evoke a physical pain, however small, when I think of him.

But I can't hold onto it forever. And I guess, objectively, I don't want to.

There have been so many distractions. Moving, and new jobs, and dates, and new boys, and becoming overwhelmed with new boys, and withdrawing, and friends who need me, and friends who I need. I haven't had much of a chance to be with myself and grieve.

But here I am now, and I feel like life is finally starting to slow down. Not too much, but just enough for me to breathe. So I think about Greg more and more, because the memories don't hurt as much as they did. They squeeze but they don't pinch, so I let myself remember and cry. It feels so good to cry. It feels so, so good. 

I miss him so much. I will never have anything but love for him, and fondness, but it was time to move on. So we did. And now I get to grieve.

Gratitude

I'm not sure how many times I can say it before it becomes completely annoying and even nonsensical, but. I'm gonna say it again. I am so glad I'm back in Portland. So. Fucking. Glad.

Sometimes I think about the alternate universe that split off from this one when I decided to break up with Greg and leave Utah behind. There's a Meg living in that universe, still in Utah, probably still unhappy and lost and alone and wondering if things are ever going to get better. She may be more comfortable than I am at present -- both financially, emotionally, and psychologically -- but I would never trade my universe for hers. Not for anything. 

There are moments when I'm brought vividly back to what my headspace was like in Utah. Thinking I would never, ever again get to live in Portland. That I'd never live in the same city as my best friends again. That I'd never get to feel quite as at home as I do in Portland. And then I come back to the present, and here I am, back home, and it feels so incredibly good. Every day after work when I come through that tunnel and see downtown all lit up, I am so goddamn grateful. And driving to work, I look at the big, ridiculous Portland, Oregon sign facing the Burnside bridge and I feel more excited about life than I ever did in Utah.

Yeah, there have been a lot of shit moments in the past two months. Countless ones. I cry all the time, I feel lonely and sad and anxious at least once every day. But I'm experiencing life, not just letting it happen around me, and that is infinitely better than settling into a rut. I remind myself every day that the rest of my life is what I make of it, that I'm in my favorite city in the world, and that no matter what happens, I am living.

And shit, I get to meet good friends for Thai after work and drive through the rain and read fanfic as much as I want and make plans to see Thor: The Dark World with the people I love most in the world. If that isn't something to be grateful for, I don't know what is.

I'm so, so fucking grateful. For everything.