Cockpit

I'm in Atlanta and have been sleeping all day. Last night, I woke myself up coughing my head off and couldn't stop. I was so embarrassed to wake my host up that I initially declined the offer for cough-drops, taking a good size swig of nyquil and willing the coughing to stop. I could feel the sick-girl pathetics wanting to come out, the desire to be held and have my head stroked.. but alas, there are no lovers anywhere near and there wont be for god knows how long. Or mothers. Lovers or mothers. None the less, after holding back more coughs I decided those hall's drops sounded like a great idea, and fell asleep after just one. Thanks, J.

Right now, I'm just enjoying hiding out at someone's house and napping and being lazy. He gave me a key so I could come and go as I like, but I've just stayed right here on this couch, reading, writing and napping. And plotting my next moves. Unfortunately, I don't have many shoots here in Atlanta, but at the same time, I don't really mind. I don't mind not shooting massively, just as long as I have enough to keep me going. I've been meeting great people and getting into some sort of rhythm. Making friends and I believe the second loop around will be better than the first. Maybe that's the point of this trip- just finding myself and doing what I need to do to settle into my own skin. Which is working out fabulously, by the way.

I find it interesting, how the rumors fly about. About me, about other people. But I don't blame anyone, and think us girls, we should stick together. I don't hate anyone, I actually adore most everyone I know and know of and have a lot of love, I swear. I hate when bitches hate eachother, and I've always been of the mind set to be friends with everyone. Maybe because I wasn't treated very well through school.

It's interesting how we all want to go back and say this and that about our upbringing. I moved around a lot, and have never lived in one spot longer than five years, and average out on three or four years. I've moved, God, half a dozen times in the last two years, maybe more. Every time with the intention of downsizing to prepare myself for what I'm doing right now. I love it. That I'm actually doing it. And my life is so much better. So far. Knock on wood.

The above photo is taken from the airplane flying from Raleigh to Orlando. I love flying. My grandfather has a small Cessna from the 70's and I've been flying since I was two, and never get sick of looking out the window. The clouds are beautiful, the world is beautiful, and I think you really see it when you're up in the air. I get all excited, but this time I have no one to share it with.

I miss my sister. She's in Hong Kong now, so I can't call her anymore, and it's killing me already.

Upon boarding the plane (I've only flown commercially VERY few times, like twice.) I asked this girl if I could sit next to her, next to the window, and she smiled and said yes. She was pretty and reminded me somewhat of Rachael but sure as shit, she wasn't anything like Rachael, she was a fucking cunt. I didn't realize until I saw she had an iphone and I asked her if she had a charger, she said yes and I was like "Oh! Can I borrow it!?" and looked around quick for outlets, and saw there were none, "oh, no outlets."

Her mother curls her lip at me, "There are not outlets on planes," and they both look at me like I just puked on her daughters wedding dress.

"Oh. Well. There are on trains.." and later I felt like rambling off to the mouth, and wish I had, saying, well on Grandpa's plane there were cigarette lighters and if a small plane like that could have four of those, don't you think a huge boeing 787 has fuckin outlets somewhere on it?!? Maybe it was excessive for me to think it probable, but give it time, I bet there will be.

I spent the rest of the ride looking out the window and dreaming about what I will do with my life and what this stupid brat wont be doing, which is having my fun life. Her mother talks to her about a boy she met who has a girlfriend and they're sitting there chatting like they're friends and I end up feeling bad for both of them and their small brains.

Anyway, I'm rambling because I got my feeling hurt.

My point is, is that I'm the girl gawking out the window of airplanes. I also feel pretty cool that I sorta know what goes into landing a plane, and kick myself everytime I don't do things like ask to take a picture of the pilot in the cockpit.

cockpit. hah.

Meet Rachael

"okay so long storyshort." I can almost hear Rachael's tone of voice, perhaps a hairflip and definately bumming a cigarette from me if we were actually hanging out, she continues her story over IM, "the man of my dreams whom i met once in my life and is a luetenitnt in afgan just imed me and said goodmorning. ahhhhh"

haha, her new lovestory.

This is the start of a whole new thread to add to our ridiculous list of things to talk about, which we're really good at doing. You know, talking. We just sit and tell eachother everything, let loose, rant, ramble, rave. It's like having another sister, straight up, and I love it. There is no judgment, just pure sharing and venting.

I dont' know about you, but when I have a great friendship with someone (or lovers) I like to think of the very moment I met them, and every moment after that. I am, after all, a visual hoarder and obsessor.

Listen, this bitch is NOT someone I'd normally be friends with. She does her hair every day and takes two hours to get ready for school. She has a big ass and wears tight jeans with heals. You know, pink and

sparkles and shit. You know? Uggs, man. Uggs.

So.

I'm living in Utica, in this apartment that I really love. Green walls in the small living room, white in a small bedroom, red in a small kitchen, and a big beautiful white bathroom with a clawfoot tub. A big step u

p from my shit hole that I had before. This place had doors and a working shower and new appliances. It had a real lock on the door and real, nice working leak-free windows.

And my lease was up.

The apartment next door was free, but I didn't want to move, and it would be temporary, which was okay cause I wanted to leave anyway but I didn't want to give up my fucking clawfoot tub, dammit. So I just avoided my really awesome landlord and eventually it came that he had to move me next door and move the girl he promised could have mine in. Fuck. He brings her over and we sorta stressfully look at eachother and smile nice and I"m like god, this bitch is taking my home and I'm so not happy. Fuckin ugg wearing bitch. Look at her perfect hair. huff. But she was nice to me, and she just wanted her place and I didn't hate her I was just stressed.

But seriously, the apartment next door: WAY BETTER.

Three big rooms, one after another- railroad style. A partially wrap-around porch (second story!), bay windows in the front that got amazing light in the afternoon, hardwood floors, windows windows windows everywhere! Stainglass on the tops of the third room, in the back, where I put my bed on the floor and hung my canopy and the sun in the morning woke me up all warm and glowing through the colours of the floral glass. Small kitchen and bathroom and no tub but who cares! I traded a beautiful bathroom for a BRIGHT apartment, and I needed that desperately. I'm so sensitive to sun, you know? It makes me so much happier to be in the sunshine, let alone this beautiful apartment all to myself.

So shortly after she moves in, she invites me to smoke a blunt and we're like, BFF from then on. It was slow going at first but steady. We are terribly different, like could not be more different, but we're both open to being friends and we like eachother and we like talking and hanging out and that's what we do. We had cleaning days where we had "pow wow's" which consisted of sitting on the floor in my livingroom and chain smoking two or three cigarettes and unwinding before going back to cleaning. I think we pow-wow more than we clean.

We would do super girly things like curl eachother's hair different ways to see which looked best, I would braid her hair while watching a movie because she liked how it felt.. we'd paint our nails and talk about boys. It cannot get girlier hanging out with her.

But bitch'll fuck a bitch up, I swear. She ain't no siss, that's for sure.

It's nice to know that in all actuality, to connect and have a great relationship with someone, all it really takes is the willingness to make it work and the respect to communicate effectively.

And I wore her uggs constantly. They're super warm and comfortable. But shhh, don't tell anyone...

Meet AJ

Oh Mr. Blog.

You are my vanity.

My self-serving epicenter.

My therapist. My confidant.

I love when people read my e-journal. It's a diary that's meant to be read, and I love the whole concept. I've had a blog since I was 16, a paper journal since I could write. And all this is a way for me to feel bigger than I am or smaller than I am, to cast my web and keep you interested. I find people to be fascinating.

Anyway, lastnight I went out with this chick AJ and her boyfriend. And we looked smashing, let me tell you what. First, we're all very tall. Flat footed I'm 5'10'' and she's fuckin 6'3 whaaaat!! So I wear heals and she doesn't and now we're all about the same hight. Next, add tiny black dresses, cameras and cool places to go and you've got yourself one of my favorite things to do ever. Hello, impromptu photoshoot. Party pictures are my favorite, and now I have a panoramic olympus that allows me to crop the top and bottom and get this really great sort of picture. I found it for 2 bucks at the SPCA thriftstore in Charlottesville, VA. This shit is gold to me, though I don't get to use it like this very often. Must rapidly make more model friends. Oh, what a shame.

So, we were standing in line at Czar's in ybor City when I snap it open and start off. I feel uncomfortable without it, my little olympus. Bitches behind us talking shit without really talking shit and I just stay all happy in my bubble with AJ and Bryan, though definately took a moment to turn around and at least see what she was wearing, I made eye contact and smiled sweetly and she was wearing green marti gras beads, let alone half my hight. Nuf said.

Have you seen my ID picture? It's great.

We get inside and the music's going and I'm blazin ready to get my dance on but there's no one there! So I dance my heart out for a while next to the bar while we all take shots and beers like it's our birthday and AJ and I take more pictures of eachother.

I just want to be in love with life and I feel the sparkle. I'm ready to get out of Florida and my time is picking up nicely. I'm excited for my shoots coming up and meeting new people. I'm so going to go on some ghost story trail thing in New Orleans. All I think about of New Orleans is vampires in the French Quarter. My brain doesn't process much else other than Hurricane Katrina. So these two things means New Orleans has some shit to show my camera and I'm excited about that as well.

srsly how cool is that camera?!

'Ex Lover's 'Ex Lovers

Alright. So.

I have an announcement to make.

Attention, attention!

Read this blog

I stalk ex lover's ex lovers like it's my job.

She's one of em.

And I like her blog.

But hey, I like my ex's.

And their ex's.

For the most part.

ps- stop fucking deleting your posts, bitch.

Get Excited

Sometimes I look at my work or myself and I'm really terrified.

I look at my pictures and I say, "okay, okay, not bad... but a long way to go, Meagan".

And I sigh and I remind myself that- you have a huge jar half-full of undeveloped rolls of film.

Meagan, you have rolls and rolls unscanned.

You have rolls and rolls of colour to bring to CVS.

You have rolls and rolls to shoot, yet.

You will not die tomorrow.

You have plenty of time.

You see, I noticed the other day that a lot of people have to be reminded to "live life like you'll die tomorrow" more often and to let loose. Me? I'm the opposite, I need to be reminded that there's a good chance I WONT die tomorrow, and that the people I love and who love me, they'll be around. Hopefully. And even if they're not, there are more people to befriend, and life keeps moving, and everything just keeps going, so you go along, too, and stop worrying that your chance might be up because, dammit, you need to slow down and smell the fuckin flowers. Not that I don't, cause I smell flowers all the time. Though I don't like getting store-bought flowers. Damn, you know, I would rather get a couple rolls of 1600 neopan rather than flowers. I'd rather get photo shit always over everything, though particularly my family doesn't know this. How do they miss out on that so well?

Anyway, I am wandering from the point, though I don't think there is much of a point.

Sometimes, I admit, I look at my photos or I look in the mirror and I say "Damn girl, you fucking got it goin on, you are cool as shit, lookit you go, bitch!" and I'm excited. But that usually is somehow correlated with, I don't know, sunshine or chocolate or sex. You know, that whole unbalanced balance thing. Ahh, that's not true, shooting makes me excited, too. Cameras and guns. Oh! And motorcycles. And shopping. and and and...

(I waaaannnt.....)

aright aright, cvs time.

Unable

she lightly picked her way across the river bed,

as if she'd known these woods her whole life.

And even though that wasn't so,

there seemed no bed she wouldn't safely navigate.

So with my fingers clutching my n-eighty,

a shutter to satisfy my bewildering memory.

For though I used to be justly capable,

suddenly was found awe-struck and unable.

I need Therapy

It's eleven am and warmer outside than inside. It's March and I'm fantasizing about snow up in New York- last night, I actually had some waking dream that I was looking out my window at the snow slowly falling. But it is, indeed, March, and most likely it's not that cold out and there's just dirty melting snow and slush and wetness.

A year ago I was slicing open my heart with a box cutter and still, I'm not doing too much better. Falling in love with the wrong people at the wrong time, skirting by with barely my insanity in tact and I'm wondering what I'll do with my life, still.

Now that I'm "on the road" all I want to be doing is finding a new home, getting three lame ass minimum wage jobs and living alone with my cats who aren't my cats anymore. Now everything is more unsure, but I suppose that's the beauty of it, the unsurity is at least reliable. One day I'll be happily driving away from or to something with cash in my pocket and chin held high, the next broke with a busted car and an even more busted heart, burying my head in the sand and hoping it'll all go away.

Really, all I want is companionship and over and over I don't find it, though I'm teased for a couple days or a couple weeks, if I'm lucky. I'm forced to realize that I'm still a mess and I've still got a long way to go... Am I as ugly as I see myself? I fear I am.

The above photo is from my last Home, though it was barely that, at least I had my room all set up with my pictures all over the walls, my canopy above my shitty futon mattress on the floor. Cat hair everywhere but they loved me and I them ("and they loooved me lovin them.. and that's showbiz"). I would lay in bed hungover and sad and missing someone and curl up with my babies and curled around my body pillow in the silence and watch the trees outside my window, pissing away sunny afternoons like a lazy cat forbidden to be free.

I stopped reading. Perhaps I've just been too depressed to read, lost in my own thoughts and they never come out right on paper or keyboard, they just stick up in my head, rattling around driving me crazy (crazy? I was once crazy.. they locked me in a rubber room...).

I need therapy.

Tryin to get back into the blogging groove. Makes me feel someone is listening.