I might be wrong, but I promise it’s in all the right ways.

Increasing in popularity the question amongst friends and acquaintances familiar with this web address goes a little something like this, “So Meg do you ever get worried about what you write? You know like using people’s names and real life situations and all…?”

Answer is simple kiddies: No. Because if I didn’t feel correct about allowing it to be permanently established in cyberspace I wouldn’t allow myself that power to do so. I also have the luxury of not having a big girl real world time job: I care for people, who subsequently don’t care about me or what my free time entails.

This is me, this is raw, and this is real: hence why my name is the beginning of the web address, I’m not ashamed of things I share, some might be more intimate and informative than some would wish; specifically those involved, but it’s my blog, it’s my life, and it’s my story; if I wrote it according to everyone else then I’d have to change the Megan Sweeney portion of this story.

I’ve never apologized for who I am, and I’m not about to start; sure I could make up stories and skew details to fabricate reality in an attempt for a riveting story, but that’s not me – I’ve been lied to enough in life that truth holds its own dynamic of beauty when being professed. Sure all the pieces written are biased because they are strictly from my point of view…whose else would they be from? I do my best to paint the picture for my readers and let the words envelop their minds to the particular place and time being described. I involve readers to the degree in which I want to pull them in and have them be a fly on the wall, to see my sights, and experience the feeling that comes with it: I want to bring them there, because no matter how different our lives may be; there’s a circumstance in which you’ve already or will ‘be there’ in a sense. What’s written is life, and as uninteresting, enigmatic, lackluster, or brilliant it may be – it’s relatable, sure its fun to read a clever piece well thought out and edited to the utmost definition of the word – but then where’s the fiber of personality clashing with reality? I don’t have to make up things to write, because I think I’m living quite a noteworthy life already – I attempt every time I write to capture everything I can to take you there.

I’ve definitely received strong opinions towards certain pieces, I gladly welcome them, but I’m not changing them; I’ve had people wanting to be omitted from identity tying them to the words within the story – I can respect that and note when I do so. It’s never my intention to put anyone to shame, embarrassment, or a diminutive state: I hope that when my words are read they will hold the power to ignite a feeling for whoever happens to be reading them – I want them to jump off the screen and resonate within, aid in the conscious effort to open your lens a little and see the world through a separate perspective not thought of before, and maybe influence you to start your own story – it’s a beautiful and completely organic experience, the beauty lies in the simplicity of creating chapters and complexity of setting yourself free in the process; allowing yourself to become exactly who you were meant to be.

I adhere to one simple principle – always say what you need to, express yourself how you feel appropriate, necessary, and positively. Sending your thoughts and feelings out into the universe is far more powerful than selfishly holding onto them ‘wishing’ you would’ve said something. If its all laid out on the line – you can skip the step of having to worry about all the what if’s, and rest assured that you did everything on your part and its not in your hands anymore.

The Past Passes A Present To The Future

written July 19,2010

When seeing past experiences are you supposed to get a feeling, a motivation, a
moving motion that gives you a concern? Some do, some don’t and most deny. When
wandering down that crooked path of befriendment and breaking all ties, the
lines gray and smudge like a charcoal painting left by my open window on a rainy
fall day. Lines bleed into others, smudge to make them thicker, and sometimes
run to make them thinner; making it difficult to differentiate between where
your heart and head started believing and where your left feeling now. Theres
that sudden twinge in your gut when you see that person, telling you the
memories you have taken such intricate time erasing, you may tell yourself to
forget but your heart and body always remembers. Remembers those summer nights
that you spent beneath the stars moon and sun together, learning, living, and
loving together. Remembers the sweet words that fell off the lips of the other
between the two of you like sipping a sweet cup of tea, whispering phrases that
are written for movies and placed at the end of fairytales, and surprising you
with things that you could only dream of. But then as the silhouette begins to
approach your eyebrows go from a soft arch to a furrow, you remember the hurt
that came with those smiles, the twists of fate that ended the happy nights. The
truths that were hidden in the shadows of the lies you came to believe as
realities, and the words that were said that once left a sweet song in your head
now hold resentment and anger, a power in the words in which was never intended,
because the truth was never meant to be found. The truth was never supposed to
set itself free from the shadows of the lies, but it did, and now above the gut
feeling you hold when first seeing this figure, your memory kicks in, the heart
beats begin to slow; you fall back to reality, and another part of your heart
that you’ve closed off for safety crumbles a little when you remember why you
did what you had to do

A love note of sorts…

Dear Minneapolis,

I’m saying this because I love you. Fuck you.

I’d like to profess exactly the degree to which I love you…

Water Pressure: I would like to first and foremost say ‘hey thanks for the water’ because I know I could be without, I also know that given the pegging order, the man that lives above me is seeing more pressure than a bad call from a ref at the super bowl. I on the other hand have seen more pressure at little league games.

Water Heat: Thank you for being about as reliable as any ex boyfriend. You consistently show up when I’m almost done giving a rats ass, and dissapear when I need you most. I’m not demanding hot, bitch I’ll take lukewarm, but the fact of the matter is I’m climbing up my shower pipe like a fucking monkey with a lighter trying to take a 33.2 second shower with warmer water than the titanic faced.

Water Quality: Horseshit. I’ve tasted better toilet water (don’t ask), our filtration system in the city is about as good as the Catholic church’s when they choose who they will allow to be a priest… When I can actually taste the sediment and build up of the rust inside my faucet is when I really begin to fall in love all over, I’m not sure if its the brassy taste my food has, or the new found dryspots all over my body for the simple fact that there is more shit in that water than any biff will see in its lifetime.

Street Parking: you are a hooker in expensive boots – deceptively promising. “Park Here” means we’re going to tow your ass eventually, and if you’re parked anywhere near the no parking zone…not in it, but near it…you’re getting a ticket. In my neighborhood they should be looking for the people standing right next to my car on the street corner dealing crack…but instead little blue focus gets yet another ticket – money makers, even if the ticketing isn’t correct.

Potholes: Buy me a new set of tires you fucks. Those things aren’t even potholes, they have now morphed into sink holes that someone dropped their baby in last week and she aint coming back anytime soon. Don’t even try to dodge them because 1 of 3 things will happen, your car will undoubtedly go into another unseen pothole, you’ll hit another car, or even better; youll hit another pedestrian. When diving into these potholes make sure you’re wearing your seatbelt and safety gear for when you have to pull your car over to retrieve your bumper at the last asphalt recession where your bumper lies because it ate shit.

Cars that honk: We know. You’re more fucking important than anyone else here, and your seniority should be our main priority i’m so sorry I ever thought to get in your way. Oh and next time you lay on that horn, I’m going to get out of my car, skip to yours and break your fucking arms off. Let’s see you toot your horn now fuck face.

Bike Thief: If you attributed even 1/8 of energy it took you to break that complicated lock into finding a fucking job – you could run this city. But instead you choose the low road, I can’t blame you considering it is easier to swipe a bike and sell it for crack then it would be to actually apply yourself to benefit from life, but hey you aren’t a waste of space; you are a wonderful human being with many gifts and talents. Talents being picking locks and gifts being: give me my fucking ride back. Like I’m not going to notice a poorly dressed poorly educated individual riding around the neighborhood on a 1960’s huffy beach cruiser? Way to blend in. Oh and PS- it may look like its worth something but you’ll be madly dissapointed when you realize I got it for 20 bucks dick.

huMan’s best friend

huMan’s best friend

If all dogs go to heaven, then today they got a good one. My work day consists of playing with baby doll McKenna upon arrival at 6 am and no real break until I close up shop with the kidlets, … Continue reading