the color purple.

Laying here on my bed, trying to think of what to type. Nothing is coming to mind.

Except.

Pause.

Except for the man that crossed the street in front of my vehicle, as if there wasn't a moving automobile driving toward him. It wasn't so much his brazen behavior that caught my eye, but rather his brazen choice of clothing. Said man was considerably overweight. It wasn't an overall obesity. More of a belly that had consumed a few too many beers. It stuck out, and it was the belly part of the man that my car almost hit. He was wearing a purple tank top, with an unbuttoned shirt blowing in the fall breeze, exposing the skin his tank top wasn't covering. Because of the belly, his take top was stretched out farther than normal, which caused the arm holes to actually become man boob holes. This part of his body was exposed to the fall sun, tagging alongside the fall breeze.

I looked away, and drove on, thinking to myself..."what is the point? Of clothing? Why did he choose that? Is the point not to cover?"

Not all the time. But uncovered things are usually intentional. A low neckline. Shorts. Sleeveless shirts. I wondered if he had looked in the mirror that morning and thought to himself, yes, I feel like exposing my man boobs today. Come to me purple tank top. We will tackle this fall day together.

To do list:

purchase a purple tank top.

ill-fitting cliches.

I ran this morning, first thing. I am not in the habit of doing this. But coming down 21st street with the sun rising in my face reminded me of why it's worth it. The worm flopping around on the sidewalk before I reached the pinnacle of the sun almost made me quit the run prematurely.

I was trolling along, listening to Neon Bible, when the freaky worm caught my eye. I wouldn't have looked down had it not been for the seizure he appeared to be having. My eye went from his quickly curving body to the worm graveyard I happened to be running on. HOLY CRAP!

I ran faster.

The down of the hill, encouraging a faster stride and catching the sun in just the right place for such a memorable morning experience, also caught all of the dead worm bodies washed down by angle and rain.

I made it out, un-wormed. I was talking to a friend yesterday whose mother is trudging through the excruciating pain of cancer. We joked about all of those sayings we always hate saying. They are the cliches that my freshman english comp teacher redundantly scolded us for using in our papers. "Cliches" she called them. "Just take it one day at a time." "Cancer sucks." My friend used to hate them. Now they are the story of her life.

I was thinking of choosing "ignorance is bliss" to go along with my morning worm experience. However, had I been ignorant of the worms beneath my Nike Plus running shoes, I would have had nothing to write this morning.

How about, "the early bird gets the worm"?

different fits.

I struggled with direction in college. It's not new to me, in case you've wondered. I was blessed with a dear roommate that became a dear friend. She was a pre-med major. I was undeclared. We lived together our freshman year. In the evenings, she usually studied while I was out, with friends, afraid that if I left or went to sleep, I would miss something. I would tip toe in late, and climb to the top bunk, trying ever so gracefully to not wake her up. In between classes, she had her biology book open, reading. I had my eyes closed, napping.

It wasn't just the sleep itself I craved. It was the shedding of the real life clothes and sandwiching myself in between a soft sinking surface and a blanket that conformed to my shape, instead of fighting it. It was the moment of complete ease and comfort, followed by rest.

I thought of the above scenario because of a comment a friend of hers' made to me once. He looked at our friendship and living situation from afar, and said to me, "Meredith. You two are very different. You seem to be much more interested in the social aspect of college and she is much more into the academic side." This was not an amazing observation. It's something anyone looking could have discovered. But it was him, giving voice to the situation, that made to stop and look at myself.

Why wasn't I worried about school, and furthering myself? Why wasn't I hitting the books, and seeing friends as a reward as opposed to a priority? I was in college. I was paying an enormous amount of money to gain an education, wasn't I?

No. Actually, I wasn't. I was paying an enormous amount of money for a wonderful life experience.

And this is what I have realized: I place much more value on the experience than I do the outcome. When I tell someone that I have a degree in graphic design, it holds much more weight for them than it does for me. "Why aren't you using it?" they ask. Using what, I think to myself. "Oh, the degree." The answer is because I didn't really go to college for a degree. I went for an experience. I have one, but it was such a minor aspect of my college experience.

After graduating, I remember the frantic feeling I got when someone would ask what I was going to "do". I worried because I realized that most people expect me to do something. There was an expectation for build; high school, college, degree, job pertaining to degree.

When asked the "do" question, my answer was always the place I was going to move, rather than the job I would find. My answer was about what I would experience, and had nothing to do with the outcome of attaining a degree.

I had friends over for dinner on Saturday. I love entertaining. I love the experience of people, collectively, in the kitchen...Talking, chopping, listening, drinking. I like looking up at a space that's usually empty or inhabited by only me, and instead seeing color, hearing laughter and conversation, looking forward to the shared experience of a meal. This is what I want to do.

After dinner, we sat down to watch Darjeeling Limited. I was looking forward to the colors in the movie, and also, Adrien Brody. Liz needed a footrest, to make her movie experience more enjoyable. Quite ironically and appropriately, my otherwise useless brown leather graphic design portfolio case, turned on its side, was just the fit.

pewey.

Do you know what kills a dew filled fall morning? The smell of trash truck exhaust wafting through my open windows, beckoning me to begin my day.

People: USE LESS STUFF!

dark time.

I have a confession to make. I enjoy looking into the windows of other people's lives. My friend, whom I will not name for protective purposes, helped me to admit this. It's like watching a silent film, that's even more interesting because it's not made up. You know that behind that wall is an actual room, as opposed to the back of a set.

I live in a neighborhood that is ideal for this pastime. The houses are grandiose, built during the roaring twenties. A lot of Tulsa's wealth has come down from liquid gold, the natural resource that nowadays will start wars. Back then, Okies were getting rich, either directly from the ground, or indirectly, by making money from men who were making money in oil (after reading this previous sentence, I realized it's still applicable today, but that's not the point). The point is that back then they built backyard garages (where I live) behind beautiful homes with many stories, many balconies, and many big windows, perfect for spying into during the night.

They built these homes side by side, down long wide streets with trees lining the middle. These trees are planted in grass covered dirt and, appropriately, encircled with concrete curb. Like I said, I was riding my bike at night, distracted by the lives of others, too distracted to look out for pieces of concrete growing from the pavement. Priorities.

It was an incredible autumn evening. There was a chill in the air, and an eery sort of quiet. So, when I came a house where people were walking about, it makes sense that the man's voice I heard would carry so easily through the neighborhood. I heard it, followed by the laughter of others, and I immediately changed directions. I was drawn toward it, in hopes that I wouldn't just be looking at houses, but maybe I would get a glimpse of life too! This distracted excitement redirected my bike, strait toward the house, and strait toward the curb unseen.

CRASH! BANG! ERK!

I dragged myself up from under my bike, dusted the grass from my jeans, and attempted to ride on...Away from the house and the voice that indirectly caused this massive bruise currently adorning the area of my leg, just below the knee. My stubborn bike was, well, stubborn. Though my tires were point away from the house, the seat of my bike was pointing toward it. I rode on, with a crooked seat and clicking chain.

And I laugh, wondering how many things in life I pass by, distracted by those things that amount to be just that. Distractions. I think I am ever in need of a little more curb.

at ease in the uneasy.

Outside, the sky is a soft gray. At first it looks colorless, until you catch a glimpse of the outline of the green green trees. Then the soft blues greet you, subtly. This is, to me, a most beautiful day. There are no storm clouds, but the smell and the cool keep you from gaining assurance in your dryness. At any moment, you could become a sponge, dripping with wet from the water that surprised you from the sky. This, to me, is a most beautiful thought.

I tried to explain to a friend once that I find comfort in the unpredictable. I remember being in Korea, in a shopping spot alone with no cellular telephone or knowledge of the Korean language. No one knew I was there, and I had no tangible way of contacting any of those people unaware of my whereabouts. It was eery, a bit, but mostly comforting. The feeling of aloneness in a foreign place makes me feel more connected to all of the people inhabiting this great big world. It reminds me that, at times, we all feel a little alone. It's not always sunshine and cookie dough. This is true, to me, and reality brings me comfort.

Unpredictability is what makes life a little scary. It also makes life a little more fun. Yesterday, when I entered the men's restroom at work to clean the nasty toilets, I didn't know I would be greeted with someone else's poop. I have cleaned the restrooms many times, poop free. But yesterday, I found myself wiping someone else's fecal matter off of the porcelain white stool. This does not fit into the unpredictably fun category, but rather, the unpredictably scary. But last week, during a shift when I didn't have to clean the toilets, I offered two men touring with Britney Spears a ride to the place we were both going. We spent the afternoon together, and by the end of the day, I had befriended a professional photographer to the stars, a stunt man from Manchester, a hula hoop girl that used to be a part of the circus, and an of age knife thrower and flip connoisseur. I was also, ironically, gifted tickets to their ring leader's performance, which means I spent last Tuesday evening watching my new friends do their act on stage, while Britney Spear's lip synched her new music to her fans surrounding me. This would be the unpredictably fun.

It's still blue-gray outside. The sun, unpredictably, broke open the gray throughout the course of me typing this, but has since gone back in. Here in the midst of unpredictable skies, I am looking forward to the unknown of today.

more or less, hopefully more.

I've been thinking about thinking too much about what other people think. I remember in college, I was crippled by this very natural human tendency. My major was one that required feedback and criticisms from classmates and professors. This was supposed to make us more confident?

I have been thinking about this in context of writing, lately, too. This is something I actually enjoy. This is something I would really like to get better at. Blogging is an outlet, and a means for improvement. A stepping stone. But when I think about posting something, or how something will be received, I cower a bit. I spend more time in between posts not writing.

And so back to the part of what other people think. At this juncture, to allow myself to write, write some more, and after that, write again, I will have to try and let go a little of this "very natural human tendency". Because to improve, I must write more. It may be bad material. It may not make sense in the end. It may not come together. But there will hopefully be more words on the page than when I started, and less time not writing in between posts.