things never change the same
May 21, 2010Hi, I’m Meg Simon. By day I’m a drone, by night whatever nightthoughts bring, weekend warrior never stop working, don’t stop believing in [blank], in breathing, while my kid climbs the back of my jeans to my knees and begs me Up! Up!
I don’t post as much as I used to, which is to say I don’t write, don’t take out my camera they put in my phone so I have no excuse now. I was born late 1980. Sometimes I’m roped into millennials, other times dangling in Generation X, and that’s what it feels like, both and neither, left behind, dragged along, adrift.
I miss, though. Am remiss. When I don’t document, don’t reflect, pile up words then put them in order, give them grit to give me face, and I don’t mean Instagram dinner plates. Tidy tweets in traffic. I mean the deepsicks. Allda way down.
I’ve laid my bones in all kinds of places—Fargo, Vancouver, Minneapolis, Austin—and currently live in Central Texas with my mister Arthur, young son Lucien, the best dogs ever, rocks with holes and house plants and roiling heat.
These are a few of my favorite things
lightning storms
lichen
large bodies of water
fantastic beasts
public radio
street art
puns
tasty bread
birds on wires
ugly architecture
piles of garbage
airborne seeds
hot heat
the sides of buildings
trees
riding my bike
dirty bass
places I shouldn’t be
monsters
mass hysteria
white noise
iced tea