Hey there everyone!
My name is Meghan.
I am five feet, six inches tall.
I love sunflowers and Star Trek and licking cake batter off of wooden spoons and the way broken window glass from old cars looks like freshly sliced diamonds.
I prefer rainy weather.
And I read ravenously.
Except I lied about the six inches part.
I'm actually 5' 5 3/4''. I figure personality (and my copius amounts of curly hair) can make up for the difference.
The reason I'm telling you so much about me is because I am so interested in you! I love people, you see. I like to know what they are thinking and feeling and talking about and what magazines they read on airplanes. Maybe you don't read magazines on airplanes. Maybe you prefer magazines for late at night before you fall asleep. Maybe you only subscribe to Ceramics Monthly and keep a stack of old pages for fuel for your kiln. Maybe you hate all magazines. Heck, you might even hate all pottery! Point is, I am insatiably curious about who you are. I'd also like to know who I am, and who we all are together.
That's my big question.
Who are you?
When I was a little girl, my best friend Chelley and I would sit on my bed with the windows open to let in summer sunlight, surrounded by stacks and stacks of toy animals. We played with stuffed, plastic, felt-covered, ancient, fresh-out-of-the-package; we loved playing with just about any animals. The way to play the game was to put all the animals in the center of the bed, then each take turns picking them until we had little "clans." Then we'd tell the story of the clans.
"Okay, Chell, this is the chief of my clan. His name is Rivereyes. He's the biggest and strongest lynx, but he's gotten a little crazy after all of his battle wounds to the head. And---and---and---nobody really likes him." (I had a bit of a stutter when I was small. I got all excited and couldn't get the words out fast enough.)
Our clans were fascinatingly intricate, with loves and friends and brothers and sisters and secret brothers and sisters and hiding places. There were always the outsiders. There was almost always travel involved. Sometimes, when we were in the mood, we'd create song and dance numbers for the clans. We even videotaped a couple of our best performances on Chelley's old camcorder.
See, from a very young age, I just wanted to know the story. Why was Rivereyes so mean to Hangclaw? Oh, of course---because Hangclaw is his cousin, and next in line for the role as the leader! Why did no one ever go down to the bend in the river anymore? Why did your clan not come to the meeting at the full moon? Why? Why? WHY? Why do you do what you do? Why are you the way you are?
Who are you?
And, most importantly, why?
My name is Meghan.
I am five feet, six inches tall.
I love sunflowers and Star Trek and licking cake batter off of wooden spoons and the way broken window glass from old cars looks like freshly sliced diamonds.
I prefer rainy weather.
And I read ravenously.
Except I lied about the six inches part.
I'm actually 5' 5 3/4''. I figure personality (and my copius amounts of curly hair) can make up for the difference.
The reason I'm telling you so much about me is because I am so interested in you! I love people, you see. I like to know what they are thinking and feeling and talking about and what magazines they read on airplanes. Maybe you don't read magazines on airplanes. Maybe you prefer magazines for late at night before you fall asleep. Maybe you only subscribe to Ceramics Monthly and keep a stack of old pages for fuel for your kiln. Maybe you hate all magazines. Heck, you might even hate all pottery! Point is, I am insatiably curious about who you are. I'd also like to know who I am, and who we all are together.
That's my big question.
Who are you?
When I was a little girl, my best friend Chelley and I would sit on my bed with the windows open to let in summer sunlight, surrounded by stacks and stacks of toy animals. We played with stuffed, plastic, felt-covered, ancient, fresh-out-of-the-package; we loved playing with just about any animals. The way to play the game was to put all the animals in the center of the bed, then each take turns picking them until we had little "clans." Then we'd tell the story of the clans.
"Okay, Chell, this is the chief of my clan. His name is Rivereyes. He's the biggest and strongest lynx, but he's gotten a little crazy after all of his battle wounds to the head. And---and---and---nobody really likes him." (I had a bit of a stutter when I was small. I got all excited and couldn't get the words out fast enough.)
Our clans were fascinatingly intricate, with loves and friends and brothers and sisters and secret brothers and sisters and hiding places. There were always the outsiders. There was almost always travel involved. Sometimes, when we were in the mood, we'd create song and dance numbers for the clans. We even videotaped a couple of our best performances on Chelley's old camcorder.
See, from a very young age, I just wanted to know the story. Why was Rivereyes so mean to Hangclaw? Oh, of course---because Hangclaw is his cousin, and next in line for the role as the leader! Why did no one ever go down to the bend in the river anymore? Why did your clan not come to the meeting at the full moon? Why? Why? WHY? Why do you do what you do? Why are you the way you are?
Who are you?
And, most importantly, why?
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