Megan Oliver
Stories (5/0)
Drunken Walrus Aerobics
I’m a big girl. I always have been. This fact was really driven home for me when I had to be rescued by emergency services, after managing to wedge my fat ass between two boulders while playing at age ten, because I couldn’t crawl my way back out through the opening.
By Megan Oliver3 years ago in Humans
An Ode to Cake
While watching "Most Ridiculous" with my preteen daughter recently they played a video of a small group of people singing "Happy Birthday" to a little boy. He didn't seem very enthused and casually flipped over his before they had a chance to finish their song. It looked like something that his poor mother probably stayed up all night baking. I identify with that on a deep spiritual level, because I know exactly how much effort it takes to bake a cake with love. It was a very funny video and I'm sure that it will be a fond memory when he gets older.
By Megan Oliver3 years ago in Humans
Picking Up The Pieces
As I settle myself in to mentally prepare myself to write, I feel cautiously content. I have a cat cuddled up beside me — a former stray that chose to adopt us a handful of years ago — the birds outside my bedroom window are singing their morning chorus, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain is making me feel hopeful that Spring may finally be here to stay. I normally listen to music while I write. I find that it helps to drown out the racing thoughts that typically veer me off track. I can become distracted by the most inconsequential things. Today, the sounds outside my bedroom window is enough to keep me grounded.
By Megan Oliver3 years ago in Motivation
Between a Rock and a Hard Place, Indeed
Although I currently call the province of Alberta my home, I'm a Newfoundlander, born and bred - and I'll be one 'til I die. Growing up in the '90s, I was the living embodiment of a free-range child. I was adventurous, chaotic. Choosing to cannonball rather than dip my toes in to test the water. My friends and I would leave our respective homes in the morning, ready to seize the day. Our parents rarely saw us until the streetlights lit the night sky like beacons; barring the occasional bathroom breaks and scavenging for food like the feral house goblins we were. My hometown has always been a wonderful, quiet little place, where our neighbors knew everyone's business, and always kept a watchful eye. These types of small towns instill a certain level of trust. If our parents only knew half of what we were up to! We were resilient children, and were confident that nothing bad would ever happen to us - until it did.
By Megan Oliver3 years ago in Confessions