Meagan Lucas

The Pickle Dance

Posted by in Navel Gazing and Other Hysterics

Last Saturday, my family and I were sitting around my brother and sister-in-law’s table enjoying some vegetable soup. My sister-in-law brought out some of her homemade dill pickles, and the next thing I knew, my son was dancing in his chair. It’s the cutest dance really, he holds his tiny fists up and wiggles his little buns and shoulders, and the look on his face, God, he just beams happiness across the room. And I thought three things. Seriously, this is the cutest kid. When was the last time I…read more

Ultimate Running Playlist for Those Who Need Distraction

Posted by in Listen to This (Music)

It didn’t take me long, when I first started running, to realize that the struggle for me was less of a physical one than a mental one. Yes, moving my body was hard, but keeping my brain happy was harder. The entire time I was working out was a fight between boredom, wanting to give up, and staying on the GD treadmill. I just can’t stay out of my own head. Apparently this is fairly common, there are two types of runners – those who like silence, who use the…read more

Afraid, Alone, and Clowns on My Porch

Posted by in Stuff About Writing

I’m laying in bed. The covers are pulled up to my chin and I’m staring at the ceiling. It’s quiet, quieter than I’ve ever noticed it being. I can hear the dishwasher running from the other end of the house. Lincoln snoring (like only bulldogs can) in his bed. My eyes are closing, the pressures of a long day almost forgotten. Suddenly, I’m up like a bolt. An icy river running down my neck and between my shoulder blades. Heart thumping through my chest. Was that the front door knob…read more

For Those Who Are Hurting

Posted by in Navel Gazing and Other Hysterics

I have lovely friends. Lately, a few of them have had some hard times, and I’ve discovered a very difficult truth about myself – I am shit at pep talks. It’s not that I don’t want to be good. I do. My heart is there. My intentions are there. Maybe I could blame it on the distance, the miles turn my desire to hold my friend, to grip their hand over a cup of coffee and let them cry on my shoulder into a lame “I’m sorry, that sucks dude”…read more