Today

Today is not a good day.
In fact, today is a bad day.

But when I logged in to Blogger, everything was in Spanish.
Maybe things will get better.












When you search "bad day" on google images, this is the fourth result.

I might be a music snob.

Weddings are interesting events. Obviously they're enormous landmarks in life and they're quite lovely in their essential purpose. Unification of two people, commitment that they'll forever love one another.

I don't know whether or not I'll ever find myself married. For now, I'm entirely ok with that. But if I do find myself in that position someday...

I'd like a classical guitarist at my wedding. None of this "here comes the bride" shit. Possibly Bach's Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring or Vivaldi's Guitar Concerto in D Major (Largo, of course).

The universe doesn't care what you believe.

Today I'm thankful for music that brings back memories
and people who open themselves to the world
for those who make me smile
and the joy in my mother's voice
for the moments when I see beauty around me
and a sudden peal of laughter
for my impact on the world
however small
it may be

I could use some inspiration.

I go home soon!
I have SO much happening before then!
(Me = RA
RA = Stressed
Me = Stressed)

Kris, if you still read this, I'll have the constitution done this weekend.

T.G.I.November.

October, thine dark stress hath passed. Thou hast forsaken mine self once and for all. Yon jackanapes doth torment no further, twixt the moonshine and the sun.

In sooth, I doth hope that yon month behold a many splendid adventure and whatnot. Lest mine eyes do deceive mine mind, yonder horizon beeth divine with hope.

Fare thee well, thee spongy puttock.

I am banish-ed.

It happens.

I hate getting in phone fights with my mom.

I would fly. A lot. Everywhere.

There are many homeless people on Fort Street. Such is life.

The other day, there was a homeless guy chillin on Hotel St. with his shopping cart. There was a large metal canister in the front of the cart. Intrigued, I watched him as I waited for the light to turn. The man pulled out a balloon and secured it over the canister. With a push of his thumb, the balloon inflated. After a few seconds, he took the balloon off and tied it shut.

I had already missed a light and was standing still through another one, just watching the man.

He looked at the balloon and let it go. He craned his neck to watch as it rose higher and higher between the buildings. It climbed upward, blowing slightly. The balloon was a mere speck when the man returned his gaze back to earth. He paused for a moment and seemed to sigh.

Then he pulled out a new balloon and did it all again.

He's my new favorite homeless person.

I share the midnight.

I could use some direction in my writing.

An Arcade Fire song just came on. Wake Up, from Funeral. I fucking love this song. It's the song that goes with the trailers for Where the Wild Things Are. Consequently, I really want to see this movie.

Maybe it's just the song that does it for me.
Maybe it's that desperate attempt to hang onto what I loved in childhood.
Maybe it's because that the boy who plays Max looks familiar.
Almost exactly like Ben.

Ben. Six years, seven months, three days, and about ten hours. It's been a while since I thought about him.

Whenever I see the trailer or I hear the song, my throat gets a little tighter. My knees weaken a little and I get quiet.

I think I know what I want from life. But I'm not sure I can put it here.

CKS lurrrve

I just received a package from some of my long lost friendos at Creative Kidstuff. The contents:






- 3 nasty ass marshmallow ice cream cones that we've had in stock since the beginning of summer
- 1 marines lanyard
- 1 zoo gift bag (chapstick, shampoo samples, coupons, magnet)
- 3 banana candy sticks
- 1 kooky klicker
- 1 Hamline University pencil
- 2 University of St. Thomas temporary tattoos
- 10 Playmobil tattoos
- 1 quitplan water bottle
- 1 quitplan tin-thing of mints
- 1 Chevy dealers t-shirt
- 1 pamphlet on Essential Sign Language
- 1 members directory for the Minnesota Legislature (86th session)
- 1 census goody bag
- 2 onomatopoeia band-aids (WHAM! and BAM)
- Minnesota State Government's puzzle book for kids
- a Rosie the Riveter button that says "Defend Minnesota"
- 4 broken homemade cookies (thanks, Kelly)
- 1 red pine seedling (is that even legal to mail?)
- a ton of foof
and FINALLY
- a shard of the watch display I broke one night at work











I'm pretty sure they charged it to the company.

A rhinoceros would have been more plausible.

Last night I changed all three of my phone alarms from basic chimes to obnoxious little techno beats. As such, I woke up this morning ready to rave my way through class.

Unfortunately, I fell back asleep after breakfast. When I nap, I have strange dreams. I'm not entirely conscious so they're not daydreams, but I'm not in REM sleep so they're not real dreams.

This morning's dreams were unusually realistic. They had me walking down to the shuttle with my backpack and sunglasses, ready to start the day. Pseudo-conscious, I thought I was seriously on my way to the shuttle stop. The dream continued on for ten or fifteen minutes. I then suddenly realized I was asleep. I blasted my ass out of bed and scrambled to pull my things together.

As I rushed out the door, I blamed my lateness on the realness of my dreams. I thought about the progression of events that had taken place. Leaving my room, putting in my iPod, waving to people as I walked down the road. It was then that I realized that my dream had included elephants. A whole bunch of very friendly elephants.













That probably should have tipped me off that I was asleep.

My Friday night.

On my Friday night, I came home from class and napped. I then watched an episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta and felt that I had wasted a large amount of my time. I then went to dinner, sat around, kind of did homework, and sat around some more.

At one point I found myself in the RA office, making a jellyfish out of condoms and dental dams. Upon returning to my room with my jellyfish, one of my residents thought it was extremely cool. We then had arts and crafts in my common room, during which we made more condom jellyfish. Wowwwwww.

------->

If I only had a hammock.

It's been a rough day and a half. More than that, I suppose.

There's only so much about my job I can say here. I honestly don't know who reads this and, as my residents continue to friend me on facebook, I feel as though I should post with caution. Maybe I'll take the link off my facebook. Take note, all.

I would give a lot for a hammock right now. And some fall colors. And my mom.

I find myself avoiding my friends. Not purposefully pulling away, but not making the same effort I used to make. It's like I'm turning into Andy. I'm not becoming an art snob, nor am I about to spend an entire month hiking through the wilderness, but I'm losing my ties. Unlike Andy, I don't have that one perfect person in my life.

Maybe I just need to hike. I can't tell if this is stress or an existential crisis or depression or my life oozing away from me.

Today in Public Speaking, we were presenting speeches on overcoming our greatest challenges. One of my friends got up and started speaking about when he got his girlfriend pregnant. He is extremely pro-life. But she got an abortion. "I feel like I killed my kid." He cried in front of us. Just cried.

Good lord I'm tired.

If we could have a single minute of absolute peace, what could be accomplished?

A simple 60 seconds.

Happy International Day of Peace.

Maybe she was high?

Today, I received a card from my mom. On the front, there is a really nice little painting of some lily pads and a turtle - the point of view is from beneath the surface of the water. There is a quote that says "Your life will no doubt find its own paths. That they be good ones, and rich and expansive, that I wish for you more than I can say." - Rainer Maria Rilke

It's a really nice little verse and I know that my mom means it. I then opened up the card.

"Happy Un-Birthday!
Love you bunches - Mom"

Uhhhhhhh....what?

Oh dear.

Busybusybusybusybusybusy. That's me.

I currently have 15 minutes before Fiction Writing. Just enough time to appease my guilt of not having posted in a few weeks.

Thus far (after two days), my classes are great. I'm really excited about every single one of my professors - definitely a plus. One of my profs is essentially an asian Willy Wonka in skate shoes. Another is a little old asian man who is blind in one eye, continually bumps into things while he paces the classroom, and absolutely shreds on guitar. The other three are slightly less exciting, but still awesome.

I haven't had any problems with the balancing act so far, but we'll see how that goes. RA of Kukui, 15 credits, Sophomore Rep in AS-HPU, probably President's Host, applying for various honor societies, volunteering in the Honors office, and three to four meetings a week. Umm yeah.

Why of course I remember you!

It appears as though, for a time, I forgot my thorough adoration for classical music. Luckily, today I stumbled across Barber's Adagio for Strings by mere happenstance.

My mind flashed back to playing it in high school - sitting concertmaster in chamber orchestra (a position I really wasn't good enough to hold) and yelling at Trevor for not minding his decrescendos and for sliding his shifts.

I had good times with orchestra. Even at this point in my life, certain pieces of music can bring me close to tears. Vivaldi's Guitar Concerto in D Minor, Wieniawski's Legende, Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, fuck even Smetana's Moldeau from seventh grade pulls at my heart when I hear it.














Music has and forever will be an integral part of my life. It is my escape, it is my creation, it is my delight. Holszt's The Planets can pull me away from existential crises and the aforementioned Barber piece will lusciously drag me down to the lowest of lows.

I wish I could understand the emotional, spiritual connection behind this music. All I know is that it actually has the ability to knock my legs out from under me. Impact, indeed.

So maybe I lied.

Fuck unpacking.

Boats. I really like boats.
I'm not quite sure what the intrigue is. It's not just any boats. Yachts: dumb. Big speedboats: only for tools. Massive ass cargo ships: cool but unrealistic.

I'm into the self-propelled type. Rowboats. Kayaks. Canoes. Sailboats (I realize these aren't self-propelled, get off my fucking case). Paddle boats would be awesome if they weren't so utterly useless. I used to really like paddle boats. When I was about eight. Eleven years later, I'm a bit too cool. Which is fine.

I wish I could circumnavigate the globe via kayak. (sidenote: I just put up wicked glow-in-the-dark planet stickers and they're for sure not staying stuck to the walls) I understand that this is probably an impossible endeavor. I cannot imagine how I would not die on this trip. However, that makes it something to consider if I'm ever diagnosed with a terminal illness. (fuck, there goes Saturn AGAIN) Well, maybe not. There would probably be a period of absolute terror before the actual death and it may be that the death itself would be quite unpleasant.

Possibly I'm foreseeing my own death. Not the cause of death itself, simply the mental departure from this world. I'm in a kayak. Maybe I'm wearing a wetsuit, maybe not. Maybe a life jacket, maybe not. It really doesn't matter because I am no longer living. I find myself in a body of water. Ocean? Lake? Who cares. All I can see is water and sky. There's a bit of a breeze, only marked by the gentle slap of waves against my bow. I pick up my paddle, dip it into the water, and begin gliding. I continue this way for a bit. It could be minutes, or hours I guess. There's no sense of time here; there's no need for it. Despite my continuous movement, I feel no strain in my muscles, no click of my wrist. There is only the sound of the water, of the breeze, of my heart beating. That beating gradually slows. It stops entirely when I take my paddle out of the water and lay it across my boat. Momentum guides me and I fade away into nothing.












I apologize for the hostility.

Blast from the Past

Oh
my
fucking
god.

Are we in middle school?

I'll post something with a bit more substance once I get all my shit unpacked. Two days into training and I'm still living out of boxes.

Melty chocolate all over my leg.

"Look, there's that truck with the mud vehicle."
"Mud vehicle. You mean ATV?"
"Yes."

With a whoosh it was gone.

See that photo up there? You cannot imagine the struggle behind that freaking photo. Gabby can attest to this. It was a bitch.

Long story short, I fucked up all of my lovely colors. Such is life.

I wish I had more to say here but I really don't. I'm kind of sleepy and I have to get up brutally early to say farewell to Andy and Carly. Then I have to drive to Duluth.

I hung out with Gabby last night and we discussed my tendency to peg people. Not judge, just peg.

There was a teenage girl sitting alone by the bandshell at Lake Harriet. She was taking photos in the general direction of the lake and as we walked by, I started talking. I pointed out how she is totally that girl who is kind of a nobody at school and has suddenly found something she loves: photography. Chances are good that she's far too shy to show anybody her photos and chances are good that they're probably somewhat amateur, but beautiful nonetheless. I voiced my feelings that she'll continue her photography, maturing her skill for a year or two. At that point, she will be known and loved as the incredible photographer that she has become. Hopefully.

I had another story about an old man I saw on a bus. That can be for another time.

Mmmmmmm

Such complete serenity I have rarely known. Calm water clear to the bottom. Just enough breeze to keep the few free wisps of hair out of my eyes. Resting with my paddle across the boat. The silence bounces off of rock, refracts like light against the surface of the lake. A sight I have seen countless times - perspective and accent make it breathtaking. I devour the arched colors. Rarely are they so bright, each color vivid and discernible. As my kayak gently lulls me, my perception changes, fading colors in and out. I dip my fingertips over the side of my kayak. They're so cold already that it hardly bothers me. I think about Nick - his instructions in case of rolling the boat. In another lake I might try it for fun, but not here. 42 degrees. You don't last long in water that cold. Sure a wetsuit would help. But in a lake famous for its sunken ships and volatility, I don't think I'll chance it. I want to stay suspended in time. I want every moment of every day to feel like this. Nick calls out, breaking my silence. I'm the last boat still lingering, basking in the perfection of my surroundings. Reluctantly, I pick up my paddle and begin to glide towards shore. This isn't goodbye.

Terrible music stuck in my head all friggin day.

I feel obligated to post because it's Sunday. For some reason, my general trend is posting on Wednesday and Sunday. Whatever.

My parents went camping last week (as previous posts suggested). As part of my effort to clean last Sunday, I did all of my laundry. A few hours after I had finished my two large loads (darks and colors) I found one lonely pair of jeans to wash and dry. Upon throwing them in the dryer and starting it up, an awful squeaking noise began to emanate from the dryer. I immediately stopped it and quickly glanced around for the source. Not finding anything, I tried the dryer again. The noise continued and I gave up my efforts. I figured that the dryer was pseudo-broken and that I should probably not touch it until the return of my parents for fear of ultra-breaking it.

A few minutes later, I found myself in the kitchen. I heard a scratchy squeaking noise, very similar to the sound of Misty clawing at the back door. Automatically, I went to let her in. No cat in sight. Again I heard the noise. This time I pegged it as coming from the basement. Nervous, I grabbed a giant knife and headed down the stairs. I followed the noise into the laundry room and stood facing my opponent: the dryer. I was rather concerned at this point - I figured if the dryer was making awful noises without even being on, I really fucked something up. I mentally inventoried my options for the situation and decided to simply abandon it.

I hadn't set foot in the laundry room since the dryer freaked out at me. When my parents returned on Thursday, they noted an awful smell coming from that general region of the basement. Long story short, an unfortunate chipmunk met an untimely demise in our dryer. It came through the vent (the flap not having closed properly), fell straight down to the bottom, and somehow dragged itself into the fan. Although the fan hadn't chopped the chipmunk as I expected, it had trapped it completely. When I turned on the dryer with my jeans inside, the chipmunk had been going around and around and around, unable to escape. There he died. Gross.

In other news, Andy came home again. We leave to go camping on Wednesday, so that post probably won't happen. However, I'll hopefully have more interesting things to write about after a few days on the north shore.

Captain Zoom II

"He whipped out his Super Full of Penis Ray gun and blasted away...."

Also, happy birthday Linnea! 

I love her even though she claims that she's going to Facebook dump me when she starts at Whitman.

I found myself caught entirely off guard.

My parents left to go camping this morning, so I have the house to myself for almost a week. In order to stave off an existential crisis for as long as possible (I had already forgone any makeup or hair care and donned old, worn-out clothing - not a good sign), I began cleaning my room.

As I put things away in my closet, I saw a white dress I didn't recognize. Upon pulling it out, I recalled buying it with my mom. It was on clearance somewhere for five dollars and it fit me; it had been much too good of a deal to pass up (though I had no need for a beautiful white dress at the time). The dress looked out of place in the chaos of my bedroom - it stood out from the work t-shirts, sunglasses, and jeans that littered every surface. 

Without thinking about it, I slipped out of my clothes. I stood for a moment and looked at the dress in front of me. I was acutely aware of my surroundings: the Current playing faintly from the living room, one of my neighbor's mowing his lawn, the fan sending a cool breeze across my bare skin. Goosebumps raised on my arms as I stepped into the dress. I tugged up the zipper in back and smoothed the layers of fabric. 

I turned around and found a stranger staring back at me from the mirror. The woman I saw was me, but different. I was five or ten years my future self - married and beginning my very own life. My face looked older - untouched by makeup, but time had done its work etching my features deeper into my skin. My eyes held the same gleam they have now. 

Breath caught in my throat, I brushed the hair out of my eyes and my reflection changed again. This version of me was maybe ten or fifteen years ahead. I had children, two of them. I was harping at them to clean their rooms, hoping that I was raising them well, and praying that they live their lives to the fullest.

I raised a hand to my heart in disbelief and saw my mother staring back at me. Her life would become mine, for better or for worse. 

My hands shook slightly as I unzipped the dress and let it fall to the floor under me. Cautiously, I hung it up and put it back in my closet. 

I don't need that dress yet; it can wait a while. 

Non sequiturs besiege me. Das cool.

The other day at work, I was eating lunch in the back room. As I enjoyed my leftover vietnamese coconut something something curry from Than Do, Kelly came back to grab something. "Hey, Kate." "Yeah, what's up?" "How do you feel about robots?" (I dropped my fork and rice scattered across the floor) "I feel AWESOME about robots. Why?"

The rest of the conversation doesn't really matter. The point is that people associate me with robots. Which is excellent.

Also, Kelsey got me some epic sunglasses for a really early birthday gift. They make me feel like a superhero.

I wasn't aware that was an option...

I seem to have (temporarily or permanently) lost the ability to cry.

Fourth of July weekend was rough for me this year. My brother had a big sculpture unveiling in Green Bay. I didn't go because I was supposed to house sit for some friends. Unfortunately, that fell through kind of last minute. I still didn't go to Wisconsin because I had just been there for Andy's graduation and a) I can only spend so much time in Wisconsin without going crazy and b) I can only spend so much time in the car with my parents without going crazy. Anyway.

Here were the circumstances: Joey was being a major douche (as he has been doing all summer. possibly because his girlfriend is afraid of me and he thinks it's my fault. whatever.) My parents were gone. My mom was to have surgery the following Monday morning for a tumor in her neck. Saturday morning (the 4th) rolls around and I wake up to realize that the last text I sent before going to bed was somehow sent to the wrong person. The text intended for the person with whom I had spent the evening before ended up going to Joey. I woke up to a text that said "OMG KATE I was nottttttttt supposed to get that......!!!!!!" Awesome. Later that afternoon, my car freaked out at me and ended up dying completely five blocks from my house. On the walk home, it started pouring rain. I had no ride, I had no family, I had no fireworks plans (although I did somehow end up at Taste of MN). I spent the entire afternoon bawling my eyes out on the couch. Classy.

Point is, I can't cry anymore. I went to see my mom in the hospital after her surgery (she had to spend the night). She was really sick from the anesthesia, something that was really hard for me to see. The entire time I was there, I wanted to cry. However, my mom was being a major trooper so I swore to myself I would not cry in front of her. I told myself that as soon as I got to the car, I'd let it all out. When I finally got to the car and was ready to let loose, there was not a tear to be found.

Two and a half weeks later and I still can't cry. Peculiar.

Holy poetry, Batman!

I ran with the clouds and my shadow ran with me.

An assortment of goodies.

It's interesting what information you can glean about a person by rummaging through (or just observing) the contents of their pockets, purse, car, etc. Allow me to compare and contrast the three people (including myself) with whom I spent the day.

Joey Stych role: best friend
pockets: iPhone, wallet, sometimes keys
analysis: The basics. Nothing exciting in his wallet - simply money, id, credit card, receipts. nothing on his key chain save for the single car key. The iPhone is slightly more revealing. it is simply packed with apps - those used for functionality (the standard texting, camera, internet), convenience (facebook, directions, movie times), and entertainment (doodle jump, oregon trail, and that horrible dog whistle with which he tortures Sammy). In this one simple gadget, Joey happily surrenders himself to the world of Apple.
purse/bag: not applicable
car: empty cans of diet coke, auxiliary cord
analysis: Typical. Again, nothing exciting (especially because he shares the car with his sister). However, what is present is extremely classic slash archetypal of Joey. Never anything except Diet Coke in their fridge, the car is full of it. And the one true love of Joey's life adapted for his time in the car - the iPhone cord.

George Haworth role: british and usually drunk potential love interest
pockets: iPhone, wallet, keys
analysis: There seems to be a trend within the men who occupy my time. iPhones. George's approach to the iPhone is slightly different. Only one extra app adorns his mobile device. Specifically, one in which tanks blow each other up. He refuses to add anything else, holding to his cynicism and hatred for the world at large. Also, he never has cash. Ever. Which sucks because he owes me $10.
purse/bag: not applicable
car: air freshener, cd binder thing
analysis: In George's circumstances, the car itself is far more important than its contents. Some sort of snazzy BMW, George devotes his entire life to this car. He enrolled himself in photography classes at the Minnetonka Center for Art simply in order to take better photos of his car. Really. Anyway, I digress. A green turtle air freshener hangs from George's rear view mirror. He claims that it doesn't really work anymore. My thoughts are that it represents his ever-elusive soft spot - the evidence that he does, in fact, have something resembling a heart or soul. The music is the other key accessory here. George listens to music in phases. The last two times I've been in his car, it's gone from hardcore techno to a 90s alternative bender. Strange boy.

Me role: self-loathing college student constantly trapped in existential crises and suburbia
pockets: oddly shaped phone, chapstick
analysis: This hasn't changed since the beginning of high school. Cell phone in my left front pocket, chapstick in my right. Although I've gone through a few different phones and a few different chapstick flavors, my pockets stand firm in their purpose. Hoo-ah.
purse/bag: wallet, car keys, camera, iPod, anything else you can possibly imagine
analysis: Jackpot. I'm the fuckin modern day Mary Poppins (but meaner). I could take this space to list the entire contents of my purse. Which would be really dumb. If you know me well (and chances are you do because you're aware of the existence of this blog), you've probably seen my purse and its constant state of chaos. No more description necessary.
car: plastic animals, music nobody has ever heard of, toys, stolen yard signs, sports equipment, kite, etc.
analysis: Possibly one of the most accurate reflections of my mind, fractured as it may be. Junk from every facet of my life litters my car. I'm sick of typing and I'm sleepy. Abrupt end. Now.

Mother = Source of my hiccups + Morning salvation

The other evening I was having a mini-existential crisis on the living room floor."Mom, I need to get out of Edina." "Where would you like to go, Katie?" "Anywhere. Not here. I need to not be in Edina. I need to leave the country." "Oh, Katie. That would be an adventure." "Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I'll leave the country. I could go back to Iceland, I guess. Or Barcelona. I want to go to Barcelona. Fuck, I'd go anywhere, who am I kidding." "Hmmm. We'll have to see what we can do." (me rolling around on the living room floor, flailing at random intervals and knocking newspapers off of coffee tables) "Mommmmm. Leave the country with me." "Katie, do you need attention?" "No I don't need attention. I need to leave the fucking country." "Katie, language." "Sorry, mom."

Later that night, brushing my teeth in the bathroom. "Katie, are you and _____ serious friends?" "Well, he's one of my best friends..." "Do you know what I'm asking you?" (me frothing with toothpaste) "Are you asking if we're dating? I'm not dating ____." "I'm asking if you're having [whispered] sex with him." "Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that, I am." "Oh dear, times have changed." "Thanks, mom."

This morning I was being a slug before work. After reading the paper I was still in my pajamas and I had 20 minutes to get ready and make a lunch before I had to leave. "Mom, I'm unmotivated to eat breakfast." (mom halfheartedly) "Get up, Katie! Get up! Get up!" "Nooooo. Drag me to breakfast." (mom grabs my ankles and begins trying to drag me off of the couch) "Yeah! Thanks, mom!" After breakfast I was still unmotivated to get dressed and ready. "Mom, I don't want to get dressed." "I'll race you! Ready? Go!" Needless to say, we both tore off to our rooms to get dressed. Also needless to say, I won.

"Squares just make me so much happier than rectangles!"

I've had my current mobile phone since January 1, 2009. Today I opened up the "Notepad" sector and glanced through what I have stored there. It's a series of reminders, to-do lists, quotes, words I want to remember, etc. A few key notes in chronological order:

-Dr. Hydell and Mr. Forb

-Do you have a bandaid? I scraped my knee falling for you.

-Olomana Peak (Chelseas say do it)

-LB security guard: Ele'u

-That weird eyeball fruit: lychee

-REI membership #881722

-How many times have Johnny Depp and Tim Burton worked together?

-Buy a massively giant button-up cardigan.

-google dada performance

-I think that possibly maybe I'm falling for you

-With beauty all around me, I walk.

-Text jaclyn - the house I'm staying in smells exactly like her old house on tracy

-He has a lot of problems. He just sucks at being a human

-find Emily. Is she still alive?

-Write about that Patrick person from the plane

I'll try to post more often; I forget that people read this sometimes. 

Poetry at baseball games...a rare commodity

My leg are a familiar sight.
I like the veins in the top of my feet.
Tendons crawl as my toes wiggle around.
The tan line from my slippers
flip flops, I guess.
Chipped polish; I can't ever keep it looking nice.
There's that spot on my ankle that the razor
always misses.
My eyes graze over my shins,
the two huge scars
and the ones in between, filling the gaps between purplish gashes.
I made up stories for those scars,
adventures that didn't happen.
Maybe I wish they did.
For those who don't buy my tales
I take out my pen.
The scars become monsters with fangs
and angry eyes.
My knees bring on nostalgia
of summers
filled with rollerblading and climbing trees.
Bug bites
in the little indent just next to my kneecap.
Hardest place to scratch.
My thighs
scabbed and bumpy.
I just itch sometimes;
I can't help it.

My freckles.
My freckles I like.

Happy Galactic Day one and all

It was actually yesterday.

God I'm bitter

Today I suddenly found myself festering in bitter memories. Maybe this was brought on by my canceled plans. Probably. Because under normal circumstances, the thunderstorms alone would make me absolutely thrilled.

Anyway, Elsa Bross. My creative writing teacher from eighth and ninth grade. Eighth grade went well. Ninth grade did not. I won't go into details, but we had an issue. A big one. One that sent me to the principal and got me in moderate trouble. I fucking hate this woman with every fiber of my being. I had two loves at that point in my life. One was writing and she fucking stole it from me.

Because of this woman I did not write during my high school career. At all. I didn't even do writing homework. Fuck her.

I googled her name and found her on Facebook. She has two kids now, lives in Montevideo. Fuck I just want to punch her. Four years later and I still want to cause her bodily harm.

My nail beds are a mess.

I haven't posted in over a week. I really have nothing to say, I just feel obligated to put something here.

Current state of things:
Sitting on Joey's couch. He just tried to strangle me and is now harassing his dog Sammy who he just shoved in my face. Joey is currently on a massive sugar high because we consumed very large amounts of cotton candy at Kyle's grad party. We also just composed a monster movie theme song type thing. On a Saturday night. Too cool. Work is normal, things are normal.

I think Joey's going to ditch out on our camping trip. Which sucks. But if he doesn't go it means that I'll take my brother. Which doesn't suck. I figure that as soon as he graduates, he won't be around much. I should take advantage of sibling bonding while I still can.

My mother is making me an alligator scarf.

Ahh, summer. The sun shining into my front window, Fred snoring next to me on the couch (his little claws reaching out to snag my shirt from time to time), a popsicle for the mailman sitting in the freezer.

I'm glad that I'm friends with my mailman. Tim. I've lived in the same house for my entire life and I'm pretty sure he's been our mailman for the duration. He gives me birthday cards with money, I give him popsicles and lemonade on hot days. He gives me christmas gifts, I make him caramel corn and cookies. Yesterday, he parked next to our house just as I was pulling out to head to Claire's house. I came home at twoish in the morning and saw a note in my kitchen. The handwriting was familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Kate has a driver's side brake light out." Then I realized it was from Tim. Oh, Tim. You're the best.

I decided that Linnea and I are going to have a Galactic Day. This means that we dress as "galactic" as humanly (or not humanly, god I'm lame) possible and have adventures like going to the planetarium. If I can, I'm going to find some sort of antennae to wear...

I christen thee Franklin.

This weekend 89.3 The Current did three-song sets. It was awesome.

This weekend my parents went to go see Andy's new gallery showing. I was lonely.

Add these together....what do you get? A massive solo dance party in my living room.

I had an interesting discussion with Linnea in the car this evening. We were talking about graduations, stages of life, etc. Upon conversing about the issue of "closure" and moving on, we came to a bit of a decision. The only way to love your entire life is to fully embrace wherever you are at a given point in time. When you're in high school, love it. Do lots of things, make good friends. When you're in college, love it. Do more things, make more good friends. When you're an adult, love it. Don't get sucked into the rat race; stand apart. When you're a parent, love it. Adore your children and raise them to be great people. When you're old and slowly fading, love it. Appreciate your memories, the people you love, and those who love you.

Settle, settle.

Summer is almost becoming summer. Things are good at work. I went to see Michael Pollan speak at Barnes and Noble during my break the other day. Last night Whitney and I walked around Lake Harriet and picnicked at Minnehaha Creek (we're both trying to fill an oceanic void). Tonight I'm hitting up the orch concert at Edina and then hanging out with Joey and his bff (wtf?) from school. One problem: I haven't been sleeping well. I don't sleep much and when I actually do pseudo-sleep, I get really weird dreams. Some are surreal, some are too real, some are just strange. I woke up-ish at 5 this morning and wrote down what I had just dreamt. I have no idea where this came from or what significance it has. Overall, it doesn't matter whatsoever. It was just peculiar. Verbatim what I wrote, bear with me.

Evidence was found that some recent killings had been done by a group of their friends? They had been pretty brutal massacres, somebody discovered photos indicating the people and the next intended target - my family. Dunno how we got the info. Prior to this there was a lot of activity in a grocery store, dunno why. But we knew what day the attack was going to come. My family spent time stocking up our house. Cereal, water, etc. Again, dunno why. It's a dream. I don't know why we didn't decide to leave the house. But we were staying.

Andy set up base camp in the kitchen with all of our provisions. We'd had some individual threats that I can't remember. The day came - it was a Saturday. We locked ourselves in the house. When a car or person would approach, we'd close all the curains and go to the kitchen. First false alarm: punk ass little boy talking abou frat parties. He wanted to be the killer but he was probably 12. Second false alarm: an old man and woman. Wanted water, we let them in, dunno why. I texted Andy while they were here. I didn't trust them. I kept telling Andy to somehow get the man's hat off. I thought there was something underneath. They left, it was ok. Third false alarm: Dana. She came over with her family. Had a rubber glove (partly frozen) and a washcloth. In a plastic bag. Wanted some water to make a frozen hand to get movie tickets. I didn't understand but I gave it to her. She left.

In the living room. It was dark outside. Talked to mom about the predicament, asking why we hadn't just left the house or told the police or gotten tons of people over instead of isolating ourselves. She said, "I don't know, Katie. Probably would have been a good idea." A man was creeping in our front yard. Dad opened the door, the man asked about what time some class got out. I live in a residential neighborhood. Dad said 7:30, the man left. I thought it was weird, then realized that the man was our demise. I was sitting in our living room, looking out at our street through the big front window. People start streaming out of John Carlis's house. My parents mutter "Dennis, it's Dennis." About fifty men in full swat gear leave the house, headed for us. They set fire to trees, shrubbery - people start coming out of their houses. The men have machine guns. Somebody asks out loud if we should relocate to the kitchen. I say, "no, they have machine guns. It's over." My family seemed to kind of agree. Outside they still approached. Random other people - people I didn't know - had gotten a couple weapons away from the men and were firing into them. To no avail. I consciously thought that I wanted my mom - I wanted to hold her hand before I was gunned down in my own home. I woke up.

If punching "the man" was an option, I'd do it.

Is there no escape from routine?

I'm a week into summer "vacation" and already am feeling the dreadful pull of a daily routine. This is somewhat less than ideal. I'm back into my age-old problem of TAKING ADVANTAGE of every waking moment. The problem being that I don't do that enough.

Whatever. I'll just slave away at work to make money to slave away at school to get a degree to slave away at a job to make money to slave away at routine. Carpe diem my ass. Give me more options!!

At least I'm writing my haikus.

A distinct lack of wisdom in my mouth.

I am sad to report that I am nearly completely normal under a prescribed amount of Vicodin. 

Yesterday morning I had four wisdom teeth forcibly taken from my head. Creepy. Luckily, the whole thing went fairly smoothly. I went in, they talked me through the post-op stuff, and they started the drugs. Prior to the whole intravenous thing, I had been extremely iffy about the procedure. Steve had described the entire thing to me (in detail) and I was pseudo-horrified. So when the doctor told me that I would be completely unconscious for the entire thing, I was delighted. The next thing I remember after watching the drip drip drip of my drugs was sitting in some recovery room. 

(It's very bizarre to refer to memories tainted by serious anesthetic. They seem very cloudy, almost as if they were out-of-body experiences.)

Anyway, I wasn't even entertaining immediately after the surgery. I was just crabby. Typical. I became even more crabby when I realized that I forgot to ask for my wisdom teeth. By the time I realized this and my mom called the office, it was tragically too late. I imagine I was rather unpleasant about that discovery, although I don't remember any specifics. Also, I didn't vomit (contrary to what Joey adamantly told me) although I've been experiencing an almost concerning amount of hiccups. Kris mentioned that it probably has to do with the pain meds....I'm in agreement. 

I keep almost-forgetting to write those haikus. And I wanted this post to be more entertaining than it turned out to be. So here's a photo of my chipmunk-ness. Although you can't tell, the puffier side of my face is a solid bruise. Fuuuuck. On an unrelated note, it's weird to be home.

Things are winding down...

My room is freaking barren. The walls are blank - no more Van Gogh prints, no more sanded picture frames, no more island utopias, no more photos from prem and the "good old days," no more countless bandannas and belts and hats clipped everywhere. I even took down the cow spots (leftovers from a speech). My bed is pure chaos. It's littered with all of the crap that I have yet to shove into my bags - last night I was so tired that I just slept on top of it all (clothing, textbooks, water bottles, and the like) instead of finishing cleaning/packing.

And the goodbyes. Those dreadful goodbyes have begun. Oh dear.

On a lighter note, my writing professor Nina set me off with a good idea for this summer. She told me about a group of people who committed to write one haiku every single day for a year. It kept them writing, it kept them in touch. Nina, knowing my affinity for haikus, mentioned this to me as a potential venture. At my embrace of the idea, she made me promise that I'd email them to her on occasion.

I'm starting the day I get back to Minnesota - May 12. One haiku every single freaking day. It's going to be hard, but I need to make it happen. Maybe I won't start with a year; maybe I'll just start with the summer. Still, it's a lot. Wish me luck.

Conquest at Olomana Peak

This afternoon I should have been studying for finals. I didn't. Instead I took on a five-hour adventure: hiking Olomana Peak. Tiffany was supposed to do this with me, but she had to work. So I set off alone, terrified, excited, and determined above all else. Here are some photo-highlights intermingled with words.

I left my room at 2. After a 45 minute walk, I found myself down the Pali Hwy and over a ways to where I needed to begin (that was a strange sentence). The hike actually commenced at about 3. Let me just say, the first peak was a bitch. I honestly didn't think I would make it to the top of the first peak (obviously I got over that). Anyway, the first peak took roughly an hour. Next time it'll take less time because I'll be less of a pansy about it. Whatever. The photo is one of those delightfully vertical portions where you only have a rope. It's worse on the third peak. Waaaay worse.

Fuck blogger, the photos aren't working now. I'll try later. The words will take it from here. Never mind! They work now.

Part way up the first peak, I met two local guys (their pace put mine to shame). They passed me, but when I got to the rope part the younger guy was standing there looking lost. Turns out he was really freaked out and couldn't figure out how to go straight up. He introduced himself as Mark and I showed him how to get up the large rock in front of us. At the top of the first peak I was introduced to Donovan - the older of the two. Here we rested and I ate an apple. Yay. The guys weren't planning on continuing past the first peak - they had Cinco de Mayo plans. I announced that I was definitely going to do the second peak and by the time I finished my apple, they were halfway to the next peak. This photo is a view of the second and third peaks from the top of the first peak. Woof.

It only took about thirty minutes to get from the first peak to the second peak. A little climb down, a little climb over, and a little climb up. From here, you could see the epic-ness of the third peak in all its glory. We chilled for a few minutes there. I wanted to do the third peak but was concerned that I would run out of sunlight. I decided "fuck it" and started down the rope. Mark and Donovan weren't planning on taking on the final peak, but they waited until I got down the (extensive) rope portion and yelled back that I was safe and not dead. I continued down the second peak on my way to the third, scooching myself along where it was too steep and gravelly to walk efficiently. When I paused to get some water, I turned around to find Mark and Donovan coming down the rope. I was happy. (The photo is a view from the top of the third peak. I'm just trying to spread them out for aesthetic continuity.)

I'm not going to lie, the third peak was tough. Lots of rope, lots of vertical climbing. This is also the most dangerous portion of the hike. Really. Anyway, I made it up to the top of the third peak (Mark was kind of freaked out by the ropes again - fear of heights - so neither of them made it the entire way). There was a little metal box up there, tied to a tree. I opened it, spilling its contents (see the lovely little photo). There was a little notebook so I added a blurb, a haiku, and my name. Although I was exhausted and sweaty and grubby, I cannot express to you how absolutely amazing it felt to be up there.

Anyway, the hike back was pretty terrible. I was not only exhausted, I was also running out of light and water. Mark and Donovan waited for me at the top of the second and first peaks to make sure I was alright (I was very appreciative). On the way down the first peak, however, they fuckin booked it (they later claimed they had to make up for me schooling them on the third peak). I made it down in maybe 35 minutes and they were nowhere to be found. Consequently, I really didn't like going down the first peak. Rough on the ankles and knees. (Same thing with the photo, it's from the top of the third peak.)

Dead tired, I reached the road and walked fifteen minutes or so, hopped a gate, and continued on my merry way. I was absolutely dreading the 45 minute walk back up the Pali - this time in the dark. Much to my delight, Mark and Donovan pulled up, having stopped at 711 to get waters. They promised to find me via facebook and asked me to not forget about them so we could all hike together this fall. Mark drove me back to campus, a very very very welcome favor.

I might not be able to get out of bed tomorrow. I'm pretty ok with that. It was a good day.

Swirling in discontent.

I'm having one of those horrible phases in which I feel like I'm not living up to my potential. I have no idea what brought this about, but it's terrible.

I keep grappling with the fact that I'm not DOING anything with my life. I'm not making a difference, I'm not achieving anything, I'm not having life-changing adventures. I'm merely existing....watching the world rush past me....hardly partaking in anything.

Frustrating!

I'm trying to open myself up to the world. Although I'm extremely aware that not everything revolves around me, it's become sort of a default mindset. As I'm sure it has with most people (whether or not you realize it). I need to realize that every concern of every person is just as important as my own. Probably more so. I dunno, it kind of makes you feel guilty.

I talked to my mom today. Like I do most Sundays. She brought up my cousin Jeff. He was diagnosed with testicular cancer a few months ago but he responded well to chemo and things were going decently well. I guess the cancer spread and he keeps needing surgeries. This is the same thing that happened with his dad's cancer (my uncle) eight years ago. Except Jeff's wife is having a baby in two months.

My mother got an ear infection a couple weeks - maybe a month - ago. It got better, but it took all of the hearing in her right ear with it. She's deaf in one ear now. This terrifies me - I'm not ready for my mom to get old. I can already see signs of Alzheimer's disease in her. My grandmother had this, I guess it runs in the family. But she forgets things, she's so scattered sometimes. It's already hard and it hasn't even begun. Andy thinks it's funny, he laughs when I bring it up. I'm not prepared to consider my mother's mortality.

After my great aunt died, my mom went out to California for the funeral. She went in my grandfather's place - 94 is a little old to be flying. I talked to her twice while she was there. My mom told me how she felt like she belonged there, with those people. How happy she was. It's not that I didn't know she was unhappy - I did. But still. Ouch. My parents have been married for 32 and a half years. Two kids, two cats, a fish. I discussed this with my mom over winter break this year - one of the first really real conversations I've ever had with her. She admitted that she should have left my dad within the first three or four years of their marriage. But she didn't. She still should but I know she won't.

Sometimes Andy and I talk about when dad almost died - when his heart stopped while he was at work. We ask ourselves if we'd be better off if he had died. We decide yes, we would. This makes us terrible people, I'm completely accepting of that fact. But it's true.

This probably isn't the best place to put these thoughts. I'm banking on the fact that not many people read this.

I feel a sneeze coming on.

delightful sneezes
how can bodily functions
feel so refreshing

I think one of the worst possible sensations is when a sneeze dies before coming to fruition. It's both disappointing and it makes you look kind of stupid.

The last couple weeks of school are overwhelming. It's just not a good situation. I'm going home in less than two weeks - I'll be off island for two and a half months. I want to take advantage of my last days here, having adventures and getting as much as I can out of living on an island. Instead of enjoying myself, I'm confined to my room, studying my ass off with my head buried in a textbook.

Not fair. Granted, life isn't fair. But still. Not fair.

An end of the day addition. I had some weird struggles today, resulting in this haiku.

I hate glitter glue.
Where the fuck did this come from?
Existential bane.

Well that was disappointing.

I went to Iceland the summer after eighth grade.

Since then, I've secretly wanted to move there when I'm "grown up" and have a real job and a life.

It recently came to my attention that Iceland participates in whaling.

My unfounded loyalty for whales outweighs my love of Iceland.

Fuuuuuuck.

This in no way reflects what is generally found in Wanderlust.

A Series of College-Related Haikus

Finals.
finals are a joke
information retention
yeah right, don't they wish

Printers.
ink is running low
and yet it keeps on printing
I don't like its lies

Energy Drinks.
nectar of students
slowly destroying kidneys
and yet we consume

Freshman 15.
we eat what we want
but just around the corner
imminent weight gain

Weekends.
most people party
but we are major losers
so we just hang out

Easy Mac.
perfect little lunch
the staple of college life
wondrous cheesiness

Maybe I'm scarier than I thought.

Yesterday Justin didn't show up for work. For the second or third day in a row. Generally, it's not a huge deal - we're perfectly capable of accomplishing things and being productive without his presence. However, we ran into a snag while going through some stuff he had been working on. Andrea and Debbie (our bosses) sent me to find Justin. Luckily, he lives in the next building over.

I was aggravated at this point - sick of him not coming to work when we actually need him. I got up to the seventh floor, marched down the hall. I knocked on the door - it wasn't quite a pound, but it was a very intense knock that definitely meant business. Justin's roommate Mike opened the door, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. "Where is he?" I demanded (I'm kind of peeved at Mike so I didn't feel bad about being harsh). Justin's head popped up from the couch; I could see him past Mike holding the door open. "WHY AREN'T YOU AT WORK?" Needless to say, Justin got his ass off the couch pretty fast. As I berated him for sleeping through work and not having his cell phone on, Mike commented, "Wow. Next time Justin won't go to French all I need to do is get an angry white chick up here." I flipped him off and left the apartment. It was actually a remarkably good day.

On an unrelated note, I heard back from Wanderlust. I had submitted a couple random little things and they accepted my "series of college related haikus." I posted the haikus a while back, they're somewhere on the blog. Before I submitted, I took out the one about skittles. I really liked the haiku, but it didn't really have anything to do with the rest of them. Also, here's the binary code poem. It's a work in progress.

I see words move past me
sentences and phrases
simply bounce against people
tumble to the ground
or fly past
grazing elbows
getting lodged in backpacks
some are otherwise forgotten

I feel like I’m speaking in binary code
zeroes and ones
Maybe it’s just that nobody listens

What ever happened to funk?

I have a feeling that this is going to be a series of tangents. An amalgamation of thoughts. Consider yourself warned.

I think I might bring back funk as a trend. Like I pseudo brought back yo-yos my senior year at Edina. Too bad I don't listen to funk music. It'll be a challenge.

I'm still quazi apprehensive about next year. The fact that Kelsey is going to be in Vancouver is grating on my like nothing I expected. I've realized that, of the people I've met thus far at school, Kelsey is the one I'm still going to be talking to fifteen, twenty years down the road. I'm lucky.

I'm not sure how I feel about the concept of age. I don't feel that a number of years of physical existence is a sufficient measurement. There are just so many more factors that should be taken into consideration. I'm young. In terms of years, I'm nearly the youngest of my friends. Always the baby. But I think about those other components. Family. Friends. Knowledge. Life.

I'm not here extol myself or emphasize my maturity or my self-concept. I'm just another human on Earth, a total dork, figuring things out a little at a time. Feeling older with each passing moment. Age is the weight you feel every day, the weight of memories and experience. I try to take an objective look at my life. It started out just like everybody else's. But things changed, things happened that forced me to grow up. For the last eight years of my life, I've been growing up faster than those around me. Maybe knowing things that I shouldn't have had to know. It added time.

I think I should get away from people for a while.

I'm in a funk. I need to keep writing. I finally wrote a poem based on that phrase "speaking in binary code." I'll put it up here sometime soon. Today at work Maddi said that something "disappeared in a cloud of unlikelihood." I liked it. I'll try that next.

I'm a bad person.

It's been a month. Yikes. I have to admit, I'm pretty disappointed in myself. Sure I have my excuses. School, work, sick, big island, blah blah blah. Point is, it's been a month. But I'm back. Here was an assignment for LIT 2520H - it's based on three poems: When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats, Sonatina by Ruben Dario, and Tonight I Can Write by Pablo Neruda (one of my all-time favorite poems). My class hated the princess, they thought she was a bitch. The only person who actually liked the character was the only male in the class. Huh.

Escape Without End

The Princess waited in her ivory tower
Desired escape
And nothing but

The opportunity came in the form of a man
A shining knight
She resented this

The knight on his steed swept her away
Gallantly
Of course

Spoke to her of his kingdom beyond
His castle
She didn’t care

He loved her with every ounce
Every figment
Of his soul

She left him for another man
One more escape
A broken heart

He remained in his forlorn tragedy
Lost without her
Silent smile

The Princess continued her journey
Using the man
He didn’t know

He gave her everything she wanted
His whole life
Or so he thought

But she disappointed once again
Leaving silently
Alone

His face became one of many
Just a cloud
In the sky

The Princess found herself
Free.

Wicked Satisfaction

I desire destruction.
to see buildings and mountains crumble before me
to see societies fall
people turn on one another
a frenzy of chaos
I sit back and laugh.
entertained by the failures of human kind
entertained by my own apathy
no salvation comes
everything will perish
I eke hatred from every pore.
filling my aura with ire
filling my footsteps with devastation
the world ceases rotation
falls out of orbit
I gaze with dead eyes upon the wretched.
watching darkness obscure light
watching havoc replace hope
it was only a matter of time
before it ended like this
I at the center
radiating with fury
responsible for all
content as such.

World domination hangs in the balance (of a cow outfit).

I can't decide whether or not to give the context for this story. For now, I choose no. If utter chaos results, I'll fill in the blanks. Ahem....

The other night I was walking along the edge of the rainforest-ish, heading back to campus. Upon hearing significant movement and whispering voices in the foliage, I paused. Research and studying were calling my name, but my curiosity is infamously insatiable. Abandoning all hope of going to bed early, I set down my backpack and water bottle, stowing them underneath the nearest leafy shrub. Stealthily, I stepped off the path and into the trees.

Without making any noise, I made my way through the underbrush, sticking to the shadows and pausing behind trees to make sure my steps hadn’t been detected. The moonlight shone through breaks in the canopy, casting a mysterious light on my surroundings. After a few more silent steps, I spotted a clearing up ahead. The voices were clearer now, but I still couldn’t make out the words being spoken. I could also see figures, but I was too far away to identify the shapes. Making nary a sound, I proceeded toward the congregating bodies. I spotted a large hedge-type thing just outside of the clearing: the perfect hiding place.

Hardly breathing, I inched my way over to the foliage and crouched down (absently I hoped that my shrub wasn’t anything poisonous). It was the perfect vantage point and as I gazed out at the clearing, the figures suddenly came into full view. In front of me was a semicircle of farm animals. About thirty cows, pigs, and chickens were gathered together. I did a double take (especially considering that cows, chickens, and pigs are a rarity on Oahu) as one cow meandered its way to the center of the clearing, clearly the leader of the group. He began to speak.

“My friends: bovine, swine, and fowl alike. Tonight I bring you together for a meeting of the most valorous intentions. The time has come to move into the next phase of our plan. Phase three: the siege.” A twitchy chicken interrupted the cow. “But Emerson, we already tried this! It was an epic fail, we lost so many lives on that horrible night.” The cow, Emerson as it was, turned sharply to address the chicken. “Silence, Gregor. This will be nothing like that night. The faults have been addressed, the plan re-worked entirely. The siege will not fail. The siege MUST not fail.” There was a murmur of approval throughout the crowd. The creatures began discussing the details of their master plan. It involved heavy artillery and intense battle formations that no military could possibly fathom.

Throughout the discussion, I couldn’t help but wonder how these animals would accomplish such a task without opposable thumbs (it seemed like a deal-breaker to me). I remained hidden for the duration of the meeting. At the end, Emerson announced the time and date of their final pre-Siege gathering. As the animals dispersed and I made my way back to my hidden backpack, I saw myself presented with a dilemma. Try to stop this force of farm animals from taking over the world (or at least Hawaii), or succumb to a life of servitude under those we once devoured. I now find myself with no choice, the date of their final meeting approaches fast. I must do something. I need a costume.

Not exactly productive, but it's a start.

I'm writing a research paper on Organic Farming. Unfortunately, I suck at research. Today I went to the reference floor of the library in order to try my hand at subject encyclopedias, etc. I sat down at an empty table and took out all of my stuff. I looked around, sizing up the students around me (I was definitely the only freshman in the library) and surveying the rows upon of rows of enormous books.

Intimidated beyond belief, I did what only I would do in that situation: I wrote haikus.

Organic farming
the topic of my paper
research calls to me

here I find myself
mysterious library
where do I begin

I miss Joey Stych
my best friend in the whole world
Minnesota love

Not my best work, but it pseudo-got me over my paralyzing fear of the library. Next time I'm just going to ask the librarian for help.

This was an assignment.

Erato + Euterpe + Melpomene + Thalia = Inspiration

Ever since I learned to read, I wanted to write. I can probably chalk this up to the fact that I learned to read aided by the comic strip “Calvin and Hobbes” by Bill Watterson (I believe this is also the most prominent attributing factor to my ridiculous vocabulary and my slightly philosophical approach to the world at large). Most children go through a few phases of “dream jobs” over the course of their youth and adolescence. The typical favorites: astronaut, doctor, lawyer, teacher, firefighter, police officer, veterinarian. I began my cognitive life with the desire to become a writer. Although I did pass through some of these phases (I still secretly aspire to become an astronaut), my heart and soul has always belonged to the romanticized idea of writing.

I can’t pinpoint exactly why I write. As for most people, there isn’t a single motivation behind it. When I was a child, I wrote to discover myself. A rather precocious youth, my writing skills were well beyond my years (I recently found an assignment from first grade that was absurdly indicative of this). The more I wrote, the more I found out about myself. By the time I reached middle school, I had an extremely solidified sense of “self,” primarily because of the time I had spent discovering my own world through writing. From second grade on, I was known throughout my school as “the writer.” This stimulated another facet of my desire to write – entertainment. I wrote ridiculously extravagant stories, always allowing my imagination to get the better of me. In middle school, I branched into poetry. One day in eighth grade Geometry, my friend Carah sent me a note asking me what I thought “love” was. The year before, I had lost my best friend Ben to a car accident, honing my adolescent approach to the subject. In response to her question, I wrote Carah a poem and sent it back her way. Upon reading it, she began crying. It was then that I realized how much I could affect people with what I wrote. I still find myself writing to entertain, although in different ways (at this point I’m really only entertaining myself). My fallback of entertainment writing is haikus. I adore the simplicity of haikus as well as the potential to make them as abstract or poetic as you could possibly desire.

Finally, I suppose that I write (like so many others) to express myself. Whenever I have a surge of emotion, either good or bad, I write. It doesn’t really matter what I write, I just find myself with an insatiable urge to put my thoughts down. When I have an uncharacteristically good day, it goes on my blog. When I’m upset, I surrender myself to an empty piece of paper and a pen. On Tuesday of this week, my mom called me with the news that one of our close family friends had died. Sean McKay, age 28, was shot and killed outside his house by an unstable neighbor from down the street (who proceeded to flee the scene and then shoot himself). He left behind his two children, both under the age of seven, as well as his wife of ten years, Trinity. Although there is never a good time to receive news like this, it came at the worst possible time for me. This week has been the single busiest week of my entire college career, so busy that my mom said she had considered not telling me of Sean’s death. Despite the amount of work I had to do, I needed to write. I needed to vent my heartache, my fury to the only available outlet. Since I heard the news, I’ve taken time to write each day. Because of this I now find myself at 3:23 on Friday morning, shaking from the combination of combating sadness and the caffeine-induced consciousness I am currently experiencing and realizing that I still have “miles to go before I sleep” (Frost).

Writing has and always will be my most sympathetic ally. It accompanies me when I’m content, jovial, or enthused. More importantly, it stands by me when I’m disconsolate, irate, or just tired and crabby. I could not ask for a better companion in all the world.

A Break in the Waves (of life, that is)

We didn't have class today. I was jazzed to the max.
Lately, I've been wondering if I'm in the right place. Now that I'm not a marine bio major, it isn't a necessity for me to be near an ocean. And I can definitely say that being closer to home would simplify the whole college experience. I was entertaining the idea of staying in Hawaii for two years and then transferring back to the Midwest. My only problem was that I could not pick out a single university that I would want to attend. U of M? Too big. Lawrence? Too Wisconsiny. St. Olaf? Drake? I'm not sure I could handle going to college with my best friend.

Some of my friends and I went surfing in Kailua today. I was out on Kelsey's board, waiting for my wave to come along. I should make a note that, for whatever reason, each and every time I go swimming or surfing, I come up from being underwater and I'm surprised to find that I'm swimming in salt water. I realize I've been living on an island since August, but it still catches me off guard. I can't explain it. Anyway. I was sitting on the board, just looking around. The huge expanse of ocean, the gorgeous beach behind me, a couple islands out a way. I thought to myself, "I can't do this at home. It's just not an option." And it's true. As much as I love Minnesota, I will never be able to surf there, I will never have an ocean there.

That's when it hit me (or maybe it was just a wave). HPU may not be the perfect school for me, but Oahu is the perfect place.

I find myself more at peace now.

Hiatus, Lacuna, Interlude, Lull, Respite

So I haven't posted in about three weeks. I'm a slacker. Sorry.

Anyway, things are looking good on the Hawaii front. Slowly learning to surf (sloooooowly), working a lot, putting all of my homework off until the last minute (per usual), hanging out with cool people. The way to go. A general update on recent happenings, just to get back into the swing of things:

I got elected into AS-HPU (student gov) as Freshman Representative. Pseudo-celebrated my half birthday last week. I have a creeper from my Oceanography class who keeps texting me. The person I actually like is totally not interested. I haven't started my RA application yet. Or my taxes. Also I have a huge amount of homework to do! But it's ok because we don't have class tomorrow. Yay.

Words I like today.

Here are my favorite words and or phrases of the day (also in general):

• navigable
• gelatinous
• swerve
• espionage
• jazzed to the max
• I love you with all my brain
• peregrination
• frowzy
• gloaming
• sidereal
• ethereal

Also I think I'm dropping psych. 18 credits plus 16 hours of work each week. Plus a pseudo-social life. After the first week of school, I'm already ultra overwhelmed. Not a good thing. I'll just take it in the fall.

An uncharacteristically good day

1/23/2009 WRI 1200 Free-write. Topic: Your morning. Focal point: Breakfast.

Every morning I wake up before my alarm goes off. I hate this, but it happens every single morning. Less than fifteen minutes before my alarm, I'm wide awake. I generally coax myself back into pseudosleep so that by the time my alarm does go off, I want nothing more than to stay in bed. My phone sounds its alarm. Not wanting to wake my roomies, I silence it, pulling it under the covers with me. I stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling until the alarm goes off again, this time vibrating against my collarbone. I drag myself out of bed, over to my wardrobe. Picking out clothes is a terrible way to stat a morning. I have so much clothing, but nothing to wear. The next decision is even harder. Sunglasses. Of my 20 or so pairs, what do I want to wear? Eventually the right pair presents itself to me. I grab my phone and keys and head out the door, still careful to not wake my two sleeping roommates.

Up the hill to the Dining Commons. One foot in front of the other. Same thing every morning. I open the door - Christiaan instead of Chuckie is waiting to take my number. 106. I grab my tray, silverware, plate. The peaches look better than usual today. I pile some on, move over to the cereal. The fruit loops are almost gone, but I manage to dredge up a sufficient portion. Milk. Usually a no-brainer. Today, kind of an issue. One large glass of milk - for drinking. Goes of without a hitch. One small glass of milk - for my cereal. As I set the glass down on my tray, it hits the edge and crashes over. Milk splatters everywhere. Floor, tray, but somehow not on me. I proclaim a not-very-carefully-chosen one syllable word and begin cleaning up. Leah hands me a new tray and one of the DC workers takes my milky one with a smile. I make my way to the table without further incident. I sit alone at breakfast - the way I like it. It gives me time to actually wake up. I put down my name at the grill - Kate: omelet with cheese. By the time it comes, I've finished my peaches and I'm halfway through my fruit loops. I stab the omelet with my fork a few times so it cools more quickly. I'm in a good mood today, despite the milk incident. Everything tastes great. A reflection of my sunny disposition. On my way out the door, Christiaan says "Goodbye, Kate." I wonder how he knows my name. He has a list with everybody's name and number, but the list says Kathleen...

NOTE: I also kicked ass on my Spanish placement test (96% heck yes) which continued my streak. Good day.

A bit of enlightenment

At the end of the summer, I went through my "memory" box with my mother. This box held every significant (or otherwise) piece of paper from kindergarten through middle school. Art projects, homework assignments, report cards, the usual. I stumbled across an assignment from first grade. From what I can gather, the assignment said to write about your Thanksgiving break. I had typed this assignment and drawn a picture at the bottom. Here is what I wrote - the spelling, grammar, and (this is important) formatting is exactly the same as my original creation. Here we go.

Spritz and Me By Kate Kincaid

11-25-96 I bought Spritz. He was very cuddly and I loved him
a lot . He was brown and white. I tried to make a leash,
but all it did was fall apart. So I did not have a leash .
Of course I slept with him .
11-26-96 I woke up with Spritz. What a ritz, what a ritz.
My blankets were a mess on the floor and on my head.
I read while I got dressed and I read through breakfast,
so I did not have much to eat.
Then my aunt and uncle came over, and I got in to a quick
HASSLE. I ran to the bathroom to get my hair.
I forgot my teeth because we were going
to DAYTON'S. So we drove out and when we
came back I was starving. So I had some
lunch. My Mom and Dad got sad
so now I am working as hard
as I can.

This is me at age six. Explains a lot.

Now I remember.

Every family has issues.

Luckily, I'm leaving in two days.