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.