"Come here President!! You need to be assassinated!!"
This is what I hear out of AJ's mouth as I'm floating around on my raft in the pool. The series of large splashes that follow this statement inform me that CJ (the appointed President) has swam away from the assassin (AJ).
When I was younger my cousin and I played shark and mermaid & pirate and princess. President and assassin were two words that probably never crossed our minds. Today I worry about the media and what it is teaching and showing. What worries me most is that in my experience, children learn by example.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
The half and half house.
In elementary school my very best friend was Cheyanne. Cheyanne and I used to go onto the football field at recess, turn ourselves upside down, sit on our heads and look at the sky. If you starred long enough it looked like you could walk on it, or fall into it. We always had intense conversations while doing this. One in particular that I remember quite fondly-- Cheyanne and I decided that since we were going to be best friends forever we would live together when we went to college. We planned that we would live in a dorm room together... and because we were unaware of what a dorm really was we pictured a very large house. Her half would be entirely pink, and mine entirely baby blue. I imagined a large house, with a line down the middle, one half pink, the other blue. Nothing in it had any other color. We were very excited about this and once it was decided we never talked about it again, but I think of it often.
As I get ready to move out of my house and into an apartment with a roommate I barely know, I am wishing I was moving in with Cheyanne, into my blue part of our half and half house.
As I get ready to move out of my house and into an apartment with a roommate I barely know, I am wishing I was moving in with Cheyanne, into my blue part of our half and half house.
Fleet Street
I wish I lived on Fleet Street with Benjamin Barker and Mrs. Lovett. Fleet street where it always rains and is always dark and gloomy. The rain makes me feel at home.
When I was in the 2nd grade my mom picked me up from school every day. My teacher, Ms. Mcbride, would let my class out onto the playground after the bell rang while she opened up the chain-link fence that led to the row of cars waiting to pick up children. One day, Ms. Mcbride let us out 30 seconds before the bell rang, and opened the fence faster than usual... only by coincidence. I skipped out the gate to the line of cars, scanned the row, searching for my mom and when I realized she wasn't there I began my walk home. My school was not far from my house, maybe two miles. I was 8 years old at the time, and was constantly being lectured by my mom about people who kidnap children. This was right around the time when a couple of girls in California had been taken from their bedrooms. Anyway... I walked home. It was dark and cloudy outside and beginning to sprinkle. When I got home I knocked on the door... no answer. I went around to the backyard and knocked on the glass window... no answer. So, naturally the voice of my mother came into my head, " If there is ever an emergency, go to one of the neighbor's houses"-- we knew all of our neighbors very well. I went to Teri's house. Teri had two children and an older girl, Brittany, that was about 17. I thought Brittany was very, very cool. I played there for two hours, when Teri came outside and told me my mom asked that I come home now.
I walked into my house and saw my mom sitting in the entry room, on the couch with my pooh bear I'd had since I was a child. She proceeded to reprimand me for walking home alone, and not staying to wait for her car. Then she started crying and hugged me explaining how she had been looking for me for hours and was just about to call the police. She was convinced I had been taken.
By that time the storm had rolled completely in and it was pouring outside. Mom and I sat by the front window and drank hot chocolate and watched the storm. I don't remember doing many things with my mom when I was a kid, but that day, I think she really wanted to be with me.
When I was in the 2nd grade my mom picked me up from school every day. My teacher, Ms. Mcbride, would let my class out onto the playground after the bell rang while she opened up the chain-link fence that led to the row of cars waiting to pick up children. One day, Ms. Mcbride let us out 30 seconds before the bell rang, and opened the fence faster than usual... only by coincidence. I skipped out the gate to the line of cars, scanned the row, searching for my mom and when I realized she wasn't there I began my walk home. My school was not far from my house, maybe two miles. I was 8 years old at the time, and was constantly being lectured by my mom about people who kidnap children. This was right around the time when a couple of girls in California had been taken from their bedrooms. Anyway... I walked home. It was dark and cloudy outside and beginning to sprinkle. When I got home I knocked on the door... no answer. I went around to the backyard and knocked on the glass window... no answer. So, naturally the voice of my mother came into my head, " If there is ever an emergency, go to one of the neighbor's houses"-- we knew all of our neighbors very well. I went to Teri's house. Teri had two children and an older girl, Brittany, that was about 17. I thought Brittany was very, very cool. I played there for two hours, when Teri came outside and told me my mom asked that I come home now.
I walked into my house and saw my mom sitting in the entry room, on the couch with my pooh bear I'd had since I was a child. She proceeded to reprimand me for walking home alone, and not staying to wait for her car. Then she started crying and hugged me explaining how she had been looking for me for hours and was just about to call the police. She was convinced I had been taken.
By that time the storm had rolled completely in and it was pouring outside. Mom and I sat by the front window and drank hot chocolate and watched the storm. I don't remember doing many things with my mom when I was a kid, but that day, I think she really wanted to be with me.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
[Sunday] In The Park With George [Fictional place #1]
Tonight I surfed Youtube. More often than not I search for musical numbers. I listen to other girls sing, then I quickly pull myself up and compare. Most of the time I am greatly disappointed in the skills I so obviously lack.
JH asked if I could sing a song with him. From Sunday In The Park With George [a Sondheim Musical YAY]. JH intimidates me... because he's just so dang talented. It's nice to know he feels comfortable performing with me. This must mean that he thinks I'm somewhat talented as well.
Seeing all these talents on the internet makes me even more driven. I hope that someday someone will stumble across my youtube video and be inspired as well. I hope someday to live up to my own standards.
JH asked if I could sing a song with him. From Sunday In The Park With George [a Sondheim Musical YAY]. JH intimidates me... because he's just so dang talented. It's nice to know he feels comfortable performing with me. This must mean that he thinks I'm somewhat talented as well.
Seeing all these talents on the internet makes me even more driven. I hope that someday someone will stumble across my youtube video and be inspired as well. I hope someday to live up to my own standards.
This jealous actress has a habit of making things sound way to tragic.
MC and I watched Across The Universe last night. To my surprise, I liked the movie. It was enjoyable despite the fact that MC and I made "That's What She Said" jokes the entire time. He'd nudge me. I'd nudge him back. I felt like I was in the first grade.
I thought it would be awkward. Meeting up with MC for the first time in... two years? It wasn't. Again, I am convinced that MC and I share the same brain. Only I must have the slower one... he says all of the cool things I want to say just seconds before I do. I don't think that's fair.
I thought it would be awkward. Meeting up with MC for the first time in... two years? It wasn't. Again, I am convinced that MC and I share the same brain. Only I must have the slower one... he says all of the cool things I want to say just seconds before I do. I don't think that's fair.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Cerulean [yes, it's a color]
Today I miss high school. Charlie is moving away at 9:20am on August 25th. The day I start classes at the U of A. The day I have to come to terms with the fact that this was never really where I wanted to be. The day that makes me feel like I failed myself... just a little bit.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Purple
I've been on medication for depression and mood swings for roughly a year and a half now. Maybe more, it's hard to tell. Usually it works great and I am more even keeled. The minute I go off my medicine I become extremely prone to mood swings and become very introverted and depressed. This happened when I ran out of medication last week and neglected to go the perscription filled. I did fill it after two days, and I'm back on my regular dosage, but this time it isn't helping. Maybe I just need to give it a couple more weeks. It worries me because I hate feeling like this. It's sad and anxious and I don't like it.
I met a boy, MC, who is a friend of HE's. MC and I have met a couple of times before, but after he posted a builliten about being sad I messaged him, just a simple hello, making small talk and such. MC is the boy version of myself, or so I have come to believe as of late. We talk every day, text througout. He keeps me company seeing as the summer has isolated me from my friends. I like MC a lot, and I would like to become more of MC's friend. I am thinking MC and I should go out for coffee Tuesday night. I am thinking I need a good friend again, one who gets me.
RJ came into my work with CC tonight. My best friends, remember? [if not, refer to the post with their picture]. I felt distant from them. Like a whole TON of time and space had passed since we'd spoken, like a whole series of events completed and changed everything... but they hadn't. Or had they? I couldn't tell. But it was strange. I miss them. I complained to RJ that CC wasn't returning my calls and she replied with "Well someone else isn't very good at that either.." referring to me. She calls and I always hit the "busy" button on my phone. It's not that I don't want to talk to her, it's just that I'm busy at the time, and can't sit and listen to her talk for an hour [which happens frequently]. I guess the part where I own up is the part where I tell you I don't call her back. What am I doing? Why am I isolating myself? It SUCKS.
I met a boy, MC, who is a friend of HE's. MC and I have met a couple of times before, but after he posted a builliten about being sad I messaged him, just a simple hello, making small talk and such. MC is the boy version of myself, or so I have come to believe as of late. We talk every day, text througout. He keeps me company seeing as the summer has isolated me from my friends. I like MC a lot, and I would like to become more of MC's friend. I am thinking MC and I should go out for coffee Tuesday night. I am thinking I need a good friend again, one who gets me.
RJ came into my work with CC tonight. My best friends, remember? [if not, refer to the post with their picture]. I felt distant from them. Like a whole TON of time and space had passed since we'd spoken, like a whole series of events completed and changed everything... but they hadn't. Or had they? I couldn't tell. But it was strange. I miss them. I complained to RJ that CC wasn't returning my calls and she replied with "Well someone else isn't very good at that either.." referring to me. She calls and I always hit the "busy" button on my phone. It's not that I don't want to talk to her, it's just that I'm busy at the time, and can't sit and listen to her talk for an hour [which happens frequently]. I guess the part where I own up is the part where I tell you I don't call her back. What am I doing? Why am I isolating myself? It SUCKS.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Silver
Dad has a blog. He writes in it as a journal, so that one day his children, and possibly their children can read it and have an insight into who he was as a person, and what was important to him at different times in his life. I write because I feel--far too much. Sometimes if I don't write, I freak out. It's been this way since I was about eight.
When I was 6, Nana (my grandmother), who lived in a different state at the time, brought me a journal. At six, my handwriting was atrocious. She told me to write two things I was thankful for in it every single day. In my first entry I write "i am thankful for my babbysitter and my mom and my dad." Surprisingly I spelled most of it right... but that isn't to say that half the letters aren't backwards. If you read it, you can see that as the number of my years climbed higher, so did the number of entries. At 8 years old I wrote that I was NOT thankful for my little brother, Austin. I must have forgotten at that point, what the journal was intended for. As I enter myself in the 5th grade there are a mess of entries. All of them are about boys. Looking back I can hardly keep up with myself. One page I <3 Chris, then Garret, then Sabian, then Austin, then Jeremy, then back to Chris and so-on. I remember how nervous I was to go to school and see any one of these boys. Ridiculously nervous, like a small, small child being forced to go on a roller coaster. Or the kind of nervous you get when you're sent to the Principal's office in grade school. I would never be that way now. Then, I get a lot older. I win Homecoming with Charlie and write it down as the happiest day of my life. I write pages and pages and pages on how much I am in love with HE. I wrote sincerely, always, but I did write for myself. Though I was writing "Dear Journal" I was really writing "Dear Kate"... Sometimes I wish I could go back to the younger me, and have a conversation. This journal, is the closest I'll get to that. Eventually I ran out of pages. So I stopped writing. I got a livejournal. But livejournal was different. I would write, mostly, for the people who were going to read it. If I wrote in it the way I did in my journal, I would have been teased, hated, etc. etc.
This blog is different. I write not to document events, or to impress my readers. I write because most of the time I think too much-- feel too much, and have to get it out on paper so they can burden me no more, threatening the life they belong to.
Silver because we're the Millenial generation Dad says. I am, my generation. I see similarities in all of us and sometimes I think we should be called the "Baby Mama Drama" generation. We all speculate too much, tag ourselves with problems, investigate our feelings till we're blue in the face. I am guilty of this as well. I am a drama queen in my head, and everything MEANS something. If that makes sense...
There's a boy I know EQ. I've known EQ for about two years and we get along brilliantly. Never bored of each other. We go months at a time without talking, then talk for 6 months, then lose touch. Even after almost three years he keeps coming back. So what is it that he's in my life for? What is EQ here to teach me, show me, help me through? I strongly believe that we change each other. That we're here in each other's lives for specific reasons. I am always looking at everything like a learning expirience-- "What did I learn from that friendship?"...
Anyway... I am off topic now and confused about what I really am trying to say, so I'm wrapping it up.
Next Blog Title Challenge: Names of pets all throughout your lifetime. Ones that meant something.
When I was 6, Nana (my grandmother), who lived in a different state at the time, brought me a journal. At six, my handwriting was atrocious. She told me to write two things I was thankful for in it every single day. In my first entry I write "i am thankful for my babbysitter and my mom and my dad." Surprisingly I spelled most of it right... but that isn't to say that half the letters aren't backwards. If you read it, you can see that as the number of my years climbed higher, so did the number of entries. At 8 years old I wrote that I was NOT thankful for my little brother, Austin. I must have forgotten at that point, what the journal was intended for. As I enter myself in the 5th grade there are a mess of entries. All of them are about boys. Looking back I can hardly keep up with myself. One page I <3 Chris, then Garret, then Sabian, then Austin, then Jeremy, then back to Chris and so-on. I remember how nervous I was to go to school and see any one of these boys. Ridiculously nervous, like a small, small child being forced to go on a roller coaster. Or the kind of nervous you get when you're sent to the Principal's office in grade school. I would never be that way now. Then, I get a lot older. I win Homecoming with Charlie and write it down as the happiest day of my life. I write pages and pages and pages on how much I am in love with HE. I wrote sincerely, always, but I did write for myself. Though I was writing "Dear Journal" I was really writing "Dear Kate"... Sometimes I wish I could go back to the younger me, and have a conversation. This journal, is the closest I'll get to that. Eventually I ran out of pages. So I stopped writing. I got a livejournal. But livejournal was different. I would write, mostly, for the people who were going to read it. If I wrote in it the way I did in my journal, I would have been teased, hated, etc. etc.
This blog is different. I write not to document events, or to impress my readers. I write because most of the time I think too much-- feel too much, and have to get it out on paper so they can burden me no more, threatening the life they belong to.
Silver because we're the Millenial generation Dad says. I am, my generation. I see similarities in all of us and sometimes I think we should be called the "Baby Mama Drama" generation. We all speculate too much, tag ourselves with problems, investigate our feelings till we're blue in the face. I am guilty of this as well. I am a drama queen in my head, and everything MEANS something. If that makes sense...
There's a boy I know EQ. I've known EQ for about two years and we get along brilliantly. Never bored of each other. We go months at a time without talking, then talk for 6 months, then lose touch. Even after almost three years he keeps coming back. So what is it that he's in my life for? What is EQ here to teach me, show me, help me through? I strongly believe that we change each other. That we're here in each other's lives for specific reasons. I am always looking at everything like a learning expirience-- "What did I learn from that friendship?"...
Anyway... I am off topic now and confused about what I really am trying to say, so I'm wrapping it up.
Next Blog Title Challenge: Names of pets all throughout your lifetime. Ones that meant something.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Green
Everyday it seems I am learning more about myself. Lately, they haven't been good things.
The hardest part about being human, in my opinion, is taking responsibility for your actions. Waking up in the morning and facing what you've done, facing it without feigned justification. This is the hardest part about being me today. Taking responsibility.
The hardest part about being human, in my opinion, is taking responsibility for your actions. Waking up in the morning and facing what you've done, facing it without feigned justification. This is the hardest part about being me today. Taking responsibility.
Monday, June 16, 2008
LOST
I am taking a break from the blog title challenge today because there's no title more fitting than "LOST". Why? Am I LOST? ... No. I am obsessed. I am obsessed with the television show LOST.
I've always felt like watching it, but the more time that went by the further behind I got. Before I knew it my friends [LOST fans] were gabbing about the FOURTH season. I knew there was no way I could catch up. GG told me he'd watch it with me, from the beginning. So we began. Episode 1, 2, 3, & 4. I was hooked. After watching these with GG I went home to watch the rest of the first season. I couldn't wait. And now here I am .... sitting on my couch where I have been for the past two days. I just finished the season one finale. Holy Crap that was intense.
I'm pathetic really. 20 episode at 1 hour a piece is 20 hours. 20 hours I have spent in the past 40 hours watching lost. The other 20 I have spent sleeping, working, and obsessing over watching the next episode. It's bad, it's addicting, but I love it SO much.
GG and I are going to watch all of season 2 tonight. I am MUCHO excited. It's a comfort to know I am not the only LOST addict.
If you've never watched the show ... start. www.watchtvsitcoms.com/LOST ... you won't regret it :).
I've always felt like watching it, but the more time that went by the further behind I got. Before I knew it my friends [LOST fans] were gabbing about the FOURTH season. I knew there was no way I could catch up. GG told me he'd watch it with me, from the beginning. So we began. Episode 1, 2, 3, & 4. I was hooked. After watching these with GG I went home to watch the rest of the first season. I couldn't wait. And now here I am .... sitting on my couch where I have been for the past two days. I just finished the season one finale. Holy Crap that was intense.
I'm pathetic really. 20 episode at 1 hour a piece is 20 hours. 20 hours I have spent in the past 40 hours watching lost. The other 20 I have spent sleeping, working, and obsessing over watching the next episode. It's bad, it's addicting, but I love it SO much.
GG and I are going to watch all of season 2 tonight. I am MUCHO excited. It's a comfort to know I am not the only LOST addict.
If you've never watched the show ... start. www.watchtvsitcoms.com/LOST ... you won't regret it :).
Friday, June 13, 2008
Black
There are a few things in life that make me feel happy and comforted. When I lose my reason and become insanely sad I rely on these things to make me feel better:
Stephen Sondheim's Music
Macbook
Ipod
Venti Black Tea Lemonade 6 pumps Classic 1 pump Raspberry from Starbucks
My Car
Rehearsal/Performing
-------------
Stephen Sondheim is one of the most brilliant men in history, in my humble opinion. My Macbook allows me to be creative without ever leaving my bed. My Ipod supplies me with some of the most amazing tunes known to man.. my Venti Black Tea Lemonade is refreshing and uplifting. My car is my life and I adore driving it. Rehearsal is what I live for, performing is my life and no matter what mood I'm in, both things are always a pick me up.
This is a list of the things I hope to never be without.
Stephen Sondheim's Music
Macbook
Ipod
Venti Black Tea Lemonade 6 pumps Classic 1 pump Raspberry from Starbucks
My Car
Rehearsal/Performing
-------------
Stephen Sondheim is one of the most brilliant men in history, in my humble opinion. My Macbook allows me to be creative without ever leaving my bed. My Ipod supplies me with some of the most amazing tunes known to man.. my Venti Black Tea Lemonade is refreshing and uplifting. My car is my life and I adore driving it. Rehearsal is what I live for, performing is my life and no matter what mood I'm in, both things are always a pick me up.
This is a list of the things I hope to never be without.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Loudly, Lovingly
"I'm Sorry"-- It comes out like word vomit and HE just sits there, crying.
"I'm sorry"
"im SORRY"
"IM so, so sorry"
Word. Vomit.
And I can't find anything else to say to him.
And for what it's worth, I think I am very sorry.
And this isn't something my sorrys will fix this time.
"I'm sorry"
"im SORRY"
"IM so, so sorry"
Word. Vomit.
And I can't find anything else to say to him.
And for what it's worth, I think I am very sorry.
And this isn't something my sorrys will fix this time.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
incredibly, surprisingly
"You're incredible"
GG never compliments me in a serious fashion. At least not to my standards. He often tells me I look "cute", tells me I'm funny ...things like this. We've discussed his emotional detachment issues and up until a few weeks ago everything has been very surface-y. I'm heavily avoiding developing any emotional attachment, let alone romantic feelings for GG. But after five months this is beginning to prove a difficult task. Don't get the wrong impression, however... because I am still trying very hard. But when GG, who has stayed emotionally impartial (at least as far as I know) for the better half of this five months, told me in casual conversation that I was "incredible" I made him repeat the phrase by answering it the first time with a perplexed, "what?". Sure enough, he repeated, as prompted. There was nothing romantic, seductive, persuasive about the way he stated this. He said it as though it was a fact. As one might remark, "The sky is blue." or "My name is Kate." So I tuned out the next few words he uttered to contemplate what this meant. I'm incredible. What does that mean? Well Kate, that means he thinks you're incredible. Duh.
Incredible \In*cred"i*ble\, a. [L. incredibilis: cf. OF. incredible. See In- not, and Credible.]
Not credible; surpassing belief; too extraordinary and improbable to admit of belief; unlikely; marvelous; fabulous.
So GG, who I had previously believed to be not heavily invested in me had just used an awful important word to describe me and in doing so, charmed me. And though I know most readers would believe my next thought to be born of naivete, I think he did it unknowingly. And there I am, talking myself out of the butterflies this comment has created. Struggling NOT to grow attached. When I become emotionally involved and invested I give away a part of myself that somewhat disables my ability to control everything, because now there's another person involved. And at the drop of a hat, GG could say "See ya!" and run away with the emotion I've given him. Now I don't know what to do, so I'll keep on keepin' on, and do my best to keep my heart out of it all... and if successful THAT will be something to be called incredible.
GG never compliments me in a serious fashion. At least not to my standards. He often tells me I look "cute", tells me I'm funny ...things like this. We've discussed his emotional detachment issues and up until a few weeks ago everything has been very surface-y. I'm heavily avoiding developing any emotional attachment, let alone romantic feelings for GG. But after five months this is beginning to prove a difficult task. Don't get the wrong impression, however... because I am still trying very hard. But when GG, who has stayed emotionally impartial (at least as far as I know) for the better half of this five months, told me in casual conversation that I was "incredible" I made him repeat the phrase by answering it the first time with a perplexed, "what?". Sure enough, he repeated, as prompted. There was nothing romantic, seductive, persuasive about the way he stated this. He said it as though it was a fact. As one might remark, "The sky is blue." or "My name is Kate." So I tuned out the next few words he uttered to contemplate what this meant. I'm incredible. What does that mean? Well Kate, that means he thinks you're incredible. Duh.
Incredible \In*cred"i*ble\, a. [L. incredibilis: cf. OF. incredible. See In- not, and Credible.]
Not credible; surpassing belief; too extraordinary and improbable to admit of belief; unlikely; marvelous; fabulous.
So GG, who I had previously believed to be not heavily invested in me had just used an awful important word to describe me and in doing so, charmed me. And though I know most readers would believe my next thought to be born of naivete, I think he did it unknowingly. And there I am, talking myself out of the butterflies this comment has created. Struggling NOT to grow attached. When I become emotionally involved and invested I give away a part of myself that somewhat disables my ability to control everything, because now there's another person involved. And at the drop of a hat, GG could say "See ya!" and run away with the emotion I've given him. Now I don't know what to do, so I'll keep on keepin' on, and do my best to keep my heart out of it all... and if successful THAT will be something to be called incredible.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
reluctantly, honestly
I hate feelings.
More importantly,I hate discussing my feelings.
Today mom, JA [mom's fiance], CJ, AJ and I sat down to discuss our feelings about the move. Awkward.
I don't talk about my feelings. I feel them. If I'm a real emotional bind I call RJ and she fixes me. I don't want to sit here and tell my mom that I feel as though she's abandoning me a bit. I don't want to sit here and tell everyone how bitter I am that I was moved six times between 2nd and 8th grade. Now is not the time for that. I hope the time for that never comes. No matter how much you "communicate" things never change. People just feel guilty, and hurt. Nothing changes. So I'd rather keep my feelings to myself, thanks.
I've always really liked my dad's approach to "feelings". Dad asks me if I'd like to spend some time with him. Out at dinner, mini-golfing, whatever. We go to talk over things and maybe we'll mention it briefly over food, but mostly we just spend time together and laugh. To me, this is much more healing than "discussing" the problem. Sometimes people just need to be reminded that they have someone there for them. Someone to take them out when they're sad. Dad does a good job at that.
I'm walking around in a sea of boxes. Depressed and distraught. Wishing, hoping, praying that this will all be over soon.
More importantly,I hate discussing my feelings.
Today mom, JA [mom's fiance], CJ, AJ and I sat down to discuss our feelings about the move. Awkward.
I don't talk about my feelings. I feel them. If I'm a real emotional bind I call RJ and she fixes me. I don't want to sit here and tell my mom that I feel as though she's abandoning me a bit. I don't want to sit here and tell everyone how bitter I am that I was moved six times between 2nd and 8th grade. Now is not the time for that. I hope the time for that never comes. No matter how much you "communicate" things never change. People just feel guilty, and hurt. Nothing changes. So I'd rather keep my feelings to myself, thanks.
I've always really liked my dad's approach to "feelings". Dad asks me if I'd like to spend some time with him. Out at dinner, mini-golfing, whatever. We go to talk over things and maybe we'll mention it briefly over food, but mostly we just spend time together and laugh. To me, this is much more healing than "discussing" the problem. Sometimes people just need to be reminded that they have someone there for them. Someone to take them out when they're sad. Dad does a good job at that.
I'm walking around in a sea of boxes. Depressed and distraught. Wishing, hoping, praying that this will all be over soon.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
excitedly, adoringly
John Krasinski--- Jim Halpert on THE OFFICE is in Tucson, AZ today.
Tucson, AZ (5/19/08) – Lights, camera, action! Academy Award-winning film director Sam Mendes is bringing his newest film project to JW Marriott Starr Pass Resort & Spa in Tucson. The cast and production crew of the comedy “The Farlanders” is set to shoot at the JW Marriott Starr Pass Resort & Spa this June.
The JW Marriott Starr Pass Resort & Spa was chosen from among several locations throughout the country and is the only Tucson locale selected for Mendes’ newest motion picture.
So, John is a part of this movie "The Farlanders" ... and I'm dying inside knowing that the man that I would like to be my husband is a mere 30 minutes away. *SQUEAL*
cautiously, loudly
My voice teacher says I don't have the body type nor the dancing skills to do Musical Theatre.
So I can't dispute her first claim really because it's true. I'm not a skinny minny. But I could be.
Her second claim however, is absurd. I can name a billion musicals that don't have dancing in them. The Last Five Years, Sweeney Todd, Songs For A New World, Aida, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Tick, Tick, Boom, Seussical... etc. etc. Sure, they've got choreography.... what show doesn't? I can get choreography. Just because I haven't been dancing since I was six doesn't mean I can't catch onto choreography. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I don't need to learn movement. I'm just saying that I wouldn't just not be cast in The Last Five Years [a show with no dancing] just because I can't dance. If I can sing my ass off and act my ass off better than those before me, then why not?
So instead she suggest that I become an opera singer. Sure, I've got an appreciation for Classical music but I do NOT want to be an Opera singer. "Kaitlyn, you even have the face shape of an opera singer..." WHAT!? "You have the biggest voice in the studio, bar none..." THEN WHY CAN'T I DO MUSICAL THEATRE!?
If this 'dancing' is such a big deal, then why didn't I have to do a dance audition to get into the U of A, huh???
I continue to sing, sing, sing. I sing classical, I REVEL in Musical Theatre. I'm supposed to be listening to classical music. Stevie [my voice coach] says I'm an amazing mimic, and that if I could just ingrain classical music into my head like I have musical theatre, I'd be set. But I hate listening to Opera. I do it anyway.
I love Musical Theatre. I'd give the world one million times over to have the chance to sing in a musical every day for the rest of my life. WHY, WHY, WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP TELLING ME I CAN'T. CAN'T CAN'T. SHUT UP.
I'm going to do it face shape, body type, dance skills or not.
So I can't dispute her first claim really because it's true. I'm not a skinny minny. But I could be.
Her second claim however, is absurd. I can name a billion musicals that don't have dancing in them. The Last Five Years, Sweeney Todd, Songs For A New World, Aida, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Tick, Tick, Boom, Seussical... etc. etc. Sure, they've got choreography.... what show doesn't? I can get choreography. Just because I haven't been dancing since I was six doesn't mean I can't catch onto choreography. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I don't need to learn movement. I'm just saying that I wouldn't just not be cast in The Last Five Years [a show with no dancing] just because I can't dance. If I can sing my ass off and act my ass off better than those before me, then why not?
So instead she suggest that I become an opera singer. Sure, I've got an appreciation for Classical music but I do NOT want to be an Opera singer. "Kaitlyn, you even have the face shape of an opera singer..." WHAT!? "You have the biggest voice in the studio, bar none..." THEN WHY CAN'T I DO MUSICAL THEATRE!?
If this 'dancing' is such a big deal, then why didn't I have to do a dance audition to get into the U of A, huh???
I continue to sing, sing, sing. I sing classical, I REVEL in Musical Theatre. I'm supposed to be listening to classical music. Stevie [my voice coach] says I'm an amazing mimic, and that if I could just ingrain classical music into my head like I have musical theatre, I'd be set. But I hate listening to Opera. I do it anyway.
I love Musical Theatre. I'd give the world one million times over to have the chance to sing in a musical every day for the rest of my life. WHY, WHY, WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP TELLING ME I CAN'T. CAN'T CAN'T. SHUT UP.
I'm going to do it face shape, body type, dance skills or not.
feel
The hurt in my heart, let us call them HE. I call HE because I miss him. I talk and talk and encourage him to talk to me about his day, silence. He refuses to open up to me anymore. To the person that knows him best. Yes, it's my fault to begin with. What should I have expected after I went and broke HE's trust time and time again? Now instead of the HE I love, I'm forced to relate with a wall, the wall he's built between us. HE makes me cry. I cry and cry knowing that all of this is only my fault, and if I could fix HE I would, but I most certainly cannot. HE doesn't know what to do either, to fix our mess. It seems to me a vicious circle. Again, I'm talking, talking, talking... where is HE? Now I've got this horrible migraine from sobbing for two hours with him on the phone. I yell profanities, then calm to soothing sounds, all these tactics, trying to find the HE behind the wall that's been built. Trying to hear a glimpse of the real HE, the HE I love. Nothing. Silence. I scream at him through the airwaves, "SAY SOMETHING HE, ANYTHING! DON'T YOU FEEL ANYTHING!?"... HE responds repeatedly with... "I don't know what to say". I feel like if he loves and cares for me like he says he does then he should find something to say. This occurs, at least once a week.
So I wake up every morning, whether it be at 4am or 7am, (if I'm lucky I'll have had three hours sleep by then), and I walk into our empty kitchen. Every morning I make my Yuban coffee in my mom's burning red coffee pot. The coffee pot that has a built in filter, over which I place another, paper filter. I wait for it to beep in triplets then pour the coffee into a cup I painted with my mom. My mom who's leaving me in five days. I sit on the couch and stare at my jet black cat, sitting in the same place she has been sitting all night. I wish I could be her. I make my way back to my bedroom, lay down on the bed, and stare at my room. All the things I've yet to pack. The wall of pictures that's going to be hell to take down. I close my eyes and I don't think about HE. I don't think about HE. I spend time with GG instead. GG calms me down. I adore GG. I don't love GG. Then, something will happen. Suddenly I realize my mom really is leaving, and I want to call HE, because HE typically makes it all better. Or, something awesome will happen, or I get a new song, I hear a funny joke, and who do I want to tell? HE. I want to tell HE. Not Mom, not GG, not CC or RJ. HE listens, listens and nothing else. Nothing like he used to. And this is what I have to live with for betraying trust. I live with HE not being able to open up. Regret Regret Regret. If Regret was a one syllable word, it would have been my blog title.
HE gives me no choice. HE makes me feel so much that I need to write it out. HE makes me open my macbook at 1:31am, teary-eyed and sick to blog about HE. I still can't sleep.
So I wake up every morning, whether it be at 4am or 7am, (if I'm lucky I'll have had three hours sleep by then), and I walk into our empty kitchen. Every morning I make my Yuban coffee in my mom's burning red coffee pot. The coffee pot that has a built in filter, over which I place another, paper filter. I wait for it to beep in triplets then pour the coffee into a cup I painted with my mom. My mom who's leaving me in five days. I sit on the couch and stare at my jet black cat, sitting in the same place she has been sitting all night. I wish I could be her. I make my way back to my bedroom, lay down on the bed, and stare at my room. All the things I've yet to pack. The wall of pictures that's going to be hell to take down. I close my eyes and I don't think about HE. I don't think about HE. I spend time with GG instead. GG calms me down. I adore GG. I don't love GG. Then, something will happen. Suddenly I realize my mom really is leaving, and I want to call HE, because HE typically makes it all better. Or, something awesome will happen, or I get a new song, I hear a funny joke, and who do I want to tell? HE. I want to tell HE. Not Mom, not GG, not CC or RJ. HE listens, listens and nothing else. Nothing like he used to. And this is what I have to live with for betraying trust. I live with HE not being able to open up. Regret Regret Regret. If Regret was a one syllable word, it would have been my blog title.
HE gives me no choice. HE makes me feel so much that I need to write it out. HE makes me open my macbook at 1:31am, teary-eyed and sick to blog about HE. I still can't sleep.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Four
I take our AC unit for granted. Then it breaks. Then I no longer take it for granted. Ahh, life lessons.
For four days I have been attempting to pack in a 90 degree house. Ouch. My energy being drained from me a billion times faster now. It's fixed today, and I can continue packing in a more comfortable state. Not that one should ever relate "packing" to "comfortable".
My sleeping patterns are all jacked up. I'm constantly tired but unable to sleep. Constantly on my macbook putting off the inevitable move.
I'm sick. Constantly nasueas. Constant headache. Mentally ill with physical symptoms. Now I'm just burping up phrases. I'd better go before this gets even weirder...
For four days I have been attempting to pack in a 90 degree house. Ouch. My energy being drained from me a billion times faster now. It's fixed today, and I can continue packing in a more comfortable state. Not that one should ever relate "packing" to "comfortable".
My sleeping patterns are all jacked up. I'm constantly tired but unable to sleep. Constantly on my macbook putting off the inevitable move.
I'm sick. Constantly nasueas. Constant headache. Mentally ill with physical symptoms. Now I'm just burping up phrases. I'd better go before this gets even weirder...
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Mac.
"You and your Macbook were made for each other"- my Macbook manual.
I drove forty five minutes to pick up my Mac at the Fedex store today because I wasn't here when they delivered it. I didn't want to wait around all day tomorrow, so I made the almost thirty mile drive there and back. Absurd? I was just excited.
Today I haven't got much to write about. My mom got a new car today, much deserved. You can simply speak the word "phone" then proceed to command your car to dial "mom" or "home" magically a voice comes from within the car and speaks to you. Yes, it is the voice of your mother, or whoever answered at home, but so cool nonetheless. Talk about convenience.
Today mom started packing up the house. I sat in the kitchen tonight and realized things would never be the same. I stared that the empty refrigerator and suddenly felt a pang i my stomach. Hurt. Sadness. Change. So, I quickly shook it off and headed to my room to drown my sorrows in my brand new, white, shiny, Macbook. Ahh, material things. Such substitute for whatever it is we're looking for and for some reason, cannot find.
I drove forty five minutes to pick up my Mac at the Fedex store today because I wasn't here when they delivered it. I didn't want to wait around all day tomorrow, so I made the almost thirty mile drive there and back. Absurd? I was just excited.
Today I haven't got much to write about. My mom got a new car today, much deserved. You can simply speak the word "phone" then proceed to command your car to dial "mom" or "home" magically a voice comes from within the car and speaks to you. Yes, it is the voice of your mother, or whoever answered at home, but so cool nonetheless. Talk about convenience.
Today mom started packing up the house. I sat in the kitchen tonight and realized things would never be the same. I stared that the empty refrigerator and suddenly felt a pang i my stomach. Hurt. Sadness. Change. So, I quickly shook it off and headed to my room to drown my sorrows in my brand new, white, shiny, Macbook. Ahh, material things. Such substitute for whatever it is we're looking for and for some reason, cannot find.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Tick
Today I feel grotesque. Unable to stop binge eating, and unable to look at myself in the mirror and smile. I have completely fallen prey to lurking my friends' myspace/facebook pages just to see how photogenic they are, how fashionable, how cool. Sure, looks aren't all what they seem, but today they are. Today I regret everything I've ever eaten. Today I wish I had adjusted my diet months ago. Today I wish I had the drive to workout instead of just sit here and complain. It is today that I wish I didn't want to look like all the girls in the magazines. Maybe this desire is a sin, but hey, when you throw it in my face waving oversized breasts, tiny tan tummies, perfectly manicured nails, and big beautiful eyelashes in my face, enough I'm bound to become brainwashed enough to believe it is the norm. And today, today I'm brainwashed. Today I feel like CRAP. The sucky thing is, it hasn't just been today, it's been every day, every day that I haven't been able to look at myself in the mirror and be happy.
I can't help but think "Gee, if I had started getting in shape four months ago, I'd be happy by now! How hard would that be?" .. Time, time, time. Slipping, slipping, slipping.
EDIT: I've been having an extremely hard time sleeping lately. Wide awake at 1:15am, 2:15am, 3:15am, 4:15am, 5:15am, 6:15am, and if I'm lucky, I get to sleep around 7am, only to naturally become wide awake again at 9am. I've been relying on sleeping pills to sing me lullabies. It barely works. And I am so, so tired.
I can't help but think "Gee, if I had started getting in shape four months ago, I'd be happy by now! How hard would that be?" .. Time, time, time. Slipping, slipping, slipping.
EDIT: I've been having an extremely hard time sleeping lately. Wide awake at 1:15am, 2:15am, 3:15am, 4:15am, 5:15am, 6:15am, and if I'm lucky, I get to sleep around 7am, only to naturally become wide awake again at 9am. I've been relying on sleeping pills to sing me lullabies. It barely works. And I am so, so tired.
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