"Call · me."

 

( Chase the rain out of your heart dear, cause i know you will survive )

 

 

The saga continues. Bedtime so that I may get up and sort out my life to(day)morrow.

One of my brothers' best childhood friends was shot and killed last night after some armed lunatics broke into his apartment.  I can't even fathom this in the context of my own family or friends...all I know is that seeing Ryan so wrecked tonight broke my heart and made me realize how emotionally unavailable and useless I am in such situations.

( 6pm Check-In )

Feelings: I guess I always answer this one incorrectly, despite it being a reasonably simple question. The question isn’t “How are you doing?” but instead, “What are you feeling?” making my usual answer (some variation of “alright” depending on how jubilant/grammatically correct I’m feeling) insufficient. I need an adjective, a feeling word: sad, glad, and mad being three readily-available options listed on our evening check-in poster. Of course, all of these require a certain degree of commitment to something in order to be genuine – as do other non-monosyllabic options – a degree of commitment I’m not particularly willing to commit to when it comes to most feelings.

But I guess I will, because I have to. Right now I am feeling…frustrated that certain things continue to present themselves as problems, even though I’ve been here for two months. Excited that Project Runway is on tonight. Uncomfortable in my body. Confused by the incongruity between sizes and reflections. Disgusted by my hopeless immaturity when dealing with my mother. Nostalgic for crisp and colorful fall memories that never fully materialized. Irrationally jealous of my peers and their outing tonight – an outing I myself chose not to go on, an outing I was begged to reconsider going on, an outing I’m sure will be fabulous and full of anxiety-inducing bonding that I am making very clear I do.not.want. Equally irrationally jealous of peers who seem to be edging me out of the spotlight. Sad because it’s fall and that’s how I get in the fall. Eyeroll-y because I thrive on labels and my own “clever” ability to diagnose myself. Moved by Lifehouse for the first time in years…wishing I could remember all the positives that came with this, or that Mod-Podging “Breathing” lyrics onto a notebook cover would provide me with the same definitive catharsis now that it did for me when I was 14. Achingly needy for somethingsomethingsomething I can't identify. Exhausted by the contradictory chorus of constant analysis vs. “just let it go…take it easy…quit making everything such a big.fucking.deal…” forever looping in my head. Relieved that I have headphones and homework and a little bit of solitude for the evening.

And lonely. So incredibly lonely.

Urges: to restrict. to body-check. to restrict. to stay in bed all day. to restrict. to change out of my “normal clothes” and back into my sweats. to restrict. to take off my push-up bra and Duct tape my breasts flat. to restrict. to stash all 12 of my fucking snacks in my pockets and flush them down the toilet. to restrict. to tell my ET therapist that her patronizing tone and lessons would be really offensive if I wasn’t painfully aware of what a fucking idiot she is. to restrict. to spend forty-five minutes on the Elliptical, power-walk through the mall, and sprint on our evening walk. to restrict. to violently hack away at my ass, my thighs, my stomach, my arms until all twenty pounds of my ~*~new body~*~ are spattered around me in a slippery, bloody mess. to restrict. to speak for more than thirty seconds during evening check-in because everyone else fucking does and sometimes I want people to have to endure my challenges, too. to restrict. to tell about seventeen people that I don't give a fuck about whatever they’re complaining about AGAIN, that I’m not here to save them/fix it/offer constant reassurance, and that they should really SUCK IT UP. to restrict. again and again and again and again and again…

Behaviors: body-checking and (hugefuckingblanket)avoidance – the only two I’m allowed to do.

Dishonest: in theory…no. in reality…aka was my affect congruent with my actions? Not since I told my roommate her Jock Jams 1996 CD was “OMG TOTES!!!” what I wanted to wake up to at 6:00 this morning.

Challenged by: the thought of being here another forty-five days…not because the week before Thanksgiving sounds so impossibly far off, but because the reality of my life does. my constant impulses to do the exact opposite of what I feel I should do…all in the name of self-denial and martyrdom. the thought that I want to be a self-denying martyr, solely for pity’s sake.

Learned: perception is (yet another) one of those things that just is what it is…in that it’s totally subjective, means nothing, and means everything.

Talk Time: no, but thank you for asking.

In lieu of karma beads, magazine collages, and notebook-exchanges:

I'm finding my way back to sanity, again
...though I don't really know what
I'm gonna do when I get there
Take a breath and hold on tight,
spin around one more time,
and gracefully fall back in the arms of grace

I am hanging on every word you say,
and even if you don't want to speak tonight
that's alright, alright with me,
'cause I want nothing more than to sit
outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing
is where I want to be

I'm looking past the shadows
of my mind into the truth and
I'm trying to identify
the voices in my head -
God, which one's you?
Let me feel one more time
what it feels like to feel
and break these calluses off me
one more time

'Cause I am hanging on every word you say
and even if you don't want to speak tonight
that's alright, alright with me,
'cause I want nothing more than to sit
outside your door and listen to you breathing
is where I want to be

I don't want a thing from you
bet you're tired of me waiting
for the scraps to fall
off of your table to the ground
I just want to be here now

'Cause I am hanging on every word you say
and even if you don't want to speak tonight
that's alright, alright with me,
'cause I want nothing more than to sit
outside your door and listen to you breathing
is where I want to be

Because I know y'all want in on this past weekend of Hanson-y goodness ... and I'm too darn lazy to post all of these again (/have carpal tunnel from 24 hours of furiously pursuing the Ultimate Katy-Taylor Picture, 2007, that I know exists somewhere on the 'Net):

http://snc.facebook.com/photos.php?id=59000293

Now with witty commentary!

I've been really restless lately. Not clawing-at-my-skin-uncomfortable-restless, though, just wanderlust-y - like I see possibilities in everything and need to break free from obligations and responsibilities so I can actually start my life. 

::breaks into chorus of "Belle" from Beauty & the Beast::

Between waiting to hear back from schools and planning some exotic post-graduation travels (that won't happen) for my *final summer off* I'm getting itchy. Itchy and illogical. Perhaps exactly what I need right about now is a trip to...say...Tulsa, OK...perhaps from 6 am Saturday, May 5th, through 2 pm Sunday, May 6th? Granted, that is the weekend immediately before finals...the weekend I should spend either learning Spanish (seeing as I've put it off all semester long) or at least locked away in my room, feigning productivity. On the other hand, how very invigorating would a crazy cross-country adventure with two of my favorite people to see my favorite boys be? I'm pretty sure an acoustic Madeline serenade could inspire some end-of-semester brilliance, yes? 

Although...if I get accepted to NYU (or Columbia or Denver...doesn't really matter), perhaps my groupie fantasizing will quell, and instead manifest itself in a more mature, more constructive way, when I channel all of my energy into moving cross-country to puruse a passion, a sense of independence (!), a (real) education, and (::hopehopehope::) a career. Hm. 

I could seriously throw up I'm so nervous. 

If I'm rejected from everywhere, I'm going to Tulsa. End of story. 

</worthless drivel>

Stolen from bonemeadow, because anything she's got is totally steals-worthy. And she's right - there just isn't enough jealousmuch round here.

Write ten potentially strange facts about yourself. Tag ten people, explain why. No tagbacks. Or I could just tag everyone...

1. Whenever I'm walking alone and think there may be the potential for some form of social interaction - no matter how minuscule - I maintain a sort of running dialogue in my mind as I anticipate what people could say to me, and what I could say back. I aim for witty banter, but sometimes it's just as innocuous as that which would come out if I didn't sweat so much over rehearsing. And sometimes it's just something that's completely untrue, but may (or may not) sound interesting. As if Cashier #1 I encounter at Target cares if he gets a "Just fine, thanks" reply or "Fabulous! I just found out that I won an all-expense paid trip around the globe, and thought this here Nair and Seashell nail polish would come in handy as I'm traipsing bare foot on the sands of St. Bart's." No seriously.

2. Since I've lost my laptop to porn-inflicted viruses (or whatever) you'd think I'd be sleeping better. Nope - still up well into the wee hours of the early morning, wasting brain cells either on Nick @ Night, miscellaneous E! countdowns or THS, or Boy Meets World. Or Golden Girls, Girls Next Door, or Sex & the City. Oooor Parental Control or Next... 

3. Okay that last one wasn't interesting, unique or even unknown. And it was a lie. If I'm up that late, I'm probably situated in front of my 50x's magnification mirror, plucking everything in sight. Not because I'm a hairy bastard, but because I have this weird obsession with perfecting everything in my power to perfect: as if by eliminating every misappropriated whisker, I can uncover the glassy-smooth, porceline skin that should cover my 22-year-old face. Should.

4. Part of me is really narcissistic and thinks my looks are the greatest thing since sliced bread...part of me is pretty horrified, slightly embarrassed, and largely disappointed whenever I see myself in pictures. Nevertheless, whenever I'm feeling particularly attractive, I try to capture what I feel I look like. Usually, this just results in a bunch of lame MySpace-esque headshots that are deleted shortly after I've flipped through them...as I'm pretty sure Facebook photo albums are better used for other things. (Note: see below)

5. Sometimes there's nothing I like to do more than go to Barnes & Noble and page through wedding magazines. No intention of buying a book or drinking a coffee at Starbucks: I just like to sit and loiter and gum up the pictures with my dirty little fingers. Go ahead and judge - my wedding will be spectacular.

6. In all reality, I'm pretty sure John Mayer would want to marry me if he ever met me. Or at least read my Livejournal (seeing as his blog is largely what convinced me) Also, I'm pretty sure Nicole Richie would want to be my best friend. And I used to think that about Hilary Duff...but then a friend of mine pointed out that a) she wasn't actually Lizzie McGuire, and b) even I couldn't handle the two of us together, being all teen scene and trendy. 

And no, I don't want to expand my social circle beyond the pages of Us Weekly, thank you very much. 

7. I'm having a really difficult time thinking of anything that doesn't directly relate to Livejournal or the Internet...so I'll continue to run with that...Even though I don't have the capacity for millions of userpics (or the motivation to change them every thirty seconds), I still hoard them like a fiend because I think some of them would make neat charms for a bracelet. And you know a Livejournal userpic charm bracelet would be infinitely cooler than one of those stupid Italian charm bracelets (which I hate with a passion for absolutely no reason...my deepest apologies to anyone who loves them...please find solace in the fact that I want a Livejournal userpic charm bracelet)

8. Even though I have literally drawers upon drawers upon Rubbermaid containers filled with lotions, body splashes, eau de parfums, and eau de toilettes, I still drown myself (and whomever I'm with) in at least fifteen different fragrances whenever I pass by a perfume counter (which I will sometimes go out of my way to do). At the moment, my favorites include Chanel CoCo Mademoiselle, Lancome Miracle, Donna Karan Be Delicious, and Britney Spears Fantasy (hush, you).

9. I used to join LJ communities (ratings, Hanson, ANTM/Project Runway/AI forums...etc) just for the sake of comments and random dialogue. However, when my real friends leave me emails, voicemails, or messages via the Facebook, I'll typically stew for days before replying. As if my friends would prefer some well-planned response to the off-the-cuff Katy Standard?

10. I'm really weird about spending and saving money: between last summer and Christmas, I (finally) paid off the $5,000 debt I accrued (over one year) with Limited Brands for various bras, panties, dresses, necklaces, faux engagement rings, and fragrance giftsets...and essentially vowed to never shop again. Since then I've worked my tail off serving tables, even going so far as to not rest until I had exactly $1,000 in cash to show for spring break alone. (I've since rested - go me) After that, I began marking off all these financial benchmarks in my day planner, budgeting everything from gas to insurance to Diet Mountain Dew - just to ensure my success. Of course, then I got in a car accident, was forced to pay off a surprise tuition bill, and botched my hair color...but I'm still of the mentality that everything must be budgeted!

::phew:: That was exhausting. And now, as promised in #4...it's me!


::whispers:: I'm not really applying the lipgloss...I actually did that prior to snapping the picture...but, seriously, how convincing am I?

"Only on your back, Blanche. That way, everything slides back and you look like you've just had a facelift."

"Oh, you're right - I'm gorgeous!"

"Of course, not only does your face slide back, but your chest does, too. Back -- and off to the side."


Ah yes...the elusively perfect closed-eyes "candid"...that definitely took about 75 attempts to get juuuuuuust right.

First day back after break and already I'm burning the midnight oil. I have two summer publishing institute applications that need to be post-marked TODAY (er, rather, one postmaked last Friday...) and one for Friday, and I'm pretty not a single one is worth the stamp, much less the application fee.

::sadface::

It's really a shame that I've invested so much hope in this rather intangible prospect (NYU? Come on Katy) - and hardly invested much effort at all into actually cranking out quality applications instead of these pseudo-intellectual/"LOOK AT HOW QUIRKY AND UNIQUE I AM!"-pieces of disjointed garbage. I honestly don't know what to do if I am rejected from these programs though. I'm graduating in less than two months with a completely useless degree (English and Women & Gender Studies) and have literally run out of ideas beyond these publishing institutes.

(It's really a shame that that is the beginning and end of my life-planning)

It's really a shame that I've allowed myself to believe that I will walk across that stage commencement day, accept my diploma, shake the dean's hand, and *poof!* magically, I will be Carrie Bradshaw.

Silly talentless Katy.

It's really a shame that even that sounds frighteningly un-appealing...at least "professionally"...seeing as college has sucked the joy out of writing for me. Hence the need (needneedneed) for me to get into these programs so that I can leach off of other people's talents...yessssss...

It's really a shame I have no (other?) marketable skills.

Someone tell me a tale. I cannot sleep, and am kind of a sad bear...though I'm not entirely sure why...?