Dawn.

It's unnerving in that I didn't sleep a wink and now the birds are singing and sunshine is spilling out over the clouds and mountains and my eyes are kind of swimming and my stomach won't stop growling, and it's crazy because I've never not slept through the night before.

I just wanna Be Ok.

Song of the Day: Be Ok - Ingrid Michaelson


Sometimes when I click "New Post" I stare at the space I have to fill. The bar for a title, the rectangle of words that will be sent out into the world. Sometimes I stare at that white space for quite some time because I wonder if my words will be read, or if there is any point to sharing what I have written in my notebook, with people. Blogging has become somewhat of a "do-something-because-everyone-else-does" trend for some. It's just something new and cool to do and I'm not saying that what others write isn't real, because it is. But sometimes I feel like I want to say things and feel things and address things that are better said face to face because I can get a reaction, I can talk and perceive and I just can't write it all out in this space because it's too "trendy" or people take it that way.

I'm not a trend. I'm not something cool. I'm not a label. I'm not a follower. I'm not the best.
I am what I write, and I don't post everything that I write. But one things for sure, times will get hard and life will cause you to change and there is an ache that can never be dulled, and in those times, it's the easiest for me to fill my white open spaces.

Quench.

It's like I'm thirsty. And I've been thirsty since about 8:30am on Tuesday, March 13. It's that self-inflicted kind of thirst, which just makes it worse. My mouth has been dry, coated with the dusty film of words I know I should've said. I keep coughing, deep, from a place I didn't even know existed. It hurts. Then, overwhelmed with thirst, I tried to drink again, tipping the cup back too far and almost drowning myself. So I stand, sputtering and soaking it all in, knowing I shouldn't, but I did. Now and then I take little sips that burn as they slide down my throat because I know I don't want it anymore. But I'm so thirsty. And the kinds of things I want and in the decisions I make, I always think about my beverage of choice and how I don't want it, but I need it. I tell myself everyday that I don't need it, and on those days I realize I want it.

All I can do is listen to cheesy pop songs or disconsolate guitars in an effort to drown out the silence that is so loud these days, echoing with the promises of the past. I stay as far away as possible from my thirst, running even, until I collapse from dehydration of a different kind,

desire.

I don't know okay?

I don't know how long.
I don't know when it will end.
I don't know why I stayed.
I don't know why I left.
I don't know who I'll end up with.
I don't know what I want.
I don't know why it's so cold without you.
I don't know why you made the same mistakes.
I don't know why it took me so long.
I don't know who is going to keep me going.
I don't know what is happening to us.
I don't know why you keep asking me questions.
I don't know why she bothers me so much.
I don't know who is my best friend.
I don't know how he knows where I am all the time.
I don't know how to deal with this.
I don't know the answers.
I don't know what to think.
I don't know how much time is left.
I don't know.
I don't know okay?

Vulnerable.

I'm at that time in my life where things never quite go according to plan. Oh, wait. Things never go according to plan, no matter what time of life you're in. But this, this stuff is serious.

This is the time when you decide where you're going, what you're doing, and ultimately, what you'll be for the rest of your life. I just never thought it would get here so fast. It felt kind of like a myth. Some sort of story that I'd heard about "getting old."

And then once you actually round that corner of life and meet up with your friendly neighborhood "old self" you have to buy your own groceries and bills start piling up and then you get married and have children and have insurance that costs more money and then you have wrinkles and gray hair and dentures and more pets than you need to fill your empty life and then you die.

I just assumed that it would skip me since I've been avoiding it like the plague. But you know, it really skips no one. (Okay except maybe J-Lo and Mariah Carey because let's be real, if I look like that when I'm 40+ I'll be one happy camper.)

The only good thing that will come out of this is that I'll never have to perm my hair when I'm a grandma. I can just focus on baking cookies and scrap booking.

I guess I'll start with college though.

Much Love & Contemplation,

Katherine

Whoa, hey, back up. (Edited)

It is not okay that *********** and people still *********** down.

It is not okay that I tried ********** and then ******** got in the way.

It is not okay that after ********** of working at an amazing store, I come home to find that **************.

*********** has been going on since I was born.

It is not okay ***************** and everyone thought I was crazy for it. (Okay maybe this one is okay because I don't care that people think I'm crazy.)

************ I've worked for ****** is the "right thing" to do.

It is not okay. Okay? I'm not okay. It is not okay. Life is not okay. It's not even fine. We lost fine a couple miles after we hit the speed bump made of "right things."

There isn't even going to be a "that's all" to end this post because that's not all! There is so much more that needs to be said but can't be. **********.

Just ************ and someday when I'm ************ you'll see the trail I made speeding over "right things" and never looking back.


Katherine

P.S. The ********** are not swearwords, they are phrases that have been edited out because of complications. I apologize for the vagueness if this post, call me if you want to know what's really up.

Pointless.

Here I sit, pulling my group's weight (since group projects are anything but successful) and typing up an essay that is completely and totally pointless (I don't understand how missing a Lab in foods constitutes me writing a 2 page paper on food preparation (?!), so if someone could clear up how that helps me understand how to make the German Pancakes I missed that would be great) and freaking out about a perfect works cited paragraph from an essay that I did not write when I should have, and just ask me how badly I've been bitten by the dreaded Senioritis bug, then while we're on the topic of graduation how about we mention how expensive college is, and how unemployed I am, and how I spent 18 hours at school last Friday, and roughly 8-10 hours every other day, wondering how I could fit a job into my already brimming schedule, and can we not even mention my bedroom that has remained in it's post-apocalyptic state since school started?

Okay thanks.