102- September 11

I think I should blog today.
About September 11th.


It's been 10 years.  I was 12.  In Kansas.  
And it still hurts more than anything to relive.  


Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 I was in 7th grade.  In Orchestra.  And my teacher, before we started class said something along the lines that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, we didn't know if it was an attack or a mistake, but he just wanted to let us know.


I don't remember anything about the rest of the school day except that none of my teachers let us watch it on TV.  What a crock is that?


My next flashbulb is being at home at like 3pm sitting on my couch watching the replaying of all the footage on the news.  And sobbing.  Because, although I was young, I understood what was lost.  


Moms.  Dads.  Grandmas.  Aunties.  Neighbors.  Friends.  Sisters.  


People.  People who wouldn't return to their families.  Their puppies.  They probably had mail waiting to be sent.  They had journals that documented unfinished hopes and dreams.  


And I sat on the couch sobbing.  I don't remember where my sisters were.  But I do remember Tracy and I running to my mom's arms when she came home from work.  We were halfway on the stairs.  She met us halfway up the stairs.  


I remember she was supposed to fly the next weekend and one of the first things she told us was that she wouldn't be leaving.  


I remember in the days after my dad sitting on my bed shaking his head and saying we were probably going to go to war and it's likely that it would go on long enough that some of my friends would have to go.  And I remember thinking, "no way, I'm too young."  


Every anniversary after, I've turned off the TV.  I change the radio station when they talk about it.  For 10 years, I've avoided it.  The pain.  The emptiness.  


This year I watched it.  I thought I owed it to them.  To not pretend; not avoid.  


History Channel had this showed called "102 Minutes That Changed America."  Watch it.  It's hard.  You'll probably cry.  


But it's a really enlightening look at how it felt to be there that day.  
You see the faces of the firefighters who walked towards the towers.  The ones who you know didn't come back.
You hear the voices of the people trapped on the upper floors calling for 911.  You hear 911 telling them to stay put.  
You close your eyes as a tear falls when you see the people jump.  
You catch you breath when you see the clouds of smoke from the first tower falling.  


So here I am thinking about that loss.  That awful, mean, horrible, excruciating, terrifying loss.  


And also trying to figure out what it means to be American.  
Land of the Free, Home of the Brave.  United We Stand.  Proud to be an American.  Pledge of Allegiance.  


Those all have to mean something.  
But there's been so much anger.  Blame.  People celebrated when Osama Bin Laden was killed.  
I don't understand.  Not like, "how could they do that; it's still a death."  That's not what I mean.  


I literally don't understand.  I don't even know what I don't understand.  How I feel.  What is right.  My patriotism.  
I want to win.  But I want to be fair.  I value life.  


It's been 10 years.  And I know I can't do this next year.  I didn't post a picture, because I knew whatever it was, it would hurt to look at it again.  


In another 10 years, I will open this box again.  


Kate

Gravity

I need to say some things.
Moving home is hard.  


I thought moving back to my parents house would be nothing but awesome.  I'd have time.  I'd have fun.  I'd be provided for in every way, shape and form.  And, in so many ways, it really is.  I am very grateful to be living in my parents house.  My sister is awesome.  With a seven year age gap, she was only 10 when I moved out.  I don't know if I've ever had such an opportunity to bond with her.  And my parents are wonderful.  Funny, easy going, self less people.


But post-graduation is hard.  I'm sure it's a common feeling.  I know many of my friends have felt/ are feeling it.  It's the weirdest I think I've ever felt for such an ongoing period of time.  It's not always bad.  In fact, sometimes it's really good.  But it's always weird.  


First of all, career?  What?  No.  


I live in my parents' basement.  I thought I'd have all this time this past summer to organize it and make it my own, but 3 months later, I have not.  I was ambitious at first; I rearranged all the furniture, unpacked all my books and set them up in the bookcase.  But it's reached a point where I cannot move forward.  Though boxes sit unpacked and it never looks anything but cluttered, I cannot do anymore.


Because the basement was once my grandmother's apartment.


I don't miss my grandma (I think I'm incapable of understanding the whole "grandparent" thing).


But I've reached a point where I can't move myself in anymore, because she is not moved out.  In the corner sit a stack of home movies on VHS.  In front of the fire place are boxes of pictures.  In the cabinets are mugs and appliances that could still potentially be useful.  The closet is half full of clothes that are not mine.  The cedar chest at the end of the bed is full of grandma bedding.  The window sill is lined with her snow globes and figurines.  Art work she loved is still all over the walls.  The counter still has weird plates I don't know what to do with.  On top of the cedar chest is a baby doll that was once my mother's.  


Plus the walls are light pink.  


I feel like the space can never be mine.  I don't know if it ever could be.  It'll always be the cache for things nobody really knows what else to do with.  I wonder everyday if this is what it'll feel like until I move out again.  


And on top of that, inside many of my unpacked boxes are things that I don't know how they could be useful in my house now.  Decorative baskets that once held fruit.  Vases.  Art I had hanging in my bathroom.  Shower curtains.  Baking sheets.  Stuff that isn't useful at my parents house.  My parents don't need another shower curtain.  Or baking sheets.  A knife set.  
Where is that stuff supposed to go?  


I think I've literally filled up all extra storage space.  In my defense, it was borderline full before I moved home.  The garage has reached it's max, the shed is full.  The attic.  Eh.  I've even designated cabinets for stuff I just want out of the way.  They're all full.  


My house was not ready for me to move home.  


So "my room" stays not mine.  It is not clean.  I cannot clean it.  The things are not mine to throw away.  There is no place for them to go.  


All this really boils down to is moving back means lack of control. 
I don't control my space.  


I don't control my diet.  I never plan on feeding myself, since normally I'm not expected to.  So when my mom calls on her way from work saying she's popping in and then driving on to Lawrence to hang out with my other sister, I'm so frustrated.  If this was my kitchen, I'd have supplies to cook food I like.  It is not my kitchen.  I don't want to make a meal out of egg rolls and green beans.  I eat out far more than I did on my own.  Not complaining, necessarily, since I never really could afford it much before.  


Until recently, I haven't had a job, so I haven't been able to control my independence.  If I needed new shampoo, I was at the mercy of my parents to take a trip to Walmart.  


This is normal, I know it is.  But it doesn't make it any easier.


I'm not used to living like this.  And it's just as much fun as it is not fun.  


And I want to live here.  I love my family.  My puppies.  I'm getting married in 8 or 9 months and want this opportunity to spend as much time with them as possible.  


But I recognize it's at the sacrifice of a feeling of adulthood and independence.  


And I think living here might be making my transition into marriage somewhat harder.
But I am not in a financial position to support myself.  At 22, that's ok.  But I think it'd be so stupid for me to move into my own apartment.  Although really FREAKING fun, it's not worth the $500 a month or so that I'm not required to spend now.  


So here I am.  Sitting in mom's living room, blogging for the second day in a row (you lucky ducks, aren't I so interesting?).  


And while I'm pouring out my heart and soul, can I just say "blogging" is a grow up word for "diary-writing-for-the-general-public."  


I'm going to be fine.  Having a full time job while help with my sense of independence and maybe inspire my mom to help me organize the basement.  Maybe not, but either way it'll work out.


Also while soul-pouring, I keep getting overwhelmed about my wedding.  The thought of being the center of attention for hours is starting to freak me out.  Which is why my beautiful/ handsome bridesmaids are wonderful.  Apart from hour long phone conversations keeping me from falling to pieces, I know they're going to be my support team the day of.  And that makes me feel better.


Do I feel better after letting this all out?  
We'll see.  
But this was not on my to do list.
And I'm hungry.  And responsible for feeding myself.


You know what I really need?  I need to get back into mentally stimulating reading.  I went through a bout of fiction this summer.  It was good.  (I recommend Divergent!)  But I need to read some non-fiction about the human condition.  


Sigh.  Gravity.


I feel the need to say, "you're welcome."  


Kate

Blue

It's like an itch I just can't reach.

I'm nearly squirming.  

I don't know what I want. 
Which, in theory, makes it feel impossible to be happy.


I've been rereading all of my diaries.  I started journaling in like 1999.  
If this idea ever enters your mind, don't do it.
You just relive everything.  Everything that was wonderful - you miss it.  Everything that made you feel terrible - still makes you feel terrible.


Plus, my entries were so stupidly stupid, I couldn't even stomach reading myself until I got to like 2004.  


Tuesday I had two interviews and.............

 a facial peel!

See that line down my face?  That's a freaking tear streak.  

This is called an Obagi Blue Peel.  I had it done in order to improve acne scars left over from freshman year.  I've been debating it for like, 2 years now.  And I did it.  They put blue chemical on your face.  The dermatologist said, "it'll sting."  What he should have said was, "it'll feel like you're dying, but it'll be really really brief."

Anyway, that's what it felt like.  

The last few days, the blue has faded, my skin has felt SO tight and then peeled off (gross, I know).  It's real red right now, but I think it'll look great.

Oh, and I got hired.

But I don't feel happy.  

But, I don't really know why.  I sound like I'm 15.  

I roll my eyes at myself.

Is it living at home, missing seeing friends, maintaining relationships, trying to plan my wedding, not seeing Zach but for once or twice a week, money, feel out of control most of the time?

Yes.

But, hey, technically I'm employed full time now, so I'm going to pretend like this 3 day weekend is somehow different than the last month or so and soak up my free time or something.  

Ok, whatever. 

Blog post done.

Retrain

I was almost doing really well.  My circadian rhythm is nonexistent these days.  
Tonight I tried.  I'm having breakfast with a great friend bright and early in the morning before she flies back to chi-town.   
At about 11 I took a nice bath. 
By midnight, I was tucked into bed.  No computer on, no movie playing.  I read a book for a while and then turned off the light and got on my Nook.  Then after an hour and a half or so of reading Water for Elephants, I clicked off my Nook and snuggled into bed.  
Ahhh, sleep.
Elusive sleep.
I'm actually mostly healthy, other than this.  I take various vitamins since I paused my meat eating, I drink a ton of water, I walk/ jog for 30 minutes pretty much daily.  But regular sleep is so imperative, that without it, I'm really not healthy at all.  
So, naturally, I googled "i can't sleep what should i do."  A few sites have said if you can't sleep after 30 minutes or so, get out of bed.  Something about associating the bed with not sleeping la la la.  
So here I am.  Blogging.  And watching Friends, Season 8. Actually, Season 8, the Thanksgiving episode- one of the better ones.  I freaking love this show.  
TV and computer, two things the sites also say to avoid.  
But they do suggest getting your thoughts out of your head.  

The other day I was watching this show on TLC about obsessions, or collectors or something like that.  It's not Hoarders; that show freaks me the heck out.  No, like, seriously.  I turn it off.  And throw away everything within my line of sight.  

But it's the same concept.  People's lives becoming consumed by things.  

There was this woman who had like thousands and thousands of shoes.  Like miniature shoes, shoes for your feet, earring shoes, breakfast in the shape of a shoe....stuff that I think is tres loco.  

But we can't be that far off.  I mean, everybody has their something, right?

A few years ago, right after my grandma died, I wondered if when she was in her hospital bed, she thought of her things.  It was one of those freeze-where-you're-standing realizations.  What if I'm on my death bed thinking of my things?  

The woman who loved shoes, she said when she died, she was going to be surrounded by shoes.  What did she mean?  What could she possibly have meant?  Does she think when she dies, she'll go to a heaven of shoes?  Or does she imagine that she'll be buried, it'll be a coffin with shoes?  And the bigger question: Why?  

Another woman was obsessed with dolls.  She said it was because she had such strong maternal instincts.  My initial response is, then be around children.  Like ......real children.  This woman takes care of these dolls, rocks them to sleep, gives them binkies, strokes their hair.  I imagine her channeling that maternal instinct, like, volunteering with babies.  Reading stories to them.  Or at least be a Duggar.  

Why does this show irk me so much?  (Yes, I just said irk.)  

For like 18 million reasons.  But here are 5

1. With the money they've spent on these collections- they could have paid for years of my college education.  Or at least my wedding.  
2. These people have isolated themselves. 
3. They could channel their passion into something really societally productive.
4. The doll collection CREEPS me the eff out.  
5. They're missing something.  By being uncontrollably obsessed, they are missing face time with people. 

On another note, I need to stop chewing on my lip.  It's gettin Black Swan up in here.

On another nother note, I don't think I've lost any weight.  However, I have bought a few shirts a size larger than I normally wear so my body thinks it's lost weight and it is so happy about it.

I'm trying to sort out weddingness.  There should be a handbook.  Not like a white, swirly writing, plan-your-wedding-in-this-book, here's a smiley face book.  Like a real, vulgar, honest, hang on girl-this shit's gonna freak you out-but in the end, it's all about love-but seriously, stop reading love stories/ watching those darn movies book.  

Have I found a job?  No.  Has it even been a month?  Yes, I month to the day.  Do I like it?  Mostly no.  Is the house clean?  Yes.  

What?  Kate can't find a job?  

Go ahead, laugh. 

Next, let's see how I did with my summer reading list. 

Harry Potter Series 

-Currently reading book 4.  Didn't exactly make it through the series in the summer.  

Ender's Game

City of Bones 

Perfect Chemistry

The House of the Scorpion

Divergent

The Book Thief

Not too shabby.  

Plus Water For Elephants.  

Ok, I'm going to finish this episode of Friends and then go to sleep.   

I know I'm up too late when I'm hungry again.  

I feel like Bridget Jones.

-Kate

Going Primal

I have a lot to say but to say it would make me vulnerable.

So I use pictures for now.

My art book.  Only $9.95

The couch in my basement room has 6 throw pillows. 6.

A Ba'hai prayer book.

The Holy Bible.  All books tabbed beautifully by my mother.

Sometimes it has answers.

Friends Season 4.

A visual taste of where my thoughts have been the last few days, all framed by my ever so masculine comforter.  

Checking out.

Kate

I am a bird

I am vulnerable.  Sometimes I just feel too much.  Sometimes it's like I'm swollen with feeling.  I can feel my emotions pumping through my veins.  They swirl.  With every step, I'm teaming with thoughts.  


In the last 3 months, I promised a man I would marry him, graduated college, moved out of my Mass House and back into my parents' home, and now, quit my job.  


So, now that I have stretches of time to just think, I decided I'm going to channel my 18 year old self.  

Because, let's face it, 18 year old Kate was fabulous.  18 year old Kate felt free, never doubted religion, had plans.  She ran (ok, jogged) daily, was experimental and fell in love with her major.  She was freshly tattooed and totally a hippie.  18 year old Kate was a barista at a crappy coffee shop.  Of course, I was hilarious.  And all I wanted out of life was to be good, to love everyone, to know myself.  


I was so much cooler than I am now.  


So 22 year old Kate has high standards to meet.  If I don't regrasp myself, I'll all but dissolve.  


So here's the plan: no plan.  Let it fall into place.  I'm keeping my nose ring (the ring, not the stud) in, because I'm not working for Bed Bath and Beyond anymore.  I'm going to sleep in my pearls.  I'm going to watch Friends and Glee and let myself fall to pieces so I can move on.


I'm going to be face the world with Zach right by my side and it's going to be okay.  


On a less melancholy note, I'm going to have a good week.  


-Kate

Time to Think

Yesterday I had my 1 year review at Bed Bath and Beyond.  Everything was great, I'm above average, I'm well versed in the entire store, front end, soft lines, hard lines and I'm a great Bridal Consultant and those are things you find at every store.  So can I have a raise?  Absolutely.  17 cents.  Wtf.  


So, it's been about 6 weeks since I graduated from KU.  And on this beautiful day, where it's about 75 degrees outside, my dogs are playing, I got to sleep in til at least 11:30.  But at 2:45, I have to leave Topeka for a closing shift starting at 3:30.  That commute is so much wasted time.    


I still work at Bed Bath and Beyond.  In Lawrence.  Why?  That's a great question.  I stay because I need to make money.  Even though I'm living at home, I still would drive to Lawrence to see Zach.  And I want to put money aside for our wedding.  I don't transfer to Topeka, because I don't want to be there that much longer.  But I honestly haven't poured my heart into finding a job.  Like career job.  


I'd like to find something that I couldn't have gotten without my degrees.  But I don't have a plan.  Before I graduated, I didn't really, seriously think about how to make a career out of a Linguistics major and a Classical Antiquities major and an English minor.  I have no idea what I want to do.  I could tell you all the things I don't want to do.  


But there isn't a career path for people with majors like mine.  


And I feel like I work 7+ hours every other day.  I have no regular days off.  So I don't have chances to fix up my resume, drive around picking up applications, browse online for jobs.  Not enough time.  I've considered just leaving my job.  It'd give me the time I need to clear my head.  That's what I said before I graduated.  I was going to move home and then there'd be time to clear my head, down time, time to think.  But there'd be no income.  And I'm the one who pays my loans.  


There it is.  I mean, that is the trapping reality of life.  I have to make money.  Because I'm in debt.  I have to do it.  There is no more down time.  


I'm going to request to cut my hours back.  That's what I'll do.  It's a decent compromise.  I want to talk it out with Zach first, but I'd still make enough money to pay loans and save some for the wedding.  But I'll have more time.  That's what I need.  Time.  


Ok, ok.  Done.