Stagnant

I haven't decided if I believe in aliens or not yet.  
I'm not going to go anywhere with that.  


What?  I'm engaged?  Yes!  Is it still awesome?  Yes!

One of our many engagement photos.  This one was taken by our wonderful wedding photographer.  Check out his website: http://matthewgonzalesphoto.com/

Unfortunately, there's not much to update.  My life is not interesting.  During the week, I go to work.  Then I come home to my wonderful parents.  I usually spend my entire evening reading or watching cools TV shows like Glee or How I Met Your Mother.  

But I think Big Bang Theory is lame.  

I'm reading a Perry Mason novel, a philosophy book on Beauty and The Death Cure.  None of them quickly.  (I blame my phone).  

It's weird living at home (still) because it's like I can't separate myself from high school.   Also, the fact that I haven't changed AT ALL since high school.  Other than I'm way less zen then I used to be.  But, really, I have been like exactly the same since roughly 2005. I still think of all the same people as my friends.  I also don't really feel like that much time has passed.  I still wear a ton of clothes I wore in high school.  Which is both good (I still fit! Yay!) and bad (I need a more mature wardrobe).  It's like a weird brain block.  It's this crazy paradox of feeling simultaneously mature/ adult-like and immature.    

Bottom line:  Living at home makes me feel like a high schooler.   

Gosh.  I'm so sorry there's so little to blog publicly about.  

Let's see....I drink tea.  Sometimes.  I still love my iPhone.  I miss Zach more than is healthy.  I got my heating blanket out.  I take a multi vitamin.  I still can't find my favorite hoodie.  

If you read this, I'm sorry, you can't have those few minutes back.  

Nothing enlightening.  

Whatevs. 

-Kate   

Frankenstein

Seal photo bomb.

I'm watching Halloween Town.  The acting in this movie gets better every single year.  I totally wanted witch powers when I was a teenager.  Do you think in the future they're going to put a label on my generation's fascination with witches, vampires and werewolves?  "Back in the magic-movement, people thought differently about the world....."  No?  Just a thought.  


So, my job.  It's been about a month or so.  I'm required by a distinct paranoia inspired by the inservice I went to, discussing the dangers of social media, etc, to leave out any and all details.  Here is what I can say:  I am a para/ autism room assistant.  I'm learning a lot.  It's actually really easy to use some of the skills I learned with my Linguistics degree.  My Classics and English experience, good for nothing, but that's besides the point.  And the kids.  They are so sweet, and wonderful and lovable (usually).  This is totally the perfect first job and makes me see the world differently.  I'm positive I'll use these skills in the future.  


In talking with my also recently graduated friends, as well as some friends further into their careers, it seems like it's pretty normal for the first job you get after college, to maybe not be the perfect fit.  As is the case for me.  


I am sick today.  I've been sick since Thursday.  And was sick a few weekends before that.  So, at this point, I'm sick of being sick.  But, I must admit, it was pretty nice to lay in bed and watch Pirates of the Caribbean all day.  Would have been better if I could breathe like a normal human.  


So, I got an iPhone.  {Insert happy dance}  I love it!  Apple products are so user-friendly.  It's not complicated.  Everything about it makes sense.  It's a phone, an iPod, a camera, a game device, a computer, a calendar.... a million and a half things.  I love it.  Now, if I could just figure out how to get iCloud on that and my computer, I'd be set.  I have a mac computer, btw.  Also in love.  Same story.  


Wedding planning is going great.  We're starting to talk to caterers.  There's this one, it's more expensive, but it has a mac and cheese bar.  Obviously, I want it.  But it's not as reasonably priced.  And it's getting nearly time to go wedding dress shopping.  Ah!  Talk about entering crazy land.  But none of it is nearly as exciting as living with Zach will be.  We still have 8 months or so before the wedding.  But I'm pretty sure living with him is going to be fun.  He's a pretty snazzy cook.  


But there's still like 18 million things we haven't figured out.  I mean, my checklist on The Knot has about 30 things with exclamation points next to them.  Frankly, we are still adjusting (adding in some cases) our wedding party.  We're trying to paint this picture of our wedding that expresses us as people and as a couple and our union together.  We(/I) want elegance, romance, timelessness, but nothing stuffy, we want it to be fun and social and enjoyable.  And affordable.


I need to go take my puffer.  And sleep.  I need to feel better by tomorrow, because I know how much it sucks to be short a man and try to get through the day.  


-Kate 

Shoulder Shrug

Judge me.
I really like the Duggars.

Resource Room

Sometime, I swear I will update you on my brand new job.

It's brilliant and so holy.  I am making childrens' lives better.  I am making my own life better.

It is extremely hard and a little bit scary, but those are both good things.

There hasn't been a day yet that I haven't had to stop my self from sobbing in my car on the way home.  But, after all, it has only been my first week.

I will adjust.

-Kate

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.