While You Were Sleeping.

Dear (insert college name here),
I would like to go to this college because (insert reason here) and I feel this is good for me because (insert reason here).

Thanks very much,
overworked and tired seventeen year old girl.

_______
Dear (insert family member who worked/went to said college here),
Please write me a recommendation (like you have a choice) or donate a hefty sum of money.  Because we are blood relatives you have to do something or else you will get an ugly sweater for christmas/hanukkah.

love (haha yeah right),
blood is thicker than water

_______
Dear(insert teacher name here),
remember that one time I didn't tell the younger students what a mean person you can be? Or that time I did all that extra credit for funsies? Time to pay up.

Sincerely,
write me a recommendation, and a good one

_______
Dear (insert anyone)
Unless you feel obliged to fund my college experience, please stop asking me about it.

Sincerely,
yes that school does exist.  No I did not make that name up.

______
Dear (insert athletically talented friend here),
Yes I am applying to 13 schools.  Yes, really

Thanks very much,
not all of us can win every race ever.

_______
"I can follow your heart beats just like I wanted it to."

"And I know it don't read that well,
I got buried
No it won't be long before I rise in."

I Know It's True But I'm Sorry to Say

Today in class, we were talking about Ferguson, MO, and Mike Brown and all of that violence inducing discussion.  One kid in my class had an opinion that was contrary to pretty much everyone else in the class, including the teacher.  And he was defending his opinion to the death and everyone was yelling at him, and I put my hands over my ears and practiced my loud breathing because I am so tired of listening to people fight about this subject.

I have declined to really form an opinion about this particular subject because I don't think anybody really knows what happened- regardless of what either side of opinions says, nobody knows.  That doesn't mean I don't feel strongly one way or another- I actually do have an opinion on the subject, but I've decided not to share this opinion.  I'm doing this because I don't know what happened- I am a white, seventeen year old girl who probably doesn't know all the facts of this case and as such, I'm keeping an open mind about this subject in general.

Please don't think that because I've declined to have an opinion, I'm a terrible person who has had white privilege her entire life.  I'm not an evil person who has prejudice against anyone because of the color of their skin.  The main thing I am is sad, and dismayed.  I cannot even begin to comprehend why people continue to have such prejudice against one another because of skin tone.  I am sad that a kid had to die, but I think we should be focusing on the fact that a life has been lost.  I don't think it should matter whether or not Mike Brown was white or black or asian or midde-eastern because frankly, I couldn't give less of a flying f**k about his skin color.  I care that he was a kid, and I care that he is no longer in existence.

I hate oppression of any sort- probably because of the fact that I am Jewish and because every single person on my father's side of the family, save my great grandfather Sam, was killed during the holocaust.  I don't understand why Americans felt the need to enslave an entire population of people simply because their skin was darker, and I probably won't ever understand it.  And I do not understand how, in Modern day America, which is supposed to be the land of god damn opportunity- anybody could judge a person based solely off their skin color.  But it still happens, and it happens probably a lot more frequently than people are willing to admit.  I won't ever understand any of this- but that's not the point.

The point is that today in class, I witnessed a kid who felt really strongly that Mike Brown was shot six times because of the fact that he was black, get yelled at because people felt he was wrong.  I'm a big believer in discussion, and I'm a big believer in learning from other people's opinions.  I like discussing things with people who don't hold the same political beliefs as me, simply because it is really helpful to have as many opinions  as possible, and to learn and to be able to discuss things in a civilized manner with people who are so different from yourself.  This can never hurt anyone- if it is done in a reasonable manner- it can only help to expand horizons.

But today I saw people who refused to let someone else believe what they wanted to and it kind of upset me because there has been so much controversy over this case.  People have used their unhappiness to loot and riot and pillage because they wanted to.  It makes me unbelievably angry because while some people are trying to use this case as a platform to defend unequal treatment, others are using the death of a kid, a few months older than me, to do whatever they want and that is not okay.

It is even more not okay because of what is going on in the world right now.  Afghanistan, ISIS, Russia and global warming.  All of these are pressing issues and while I feel unequal treatment ranks among those things, it is by no means an excuse to riot and loot and pillage, just because you feel like it.  There are other, important things going on and we need to focus our energy on righting them, in addition to righting the continued unequal treatment of blacks.  We do not need to focus on burning and destroying because what is that accomplishing.  And if we can't band together to fix all of these huge, ginormous problems, and put our differences aside and think of the greater good, then I am thoroughly disappointed with people.

Those are my feelings on the matter.  I wish people would stop asking me what my opinion is, because my opinion is that someone died and some people are taking advantage of that.  My opinion is that I'm sad and dismayed and unhappy, but I am not going to go burn down the nearest store.  I am going to mourn someone's life and then I am going to do whatever I can to help fix the problem, fix the problems.

Rest in peace, Mike Brown.

You are Your Mother's Child

I have wanted to write so much in the past few months and then every time I sit down and try and write, I come up blank.  I've been telling myself that maybe I'm just busy- because I am much too busy- but at what point does life cease to be busy.  It is simple- life is always busy until you die, so that no longer constitutes as a good excuse for me to just not write.  I thought it was because I now hated writing, but I could never hate writing.  That is something I just couldn't do.

My mom asked me the other when I knew I wanted to be a writer, and I told her sixth grade.  But it was actually in fifth grade, when we wrote these imitation poems about "Words that made Our Stomachs.."  I chose the title; Words That Make My Stomach Drop.  Everyone really liked my poem, but I didn't really care.  I liked writing that poem, and I liked reading greek tragedies over and over and I liked Emily Dickinson and Roald Dahl and Lemony Snicket and J.K. Rowling and C.S. Lewis and Maurice Sendak and Madeleine L'Engle and I liked writing essays and creating bumper stickers that had clever sayings about Presidents and crickets.  I liked writing my name and I liked writing letters to my friends when I was at camp.  In short- I was a weird kid.  When I had friends over, and I had decided the playdate was over, I would simply go to my room and read.  I wouldn't tell the friend or my parents that I was done playing- instead I holed up with my books and pissed a lot of people off.

I have always been pretty sure that I want to write.  I'm good at it, and I like it more than anything else.  It seemed like simple math.  But I just haven't been able to write anything of substance in the past few months- I've had writers block.  I don't get it and my only explanation is that life has just had so many ups and downs lately.  Biggest down?  I really, really miss my brother and I fear that I am not going to get into the college of my dreams which will make me an even better writer and fulfill my dreams.  Biggest up?  I can now sleep on my own, with no aid, for at least a few nights.  And I'm skiing okay, and I did fine on my SATs.  And I am learning to appreciate myself.

I started this blog at a time in my life when I thought I had things sort of figured out.  I was very wrong- and life was really hard for a few years back there.  I don't think people realize how bad life was during 2013, and how I made all these terrible decisions because I was in such a bad place.  My early posts, and a lot of my posts last year, were from an anxious and depressed teenaged girl who was uncomfortable with herself and everything around her.  They were from a chronic insomniac       (still working on that) who had frequent panic attacks (they are not as frequent) who bit her nails incessantly (still working on that).  They were from an unhappy person and that is why I found it so easy to write so much- I had so much to say and I felt like no one was listening in my life.

But this weird- in between stage I'm in doesn't really make the creative juices flow because there isn't enough to be unhappy about, but there isn't enough to rejoice about.  So I'm working on that.  That's all for now.  Sorry for the rambling and 'doesn't really come to a conclusion' type post.  It's the season of forgiveness here, people.

"Life's a roller coaster, keep your arms inside
Fear that's a big emotion,
But you are your mother's child."

"Our love's a protective poison,
But you are your mothers child."

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

So I haven't had any time to really write anything in about a month because of a culmination of things and rather than leave it this way for a couple more weeks, I decided to give you one of my favorite poems.  It is my favorite, because it means a lot to me, and it means a lot to me because of one principle my father has instilled in me.  

This principle: my ancestors on his side of the family are largely jewish, and all but one of them were killed in the holocaust.  Not exactly something you think someone would be ashamed of, but my dad is.  His reason?  Not a single one of his ancestors fought back when they had to wear the yellow stars, when they were put into the ghetto's, when they were carted away on trains and taken to their deaths.  Only the Warsaw jews uprose at the very, very end of the holocaust and I think more than anything, my dad wishes his ancestors had not stayed silent.  Death is a common thread among everyone, but to just let yourself die by the hands of another much before your time is a concept which really saddens him.  It saddens me too. So here's the poem:

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Ellipsis

Anthem of the Dust Motes
The dust motes float
gold in the air
their anthem pounding
through the room like
a drum.
Neon roses sing in my mind
like starlings
a bleached out vision
of beauty.
Stacks of coffee mugs
and dry pressed flowers
resonate
illuminated by the late afternoon light,
and the static of the radio.
And the floorboards creak
heavy with the weight of what they know
while the wind howls like my head.
And still the dust motes pound on
insistent that this time,
they will not be silenced.

(I wrote the above poem at 3 am a few weeks ago on one of my more difficult nights.)

Sparks
I'm listening to my favorite song and thinking about last september and wishing desperately I was a fortune teller so that I would always make the right decisions because god dammit I am so sorry for what I did last september.  If you only knew how much I was sorry it would hurt you too because I know how you think because I know you and I am just so sorry I was such a bad person.  I'd like to blame it on my anxiety, on my depression, but that isn't fair to you and I've already been so unfair. It was me-my world was crumbling and you tried desperately to fix it, you tried desperately to fix me but there was no fixing me- because last year I was so beyond saving that I'm not even sure how I got out of that one.  I'm sorry I was so far gone and I'm sorry for what I did last september.
 Please know I am a good person, even though I was not a good person to you.
Please know I am a good person.

Simple Song

In the tuning room in Chile, we were talking about my blog and I brought up the fact that some of my blog posts are about specific people and Kara said one was about her and then I listed the people I've written about and you looked at me, slightly hurt, and said, "You haven't written a post about me!" And I told you that it didn't matter because you didn't read my blog and you said, "Yes I do!" and I was very surprised.

The first time I met you was on a cold day in 2009.  It was sunny, and we were doing super g on inverness, looping on GMX.  Katie introduced me to you, and you probably don't know this but before we went up the lift with you, she had whispered to me, "Thats Lexi.  She's cool. And really good. You'll like her."  And because I didn't like Katie at the time, I immediately hated you.  But you were shy, you were quiet and you had a big smile and a kick ass tuck.  So I went with it, I liked you, in a shy and reserved way, so typical of seventh grade me.  

The following years we got close, and I got close to your sister and you came to my house for New Years parties and bonfires at Kara's and we went up so many chairlifts together and I missed you insanely when we had to say goodbye from about April until November-ish.  I don't think I've ever really, and truly, been mad at you and for me, thats saying a lot.  Sure- we don't agree on some things.  Okay, we don't agree on a lot of things.  But we don't let it affect our friendship.  It's a testament to how much I like you and I think how much you like me that even though the differences between us (political, religious, environmental, athletically, academically), are momentous, we remain us.  We don't bicker about the stupid stuff, the stuff that doesn't matter.  We'd much rather fight about which of the Norwegians is hotter than climate change.

You always have a sarcastic remark to slip out of your mouth, just like me.  I don't think I've ever met someone as sarcastic as you.  You are extremely patient with me as a person- even though you are not a patient person at all.  We run on the same wavelength, even though we run on extremely different wavelengths.  And even though you are an insanely good skier and I have never been that good of a skier, you've never held it over me, never even mentioned it, and never made me uncomfortable with the fact that you are so much better than me.

We were rooming together in Chile,  and I savored all the time I get to spend with you.  You're so much fun to have around, whether or not you know that.  When I said I didn't know what I was going to do without you next year, I meant it.  Who else with sit on the bed and read with me, who will go with me to get candy, who will ask Kristoffersen to play cards with us, who will tango with me in the halls,who will sit next to me in the wi-fi room and explain to me, for the hundredth time, what a logarithmic function is,? 

Bottom line- I love you and I appreciate you so much its crazy.  Its simple- you are always there with your perfect smile and even temper and sarcastic remarks.  And for me, it's never been a question of whether or not I've liked you or wanted to be around you.  After that first day, the answer has always, always, been yes.

"Well this is just a simple song"

"You sure must be strong, and you feel like an ocean being warmed by the sun."

I'm Here

This weekend my dad and I went to Massachusetts for a college interview and after we went out to dinner and talked about college (of course) we hung around town for a while and bought a bunch of stupid and funny stuff and joked and laughed and generally had a good time.

Then we went and watched the movie This Is Where I Leave You, about a family whose father has just died. As one of the sons is putting on the dad's jacket and the mom is saying how handsome and like his father he looks, my dad said, in a quiet and subdued voice, "I still have my dad's jacket" (his dad died before he could see any of his grandchildren born). I looked over at him, and he was crying.

So I put my hand in his, something I haven't done in about seven years, and said, "I'm here."  It was all I could think to do, because my dad has been there for me. And even though I know my dad doesn't idolize his dad, he misses him a lot. So I let my dad take my role, and I took his and I let him sit there and cry for a second.

And I was there. And it was alright.

" it's ok to be fine. Let yourself be fine."

My Dad and I, Circa '98 or '99

The We of Me

My brother had his last dinner at home last night, the last time he'll be living at home full-time.  The last time he'll stand up for me or make us all cry with laughter (at least for four months), and I wasn't sad.
About three hours ago, my brother left to go to France for four months.  We went and had lunch together at the Mad Taco and we sat and laughed for half an hour and ate massive burritos and carnitas and I wasn't sad. About two and a half hours ago, my brother and I hugged for the last time we'll see each other in four months.  He said he loved me, and that he'd skype me.  And I wasn't sad.

I couldn't help but be excited.  Even though I am not the one going to France to drink wine and study the classics and meet cool people for four months, it feels like I am.  I guess he's just been a part of my life for so long that even though he's gone, he won't ever really be.

He'll always be the one I played with in the leaves, the one I cuddled up to during scary movies.  He'll be the one I always looked to for reassurance, for guidance.  He'll be a constant source of pride and a constant source of annoyance.  He'll always be the funniest, kindest, goofball I've ever met.  He'll always be the one who dated my best friend, the one who shot me with an air gun.  He'll be the one I drove to school with everyday.  He will be my first and last best friend.

If you don't know, I love my brother a lot.  He has always without fail had my back, he has always been my guy, whether I wanted him to be or not.  His quiet yet extremely steady presence has kept me on balance for so many years and I can't express the gratitude and love I feel towards him enough.

His leaving marks the beginning of the rest of his life.  I can't be sad because I'm just so excited for him. Its hard to be sad when I know he's going to do such amazing things.  Of course, I'll miss the hell out of him.  But come christmas, he'll be there, just like he always is.

A book I read a few years back used a phrase that I kept hearing in my brain over and over.  In this book, the author said that her two friends were the "We of Me."  And I finally realized the reason that the phrase kept popping up in my mind.  It is because Gabe and I are the We of Me.  Although we might be an ocean apart, we are still a we, even though at the same time we are a me (am I making sense? No? Well it makes sense to me).

I love you Gabe.  See you in 110 days.

Dreams

There's a saying that goes, "When it rains, it pours."  Basically its like, when bad things start to happen, they're going to continue to happen for a while.  And now here's a story that relates to this saying: I took a college course this summer (there is a post about this experience, but I'm saving it for the end of the summer to share with you) and I waited three weeks for my grade, convinced I was not going to do well, even though I did everything (and more) that was expected of me.  So the other day I checked the grade, and I got an A.  I was so surprised, because I was fully and totally convinced that I was not going to get an A that when I actually got one, disbelief was the largest emotion I felt.

The same thing happened when I looked at my SAT results.  I couldn't believe I'd done that well. The same thing happened when I got an A on my History Final and final essay.  I think I'm just so used to it 'pouring rain' that when the sun actually comes out, I freeze and have no idea what to do (that was a terrible metaphor and I hated myself as I used it but I'm too tired to care at this moment).

Because things were so bad for a few years, the fact that they are pretty good right now freaks me out a little, and I really don't know how to deal with it.  Like, when my SAT tutor tells me that I've done really well on a problem, I either ignore what he just said, or I talk about what I could have done better.  It's kind of sad that I've gotten so used to focusing on the bad, that I have an extremely hard time even acknowledging the good.

So I need to work on that.  Thats all for now.

"like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had (lonely)
And what you lost
Oh, thunder only happens when its raining,
players only love you when they're playing.
Women, they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know."

It All Starts Here

Today, this blog turns two.  Thats a pretty big accomplishment considering I didn't think I'd ever even make it past two weeks with this blog.  I know everything in this life is ephemeral, and that two years is maybe not even a fraction of a millisecond in the grand scheme of time and space, but to me, it feels like a lot.

There's a lot I'm proud of with this blog.  Its seen me through several bad bouts of anxiety and depression, and I'm sure it will see me through many more.  It's seen me go from an insecure fifteen year old to a seventeen year old who maybe doesn't have everything figured out but is happy, nonetheless.  My writing has matured miles, and I've had a creative outlet where almost no one will judge me and I can just write for two years.

This blog has seen me through a lot of really rough times, as there have been a lot of those in the past two years.  But this blog has also seen me through a lot of really bright moments.  And sure, a miniscule amount of people read this blog, and absolutely no one could read it, and I would still be happy with it.  This blog isn't about the views, it is about reading what I've written and maybe enjoying it.

So, happy two years to Misadventures Of a Teenage Renegade, and the immense help it's given me over these past two years.


"We hold our heads over the rising tide

To find our way out the city lights

The morning skies never seemed so clear

It all starts here."
(Check this song out, its called it all starts here, by Magic Man)

Chocolate

At one o'clock on thursday afternoon, I get your text.  Although I slept at your house and you told me to come over again after class, I had plans at that moment and politely declined.  My plans had since been cancelled and you knew I was bummed because I really miss the friend I was supposed to have plans with.  Your text says you'll see me tonight because we are going to the movie that I was supposed to go to and then we are going to the skinny pancake and then we are going to go grocery shopping at ten o'clock at night because Derry forgot to buy food.  You tell me if I don't like it, I can deal with it. So you take me to the movies and then we go to the skinny pancake and get what we always get and then I drag one of those cute little baskets around the City Market at ten o'clock at night.

I've written a blog post about you before, and I've said what I'm going to say before but dammit I'm going to say it again because I want to.

We don't have the deepest conversations.  We don't (usually) have long heartfelt talks and our conversations mostly consist of one of us saying something entirely ridiculous, vaguely sexual, or just plain disgusting and the other person saying in an exasperated tone of voice, "I hate you."  We eat a lot of unhealthy food and we go swimming (in hottubs, rivers, and pools we've snuck into) way too much.  But you are the person I best get along with.  You understand me and I don't think there's ever been a time I can remember that I was really, truly mad at you.

I can't explain what a godsend you have been.  And I've probably been one to you to, not to sound too cocky.  But we always deal with each other when we cry.  We make each other get out of the car and drive when the other person is too upset, we put each other to bed when we fall asleep in basements, we remind each other to take medication and whenever you are in the valley and I'm in the valley and you stop at coffee roasters, I get a text saying, "What do you want to drink?"

We have a relationship that would seem dysfunctional to many, but works really, really well for us.  I depend on you a lot, and you depend on me.  We eat too much food and we yell too loudly and we get called hooligans and people don't understand why I am friends with my brother's ex-girlfriend, but I love you with my entire heart and I know you feel the same way.  I know that because I've never felt more secure in a friendship.

So at eleven o'clock thursday night we've just stopped at City Market and I am now munching on cucumbers in the green jeep.  The top is off and we are both freezing but you look at me and I look at you and we both start to yell, "3, 2, 1.... GO!"  And we throw our hands up into the night air and see how long you can not hold the wheel of the car all while yelling "COME AND GET ME!" And we both know how cliche it is, but we laugh like devils and do it all the same.

Thanks.  Its a good life with you.

"Now we run run away from the boys in the blue, and my car smells like chocolate"

"I'm a lucky man maybe I should play the lotto."

A Collection of Not Very Good Poems

Bright Eyes
I was crouched behind the willow, confined
in cascades of pine needles and cornsilk
colored hair. Twisting tops above and
below, painted wood and
block letters.  Metal
ballerinas reside on golden
pedestals, and men in yellow
hats whisper. The queen, they say,
is here. "Someday she'll be a looker."
But all I see when
I look in the mirror
Is a bright blue sky ignited in flames

Limbo
I don't feel the way that I used to
Or I shouldn't
Its like the time I told you I didn't believe in god
Or the way someone can make you feel like a deserted island
I feel alone
And I want to hate you
So much my blood boils
And every word you say
Makes me less sure
And I want to hate you
Like the time you told me about ocean waves
At least they finally, agonizingly
Meet on the sand
Instead of being hopelessly stuck in limbo
Just like us
And I want to hate you
And instead you look at me
With those bright blue eyes
And I want to hate you
As quickly and suddenly as petals
Fall off flowers
And I want to hate you
But I can't be a deserted island
Or a person without god
And I don't want to be alone

That Sea, The Gambler

Last week was really long and really tiring. I've reached that part of the summer where all the weeks start to mesh into one, and the days no longer hold any relevance, as monday feels like friday.  I went hiking on sunday with my friend and that was really nice and we talked about some really important things that we really needed to talk about.  I feel a lot better about our relationship now than I did last week.  Then we went and got free ice cream and went shopping in Stowe, killing time until we could have dinner with her boyfriend and his sister and our other friend.  It was nice, not having any real place to be, stealing free cheese samples from the cabot factory.  It was relaxing.

And then I was forced to endure one of the most awkward dinners in the history of awkward dinners.  I don't want to go into detail about it but it was shitty.  I actually got to know the sister better and she's super cool and I like her.  Then, she left to go do something (I can't even remember what it was), and we played basketball and lacrosse for like two hours and then my friend and I went home, finally.  And I sat in the car listening to her worries about her sister, while I was silently sitting there, wallowing in self-pity and trying not to cry.

She looked over at me, and she gave me a look only my mother gives me.  "I know," she said, "I'm sorry."  And I hated myself more than anything because a tear slipped out and I didn't want it to.  "It sucks being ignored.  And this is very cliche and over-used, but boys are boys.  They're oblivious and they don't understand why girls feels the way they do at all. I'm sorry though.  That was pretty bad."  And I nodded and I listened to her tell me she felt the exact same way I did, and that we had been ignored and that she was unbelievably mad about that.

I slept a maximum of three hours that night.  And I was pissed because the night before I slept a full twelve and that was the first time in a long time that I'd slipped into my familiar pattern- no sleep, no problem.

I was talking to my mom the other day, and she told me how sad she was that both of her children had left, and for the next two weeks I was the only child.  Then she talked about how depression is a roller coaster and that for months at a time, you'll feel great and then for more months, you won't feel great and everything will serve only to make you sadder than you already are.

So I sat in the car on Sunday night and I explained this to my friend.  And I told her being ignored and trying to deal with a new friendship with a person I have decided I don't understand does not help because recently I've been on the down part of that roller coaster of depression.

"I'm just really fucked up," I told her.  "And it isn't anyone else's fault because they can't know, but when they do shit like that, it really doesn't help."  And she looked at me and she told me I wasn't fucked up because there was no way in hell that the girl she's known since kindergarten was fucked up.  "There's no way my Katy is fucked up.  She's lost and that's normal, but she couldn't ever be fucked up."  And after that I just cried harder because I didn't know what to do.

It sucks knowing exactly what is wrong with you, and knowing that it entails constantly having your emotions change.  Because even though my life is actually really good right now- I don't feel like it is.  Even though I kicked-ass on my SATs and even though I finally made up with a person I hated and even though my eighth-grade bully and I are friends, I feel like I've done nothing good ever. I feel exactly like what I said I felt, I feel really fucked up.

But she said I wasn't fucked up and she was right, I am lost. And I'm trying to live up to that, to not being fucked up.  Its really hard to do that.

It's really hard.

"remember when our songs where just like prayers.
like gospel hymns that you called in the air

now i’ve been crazy couldn’t you tell
i threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell
now i’m covered up in straw, belly up on the table"

"and i ran back to that hollow again

the moon was just a sliver back then
and i ached for my heart like some tin man"

Sarcasm Should Have Been My Middle Name

Alright people, moment of truth.  I will tell you my middle name, but you have to promise not to laugh, got it? Okay, so my middle name is Mosher (pronounced with a hard 'sh' sound that really sounds more like a z).  My full name is Katharine Mosher Rosen.  Here is a great area in which my parents failed me because my middle name should most certainly have been sarcasm.  Why, you ask?

Well I feel like if sarcasm had been my middle name, it would have been a bit like a warning, say, like the itunes terms and acceptances, where you have a vague idea of what you are getting into.  And then, once you've "sworn" (haha funny joke itunes) that you have read the terms and acceptances, and you actually start using the product, you get b****h-slapped.  But in this case, I would be the one doing the slapping.  If you haven't caught on yet, I'm the most sarcastic person I've ever met and considering who a large majority of my friends are, this is an accomplishment.  Hold your applause, everyone.

Most of the time, I can't help myself.  I just have to say the thing thats pops in my mind (which is always slightly rude) as a response to, well, everything.  I have perfected the sarcasm voice, and the look to go along with it.  If you don't know me, and I say one of these sarcastic things, I apologize in advance for almost certainly offending you.

A few of my favorite phrases:
-I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not 
-I don't know whether I should laugh at you or pity you
-when someone says something like, "Do I look bad in this dress?",  my response is almost always yes.
-I'll alert the media

I should be branded with a sign saying: Warning- If you are sensitive please go away. I feel like that would have saved a lot of people and myself from awkward/potentially hurtful situations.  At this point in my life, I've learned to curb it in front of people who I need to curb it in front of (like the lady at the desk at the Hamilton admissions office who asked, "oooh, a Vermonter.  Oh your the girl from the ski academy! So you must like to ski?"  I had to restrain myself from saying that I was much more fond of wrangling unicorns and jumping rope.  Somehow I don't think that would have gone well...)  But in general, I've given up curbing it because I just enjoy using it too much. 

And with that, I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes ever:
“If you find it hard to laugh at yourself, I would be happy to do it for you.”


If you know you said this, major brownie points for you. Also, lets be friends.

I Hope You Know

Its Sunday afternoon.  I've skipped play because I have too much homework to do, and Gabe and I have been home alone since friday morning.  I'm sitting at the coffee table, slapping glue and pictures onto a cigar box, making it look pretty and measuring everything out with a ruler.  My phone vibrates, playing the special ring tone.  You say, "What are you doing right now." I say homework, and that I'm bored. You say, "Stop that then, lets do something." And I tell you to come over now.

You pick me up in the beat up green subaru, and we drive.  I don't even think you knew where you were going but you turned the music up all the way and started dancing, as much as you could while still driving your stick shift (which we both agreed on was totally bad ass).  We find ourselves at the top of the ap-gap where we agree to get one instagram worthy shot, and then take a bunch of panoramas, trying to make you look like a ninja.  We drive down to the top of the practice lift and sit there and talk for a while, and then we begin to trek back to your car, in search of ice cream.

As we drive down the winding roads into town, we sing along to the music and laugh at our own practical jokes.  We get onto the subject of friends, and I say I don't talk about you when I'm with one of my other friends and then you get offended.  But then I try to explain, saying I don't want our special thing, how close we are, to be ruined by anyone.  "Thats why I don't talk about it," I say.  You laugh and say, "Ohh I'm 'special' am I?" And we laugh.  You say, "So when you are with your best friend-" and I interrupt to say, "No, you are my best friend."  Because you are and even though we don't say it, we know it.  You look at me and smile and say, "Good."  And then we talk a little more and then you say, "You know I'm fun with other people, but I can only be really fun and crazy with you.  So your right, its special."  And I smiled and by then we were at the creemee and we get out and order two blizzards, what has become our routine.  And I say, "its okay, we're athletes." And then we dissolve into giggles and the girl at the counter gives us a weird look.

You made my afternoon really good, and you reminded me of how much I like have you as a friend.  Like I said, its special with you, and I'm glad its that way.

Thats the end of my writing, because, like I said, I don't want to share how special it is.  Which may be selfish, but I only have a year left of this closeness, this friendship we've built.  So I'm going to keep it to myself for a while more.

"You went full trip man, you never go full trip"
"Man, in this case ya do."

"Since you paid your the boy. I'll be the girl."
You flipped your hair, and it landed in your ice cream.  I couldn't stop laughing.

"TURN DOWN FOR WHAT"
*complete with ridiculous car dancing*

Also, you told me I never had an entire post dedicated to you and that Christine did, and that you were annoyed at me for that. So Kreeky or KG or whatever you want to be called, here you go.

Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John

It was late at night, and I had just walked into the space right inside the glass doors of the library.  My hair was a mess, my makeup was a bit smeared.  I wasn't wearing shoes, carrying my bag and my heels.  I was beyond tired, as I always am after prom.  I was waiting for Kara to come and pick me up, and then a girl walked into the space.  She was crying, as I've only seen her do twice before.  She looked at me. "Do you have a phone I could use?" She sniffled out, trying to contain herself.  I understood, she hates crying in front of other people.

Instead of giving her my phone, which she could plainly see in my hand, I hugged her.  I stroked her hair.  "I'm just really sad," she said, starting to really sob, "I'm sorry, I'm just really sad."  I knew what she was talking about, I knew why she was sad.  I rubbed her back as I held her tighter, knowing she did not want to be held.  "I promise," even though I couldn't, "that it will be okay.  Its going to be okay."  And she sobbed even harder and then I hugged her for a little while more and when she stopped crying I let her go.  "I'm sorry." She sniffled it out again, wiping her eyes.  "Don't ever be sorry for feeling.  Just don't." "Yeah." That was it.  She then said, "You look good. Really good. No boy deserves you."  I laughed.  "Do you need my phone or not?"  "Yeah," she smiled, "I do.  Give it here."  And that was the end of the conversation.

That girl and I are actually very similar, and last night I felt really close to her because she's cried in i'm front of me more than she has in front of anyone else (save her parents or sibling)- this she's told me.  I'm glad that this girl and I, who used to have a certain discord saved for each other, have become like this.  I'm glad she feels comfortable enough to cry in front of me- she knows I'll comfort her.  And then we don't have to talk about it, and we can all move on with our lives.

Its important to me that I help people who need it, people who have no choice but cry in front of me.  I may be damn uncomfortable, but that will never stop me from comforting them.  It's only because I understand how terrible it is to be in that position, I understand the feelings that go along with it.  At that point, anyone who gives you comfort is a saint.  And it isn't that I want to be a saint in someone else's eyes- I just want to do the right thing.  I always want to do the right thing.  I'm glad I did the right thing last night.

Its important to me, because I don't want people to feel alone in the world.  I've felt that way before, and it is not a fun feeling.  The world is a scary place enough without feeling like you don't have a friend.

"Travel south until your skin turns warmer
Travel south until your skin turns brown
Put a language in your head and get on a train
And then come back to the one you love'

"Yeah you're great, you're just part of this lifetime of dreaming

That extends to the heart of this long summer feeling"

What We Talk About When We Talk About Mental Health

I was going to post a very nice anecdote about a conversation Kara and I had on sunday and you were all going to get warm feelings and aww over the story, but I've decided to do something a little different today as I feel very strongly about this particular issue.

As A Disclaimer: If you are extremely opinionated about topics such as gun control and mental health, please click away and choose not to read this.  I am simply sharing my thoughts on a complex and very confusing issue.  I am not trying to say I know what is best, I am merely using the internet as a platform to convey my opinion on a particular subject. And also, I know that I've had another blog post with this same title.  Lets call this part two, okay?

So this past friday, on the 23rd, in Isla Vista California, a man went on a shooting spree and killed and wounded people (I do not know the exact specifics of victims and everything).  And apparently, this man was mentally unstable and was clearly mentally unstable and there were more than a few red flags that pointed this out.  At the same time, this man owned three handguns.  By this token, he was able to kill.

I'm going to go ahead and say this is not the first occurrence of someone being mentally unstable and then, through what I believe is a flawed system, were able to purchase a gun or guns.  What I am talking about here, should be very obvious.  I'm talking about Sandy Hook and Adam Lanza, I'm talking about Jared Loughner and Tucson, I'm talking about James Holmes and Aurora, CO.  These definitely are not the only occurrences of mental illness being the reason behind mass killing, but these are the most well-publicized.  In all of these cases, these people were able to purchase guns based on the fact that the background check required to purchase a firearm merely encloses an individuals criminal history.  You could be extremely mentally unstable, as these people were, and walk into a gun store, as these men did, and buy an entire arsenal of gun paraphernalia and then go out and kill a bunch of people because the damn voices in your head told you to, easily because of the system.

Now, make no mistake.  I am not placing the blame solely on gun policy here.  I fully recognize that these men all had active parts in the destruction they created.  They were most certainly at fault, and in the end they were the one to pull the trigger.

What I am trying to shed light on here, is what I feel is the real issue.  Because this can not just be a conversation of "depraved individuals" and what could have gone better anymore.  While I see some things being done, at this point it is too late.  The simple fact is that this needs to become a conversation about mental health.

Simple fact- in all of the aforementioned cases, mental illness is the common thread.  To fully check an individual and make sure that they are a proper candidate for gun ownership, mental illness needs to be a factor.  Checking someone's mental state needs to happen, because if not, tragedies will keep occurring and people will keep saying, "Something needs to be done."

Part of the problem however, is the concern behind what entails checking a person's mental state.  I fully understand not wanting every thought in every therapy session being disclosed simply for the purpose of gun ownership eligibility, as I have been in therapy.  However, if simply checking for a few red flags in the mental department, by any means possible, could have saved the twenty-six lives of the small children killed in the Sandy Hook shooting, wouldn't you agree to that simple check?

Another part of the problem is that mental illness is not a comfortable topic.  I will say it- I have anxiety and have been depressed.  I am not fully comfortable talking about that, and I know it makes others uncomfortable when I do talk about it. Bottom line- I understand that, as a society that strives to be the best, talking about the worst parts of oneself, or one another, is not a highly sought-after conversation, but again, if it could save lives, wouldn't it be worth it?

So the extremely convoluted point I've been trying to prove here, is that mental illness needs to be talked about, because, as of now, I have seen no improvement.  In my lifetime I have seen senates shoot down laws that would make purchasing a gun become harder, I have seen thousands of people get on the news and give their opinion, I have seen children and adults alike die by the hand of another, I have seen bombings and hits ordered on leaders, I have seen mass revolution and I have seen a man get on the news and scream about the loss of his son.  As of yet, I have not seen many talk about the mental illness component of the problem.  We need to talk about this, because if not, nothing will change.

I write this with a heavy heart in the wake of another tragedy.  I look back, and after all the tragedies this blog has been around for, I've written sad posts.  I am pretty sure I am not the only one who feels this way, and who would like to do something about this. I recognize that as a person who has not done anything concrete to help this problem, I am a part of the problem as well.

But I would like to and am willing to help get mental illness on the minds of others, to have it become part of the conversation about gun control because as a member of humanity, I am tired of hearing about tragedies that could be prevented, and am tired of waiting for someone to do something.  Because it is not okay anymore, nor has it ever been okay.

Here is an article which I found to be well-written and interesting:
http://www.buffalonews.com/20130407/mental_illness_is_common_thread_in_mass_shootings.html

Thanks you, for those who persevered to this point of my rant.

What It Is not

This is how it starts.

Its hard to explain this feeling I get. It begins as an itch, bearable if slightly annoying.  And then it becomes a tingling and it starts in my toes and then goes everywhere until I am consumed and the world becomes a spinning mirage of blacks and greys until I can breathe again.

And then I notice. I am curled up in a ball, hands folded over my head as if the apocalypse were descending upon me.  My cheeks are always wet from crying and my lungs are starved as I've just spent an extended amount of time trying to get enough air to stop the dizzying thoughts in my mind from consuming me.  I always fail at keeping the dark at bay, no matter how hard I try, and the monsters that lurk deep in my mind creep out and rule the kingdom.

Now, I am aware of how very dark and depressing that nice description was.  But the other day, a friend asked me what it was like, what panic attacks are like.  And the only way to describe what they are like is to describe what happens during them.  Because when I get to that point, there are too many things going on inside my mind to explain.  A panic attack is, quite frankly, when the world becomes too much and your mind decides it needs to escape.  All I could say to him is that they are bad.

My anxiety is not my friend.  It has not done me any favors, and I think it really freaks people out because nobody understands why I get so worked up.
A few things that set me off:
-I can not be late. And if you are responsible for making me late, good luck with that.
-You may not touch my things.
-Do not go into my room unless I explicitly tell you you are allowed to.
-Just because I've given you permission to do something once does NOT mean it is acceptable to do it more than once.
-Do not touch me with your feet. You know who you are.
-Do not touch me when I am unaware that you are about to touch me. It will not end well for you (truth be told there are about three exceptions to this rule- again, you know who you are).

I self-doubt, I become unreasonable and anxious and annoying and usually revert to tears.  I get over the top over small issues and I detonate over large issues.  I get worked up and obsessive so frequently its amazing.

It is extremely frustrating to try and explain why I am the way I am, and people don't understand why or how I get so neurotic about things.  All I can say to try and explain myself is that my anxiety is not my friend. It is definitely well-known, and mostly well-managed and well-recognized as a part of my life, but that does not mean it is well-accepted.

And I don't know if it will ever be.  Because having anxiety, because being the way I am, means there is a chemical unbalance in my mind. There is actually something wrong with me. And yeah, I'm pretty good at dealing with it and now that I think about it, I really am not that neurotic.  Just picky. Like one of my friends says, I'm a princess. I am a lot better now at being a person who has anxiety than I have been in the past.

But I will say it again, my anxiety is not my friend.

Who We Are

As a child, I was not fond of confrontation.  I was the kid to quietly do what I wanted when I was told to do something else.  I was independent and I was not going to change my mind unless you gave me some very solid proof that it would work for me.  I was extremely stubborn and I was selfish and I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. The thing about my early years, though, is that nobody understood how strong-willed I really was.  Because I was never, ever vocal about it.  Like I said, I was not fond of confrontation.  I still am not fond of confrontation.  So when I finally found my voice in maybe eighth or ninth grade, everyone was surprised at this strong-willed little girl who seemingly crawled out of the woodwork.  But at that point in my life, I was done.  I wanted to be heard, and dammit I was going to be.

Many of those qualities I know I have inherited from my father, as much as I didn't want to.  My father, who once stomped on the floor so hard he broke the oven.  My father, who taught me how to tie my shoes and to strum "Smoke on the Water" on the guitar.  My father who writes me a letter on every one of my birthdays.  My father who at one point thought I didn't love him, and thus, stopped writing me letters for one year.  My father who apologized for not being able to give me an atlas at how to live my life. My father who continually tells me how proud he is of me.

Every time anything momentous or bad or just plain surprising happens, he sits me down for a talk and tries to explain to me how he feels and how he thinks I should feel. And I hate those talks because I would rather partake in the conversation than nod and say, "Yep, uh huh" about a million times, but when we do have good conversations, they are so good.

As much as I tried not to be, I am my father.  I fold my hands like him, I am stubborn and strong-willed and believe that I know what is best, at least for me. I like to be in charge.  I get that same expression when I'm annoyed, that same expression when I know I'm right.  We talk, and you can just tell that we are on the exact same wavelength.

And when I was little I spent so much time promising myself that I would be different, I would not become my father. I did not become my mother in any realm of possibility.  And once she said, with a hint of jealousy, "You are so much like him.  Gabe and Sophie are a lot like me, but you are almost all him."  When my mother and I fight, it sounds exactly like when she and my father fight.  And I blame them for a lot of things.  But I'm not ashamed of the fact that I am so alike to my father.

My father, one of the scariest people I've ever met. My father, probably the most decent and caring and loving and passionate person I've ever run into.  My father, who loves me so much he gets up at five am every morning to work so that I can go to the school I do.  My dad.

And I'm glad I turned out like him.  He's a good person, through it all, and I like to think I've inherited that.

"We all stand in the mountainous shadow of our own mortality, so get the most of what you can while you can."

"I'm really glad you've pulled yourself up by your own bootstraps and have turned into the incredible person you are.  And I like to think I've had a little to do with that.  And I know you don't want to hear this, but you are the best parts of me, kiddo."

"I love you no matter what. Always remember that."
After he said that, I looked at him, and I promised to remember it.  And I always will.

Come Of Age

The lights are shining, and the air smells faintly of mechanical grease and corn dogs.  The night air is stifling hot, but the frozen lemonade I have in my hand makes it bearable.  You took my hand and you led me to that freaking gigantic mechanical bull and we laughed at the idiots who thought they could ride it.

This is not a sappy love story for all those thinking they know what this is.  This is a story of convenience.  This is a story of two girls.  Two girls with crooked teeth and sun streaked hair, girls with slightly not put together parents and questionable siblings.  This is a story of uncontrollable sarcasm and strong wills.

I'm going to put it out there and say I did not like you when I first met you that day.  You had twin french braids on your head, and they went into pigtails and I was unbelievably jealous.  You were also eleven when I was a mere ten.  And you had that cool black t-shirt and jean shorts on, clothes I knew my mother would disapprovingly stare at if I wore.  And you didn't talk, you just put me in the car with your scary sister and her loud boyfriend.

When we went on that ride together, I can fully say that I have almost never been as scared in my life as I was then.  Just as we were about to drop, you grabbed my hand, and you squeezed it tight.  You led me to the mechanical bull that night and you fell asleep on my shoulder. And from then on we were constantly thrown together.  I don't think we would have become friends if we hadn't been.  And it took some getting-used to, you and I.  But this is not the story of that.

This is the story where I grew up.  The time you took me to my first rated R movie alone (and may I add illegally), the time we chinese fired drilled in the middle of Burlington in the middle of the night.  The time where I made you get out of the car and drove by myself for the very first time because you were crying so hard.  The time I offered you ice cream because you were so upset.

This is the time we talked about how we always gave our love to the wrong people in the hottub. That time I looked for your dog for four hours in the middle of the summer night. The time you told me those secrets about your life, the time I told you that there was really something wrong with me.  You took me out the night before I was going to therapy for the first time.  And you didn't say anything, and we saw that awful movie.  But you knew what was going to happen the next day, and you knew I was depressed and in a very bad place. And you made me feel better.

We do not have the most emotional or deepest of friendships.  We do not have very deep heart to hearts or long conversations with emojis sending kisses.  We don't even see each other very much during the school year and we generally make other people our priorities before we make each other our priorities.  We frequently annoy each other and we get mad at each other and we date each other's siblings.

But when I need you, I know you will always be there. Not in the most sentimental or emotional way, but you will be the one to drive me to the store for ice cream.  You will let me sit on your couch and watch catfish for hours on end.  I understand you, and I know you understand me.

What I'm trying to say is that you were the one to teach me what it means to be a good friend.  Becuase sure, you may not be my bestest, bestest friend, but you are my most meaningful friend, because you have been there, you were there and you are here.

"And just so you know"- "dude, just bring me some coffee. I'm too tired to care unless you bring me some."

"You want to do things differently
And do them independently
We all got old at breakneck speed"

"It's only been a year
But it feels like a lifetime here
How's it been for you?
Does it feel like a lifetime too?"

I am not sorry that all these quotes are from songs by the Vaccines.

Clementine

Quotes of the Week:

"Because I could care less if she is happy as long as you are."
"That was a really good thing to say."
"Good because I didn't know what else to say. I never do, as much as I wish i did."
Anonymous

"You can have a Woman's perspective on what its like to be on top."-Andrea
Awkward silence where only about half of the room makes the connections and is sitting there too stunned to realize that the dean of students has just made the dirty joke to end all thats what she said jokes.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to."
"I won't."
"So don't ask the question you just asked."
-Anonymous


"50 states
50 lines
50 ways to change my mind"

Retrograde

Everyone thinks of themselves as good people right? Or likes to think of themselves as good people.  And particularly in places where nobody ever has to make any really hard decisions on a day to day basis, everybody sits there smugly and seems to think that given the opportunity they would make the right decision, the selfless decision. But, are people considering the situation that they are in?  Especially in my immediate world, I know very few people who have had to make really, really hard decisions, where people were going to get hurt in either outcome.  One of those people is my mother.

Let me ask a question. If you were, say, a politician, like a really high up politician, who was a serious contender for the presidency.  And, lets say you were doing a lot of good in your office and you were pretty sure that you were going to nab the presidency.  So, you go to this, I don't know, this fundraiser and get maybe a little tipsy.  Okay, you don't get tipsy, but you get slightly buzzed.  And then you get in the car and drive home, and hit a person. What would you do? Would you get out, and call the police and tell them what happened? Because if you do that, they will discover your impaired state and you will be in absolute ruin and have to retire from the race in shame.  Your entire family will be cast in a terrible light and all that good you've been doing will vanish. But if you call the police, you'll be doing the right thing, you'll possibly be saving a life, and you will have a mostly clean conscience.

The argument I'm trying to make is that a lot of people would get in the car and get the hell out of there. A single life is not as important to them. And I get that.  Because given the same choice, I would like to think I would get out of my car and help the person who I've just hit.  But in real life, I'm not sure if I would do that, in the heat of the moment.  I'm not trying to say that I am a horrible and terrible person who would let an innocent die. But, I am recognizing human nature, which is self preservation.  And in a moment of crisis, a moment likely filled with, namely terror, among many other emotions, I'm not sure what would happen.

Its sad to think about where we are.  Our world chooses to argue instead of fixing the enormous problems we face.  We kill, we use weapons of mass destruction and we drop nuclear bombs on innocent people to teach lessons.  What kind of message does that send about us as human beings? What are we teaching our children?

So, yes I would like to think that I am a good person.  And, you know, I probably am, for all intents and purposes.  But, put in the right situation, I don't know if I'd continue to be a good person.

And that fact scares me.


"You're on your own, in a world you've grown."

"Suddenly I'm hit,
It's the starkness of the dawn
And your friends are gone,
And your friends won't come."

Its That Kind of Week

"Catholics are Cool
Stay in school
Wicky Wicky Waaaa
Pope Francis OUT."-Dave Goodwin.

"Hey the Pope should be a Girls on the Run coach!"-Rachel

 "If you tell me, I've already forgotten. Its been that kind of week."-Anonymous

I am eating bread and butter for dinner. I make no apologies.

Sunburns and Tuxedos

"Rob you know you aren't supposed to do that."
"I make my own rules."-My dad

"I missed you so much I think I died."
"You appear to be alive dear."
"Interesting."-Meredith

"What am I going to do without you..? WHO WILL I GO FULL TRIP WITH????"
"Aw kreeky you'll be ok!"
"WAAAAH"-Another text conversation with Kara

I went shopping with my friends today, after getting back from my family's vacation at five am.  The shopping I elected to do over school.  I was chastised for eating only a salad and some yogurt.

 I also learned that boys apparently have an unhealthy obsession with gold accessories.  Or at least one of them does.

"this is a happy end, cause you don't understand everything that you've done.
This is a happy end, come and give me your hand
I'll take you far away."

Its raining. I miss Playa Del Carmen.

Thought That Was An Earthquake

Quotes of the Week:

"I <3 NY.  But..Why?"-my mother

"I shaved half my head, so what, I love it."
"Well, frankly, I don't like it."
"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."-Alex and my Nana

"You know, I just thought Swarthmore was much too preppy for me."-Daniel, in his button up shirt, impeccably matched to the blazer he was wearing and his polished oxford shoes. Too preppy my ass.

"Do these glasses make me look fast?"
"Fast is not the word I would use."
"Well what word would you use."
"Idiotic grandmother is what I was thinking?"
I then look at Daniel and Alex and mock gasp
"What? You asked."-Cousin chats

"Well, I was angry at my parents."
"Yeah so I figured it would be a good time for cake."
"And the roses probably helped as well."
"Katy, roses always help."-Meredith, Markus and Myself

I'm still in shock from the kick-ass week I've had, tomorrow is my birthday and on Saturday I will be on a plane to Mexico.

"`Cause Saturday night's the night I like
Saturday night's alright alright alright"

Dearest

For someone who knows who they are who I shall not name:
Happy birthday! A while back I promised I would write about you, and although I am a mere fifteen minutes late, I can explain. This is neither the time or the place for that.

Sweetheart, happy birthday.
You are a kind and loving soul, who hides how tough she is inside a cloaking of pure happiness.  Your ability to be positive astounds me, the fact that you never let me bullshit you gives me the utmost respect for you, and the fact that we are both the only curly haired girls at school gives me hope for the future of my hair. I can only aspire to care for my hair as lovingly as you care for yours.

I hope I've never been really mean to you, although I know I have. And I know we fight a lot but I think it's because we can't stand when we know the other isn't giving something their all. And I know our fighting sucks but it reminds me of how much I love you. Because while we are fighting, the only thing I can think of is, "shit how do I make this right shit I love her too much for this shitt."

I worry about you and I aspire to be you and I want your manatee who doesn't eat people and whose name is sushi. I hope you know that when you sing frozen it makes me love you even more, even when I say I hate it. I hope you know that the fact that you love Disney princesses makes me turn into jelly on the inside. I hope you know your golden ringlets remind me of the sun. I hope you know you are one of the strongest and most intelligent people I've ever met. I hope you know that any college will be more than lucky to have you. I hope you know that no matter what people say, you are better than every single fucking one of them. I hope you realize how awesome and amazing and versatile and intelligent and just beautiful you are. I hope you are able to give the universe one huge middle finger one day and say, "ha, I've done what previously could not be done."

You are my chemist and my mathematician. You are my golden haired girl and my Disney lover. Felicitaciones, and I love you to the moon and back.

And yes, friend, I would like to build a snowman.
Or ride my bike around the halls.
With you.


"Dearest, you are the nearest to my heart.
Please don't ever yeah, I'm gonna treat you right
Yeah, I'm gonna treat you right."

Viewpoint is Everything

My last weekend of racing, which ended yesterday, was absolutely awful.  No other description for it. I completely and totally choked, most likely due to exhaustion, but I am not making excuses.  And I got home and was really surprised when I discovered I was perfectly alright.  I made a few new friends this weekend, played some laser tag and had some damn good pulled pork from a food truck in the middle of Maine.  I got my SAT scores back and they actually were perfectly good for taking them my first time, and my parents were proud of me.

I've been doing a lot of writing, I've been finding good ways to say goodbye to all my senior friends, I've been enjoying life.  A lot.  And sure, I had a very restless night last night due to over-exhaustion, but before my restless night a person I know was really, really, really nice to me and we had a really good heart to heart and it made me feel very satisfied with myself.  

I kept thinking, I don't deserve this, new, good life but then I was on the chairlift one day with Kara and we were singing and it was sunny and we were laughing, and I realized that I really do deserve a good life.  Everyone does, and whichever way, shape or form that life comes in is a blessing. Instead of wondering whether you are deserving, its better to appreciate, accept that your life is full of love and snow covered mountains and good food and even better people, and go out and live.

Its hard to remember that life can be good when it gets so bad, and it is even easier to get bogged down by the logistics of making your life better.  I don't think it's ever easy to make changes in the way you live your life, no matter how big or small they are.  But change is the only constant in life, and at the end of those changes life is beautiful.

Life is never what you expect, and that is the absolute beauty of it.  Because sure, you can have an extremely rough beginning of the school year, but by March/April, you'll be in the best shape you've been in in years.  At the same time, while you are busy enjoying and observing and laughing a lot, its hard to express your gratitude, or to know how to express your gratitude.  All I can do is say one massive thank you, both to the universe and everyone who I love.  

So, I'm making a toast. Here's to life, and the constant ups and downs it brings.  Here's to the blue skies and the snow covered mountains and the muddy roads and the abundant amount of love.  Here's to surviving it all, and here's to enjoying it.
(clinks metaphoric glass because author is only almost seventeen).

"Let it rain, I need a change
Thats where you'll find me,
Some place I've never been.
I'm not afraid of the darkness anymore,
I'm not afraid of the darkness anymore."


Also, if you didn't catch that at the end, my birthday is in eleven days. I better receive some kick-ass gifts. Just sayin.

Suck It and See

To Mother Nature:
This shit you are currently pulling is neither amusing nor remotely alright. Stop it right now.

To my borrowed Stuffed Turtle:
Keep Rockin' on, Solomon.

To Gabe:
I understand that you are a second semester senior, but do you really need to keep listening to obscene amounts of not very good rap?

To Rob:
Thirty miles an hour is never an acceptable speed.

To Katie:
I take better selfies than you. I'm just kidding I want your lips.

To Kara:
Yes, it really is too early to be alive.  Don't judge me.

To Liezl:
You only want me for my dress picking skills. I'm just kidding because remember, "I need you in my life, dear."

"Suck it and see you never know
Sit next to me before I go
Jigsaw women with horror movie shoes
Be cruel to me cause I'm a fool for you"

Moments Like These

Today and yesterday weren't so great, in terms of racing.  It was slalom and I detest slalom with such a passion.  But, as always, people save me from being a total drag.

Kara sang Carrie Underwood with me at top volume on two separate chairlift rides.  She also took the time to develop a special walk, and told me that we've known each other too long to not be ourselves around each other.  She put her arm around me when we were inspecting second run, and with a look of utter delight said, "We have to do that again dude!"  I can confidently say that she is one of the best friends I've ever had.

Eklutna and I power-walked it back to the hotel, talking about how much we appreciate our families.  Then at the end, she turned to me and said, "We really need to talk more.  This was really good."

Larkin gave me a hug.

We saw our old coach Beatty, and she told us to go to St. Lawrence for college so that she could see us every weekend.  She also said that she remembered he time with us as some of the best times in her life.

After I was done reminiscing about all of those, I told my mom I didn't really want anything for my birthday, and she look and me and said, "Katy you are so sweet."  And then we hugged, of course.

Its hard not to feel happy after moments like these.  And I can confidently say that no March slump has ever been more pleasant than this one.

Also this is amazing.

This is Just to Say

The way she was talking in her sleep
The delusions of grandeur which we keep
The hope they still hold, irrationally and inexcusably
The haze which now surrounds you
You aren't noticing, but I am

The memories we cherish
Which in reality hold deep secrets
The thin white film over his eyes
And the ball of cotton in your throat
You aren't noticing but I am

They said the water was so clear
But I could still see the bugs it contained
They said the dream was still alive
When I saw it crash and burn
You still aren't noticing
But I am


I wrote this poem last April and only now found it.  It's very depressing, so it obviously must have been written by me.  Okay, thats enough for one day. I'll go back to my decongestants.

Okay, now I'm done.

Week in Review

Quotes of the Week:

"Jennifer Garner just sat through that entire movie with her fucking patented sad complex. Get a life and stop worrying about Matthew McConaughey, he obviously doesn't give a shit about you because, 'he's his greatest hero' I mean honestly."-Anonymous

"I really just wanted to go on this lift for the ride.  Sure, it's like half an hour and super pointless because we could just catch a bus, but its super bouncy and fun."-I only earned annoyed glances from this, what can I say, I inspire.

As I was walking down the stairs, wincing from the soreness, Alissa looked up at me and was like, "Feel you on that one girl."  She then proceeded to walk up the stairs, grimacing.

There was a significant dump of powder this week, and I got two powder days out of it, and one missed day of school because my mother looked at me and was all, "I'm not driving you in, so either you find your own ride, or you deal."  As you can tell, I fought hard to get to school, but ended up having my SAT tutor come to my house for an hour and then watching Netflix all day.  It was tough.

That same SAT tutor came today with no shoes.  He looked at his feet, looked at me, and then said, "Its been a long week."  I laughed, and then said, "Tell me about it."

Frank Ocean is my spirit animal.  I also want to marry him.  Can you marry your spirit animal?

I'm sorry that this post has nothing of substance in it.   I'm about to pass out so I'll blame it on my sleep deprivation.

Bells on a Hill

If you didn't already know, my past few years were kind of rough.  I went through some serious personal and psychological problems, and I kind of lost sight of what the greater reward would be.  If I look back even six months, I couldn't even remember what happy felt like. For so long I was so sick, I was tired.  I was depressed and anxious and angry as hell at the world for making me that way.  I couldn't stop fighting with my friends and parents, and I hated myself.  In short-it was a very long and very painful time in my life.

This year has been a bit different.  From about, November or so on, I've been okay.  I mean, there were some tough spots, there always are, and still continue to be.  And it isn't like nothing bad happened in these past few months, because it did.  But it was almost like I was a thousand times more prepared to cope with it than I've ever been.

In the beginning of November was not a very good time, I'm not going to lie.  There were some things that were just really terrible and unfair, and I kind of broke down a little.  But they steadily got better, starting with an isolated Colorado trip complete with snow capture the flag, and Doctor Who Thanksgiving.  And from there they slowly improved.  I slowly, but surely, became much better friends with all of the girls in my group, including a girl who used to be my mortal enemy.  We're friends now.  It's cool.  My skiing got better, has continued to get better.  My grades, my sleepless nights, my anxiety and stress and the tightly wound ball just waiting to burst open that I'd become slowly started to unwind.  And although I'm not done unwinding, I can see the light after a very, very long tunnel.

It's nice. I don't think most things in my life have ever been this good at once.  Like ever.  I didn't ever think I'd get to this point in my life.  I was just so tired of things continuing to be the same way they'd been, the same awful they'd been.  I couldn't see the light at the end, I didn't even believe there was a light at the end.  I am really glad there was.

Even as I sit here with a cracked rib and scratched and swollen face, I'm optimistic about the future.  I'm optimistic about my next race on monday, about the SATs this saturday, about vacation in April.  I'm optimistic for tomorrow when Kara comes home and I'm optimistic about seeing what my life becomes in general.  Although, physically, I may seem a little broken at the moment (I won't even take the time to list my various injuries over the year) I am most certainly not mentally broken.  And this may be a bit  egotistical, but I'm pretty damn proud that I made it out of those deep and dark woods I was in.

But the best thing about getting here is that I was reminded of how many people love me, and how much I wanted to be okay.  For so long all I can remember was wanting, desperately, everything to be okay.  And, now that it is, I finally understand why we, as human beings have to be put through all this hell.

The reason, or at least my reason, being we would never get to truly see the beauty of life if we didn't also understand how awful it could be.

And also, thank you to everyone who put up with me over the past few years.  It means a lot.

"There were bells on a hill
But I never heard them ringing
No, I never heard them at all

There were birds in the sky
But I never saw them winging
No, I never saw them at all

Then there was music and wonderful roses
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows
Of dawn and dew

There was love all around
But I never heard it singing
No, I never heard it at all
Till there was you"