Sometimes you sulk, sometimes you burn

Currently on the ferry again, going westward.

The last few days have made no sense to me. Sometimes you go home because you need a refresher, sometimes you need to leave home because you need a refresher. My stepdad had a hissy attack at me for no provoked reason. He sent me a facebook mea culpa under the strict advise of my mom. I don't much like apologies if they follow blindly after harsh, cruel words that seemed genuine. I accepted, under the guise that I'm mature, but 8 tenths of me doesn't care anymore.

Had a really nice phone conversation with my sister. She said I'm welcome in her home anytime and that she just sits around doing nothing with her dog and fiancee and her life is boring. That sounds fine to me. I also had an email conversation with none other than Sarah J. that seemed oddly... romantic. Okay, okay. Only romantic in the old-time-y way, not the heart beat sweat love crushin' way. Funny how email seems like a romantic idea. Like letter writing.

I am going to Amherst to drop my things off/sleep and see Sharon. I hope she makes it and everything works out. I have no idea what our plans are. At this point I'd be fine and almost want to just get in my Beddy and never get up again.

After a rage attack of crying last night in which I was forced to use red green and gold Christmas tissue paper in my room for my snot because I was too afraid to leave my room and use actual tissues, well, after that, I didn't fall asleep until 3:30ish. I got up at 7 today to meet my mom. We went to Mocha Mott's (the only thing that never dies on this island) and met up with Carter and Joanna who all saw me off. Joanna reminds me of a cuddly hamster. She snuggled me and I thought, "Wow she reminds me of a cuddly, big eyed, jazzy-voiced hamster... but cute". The art in MM's now hanging was done by the Ukranian crazy lady baker who wears mini skirts, a turban, and visible thongs. The art is scary as all shit. Like dead baby in a closet what the fuck is that ghost grandmother stapled to my breakfast table doing there crazy scary. I wanted to take a picture to show people how messed up it is but I was afraid the lens of my camera would break and the cartridge of memory would hold a demon that would possess me, no lie.

Currently in an awkward position. This girl with blue glittery eye shadow came up to me on the boat and asked to charge her iphone on my laptop because she can charge it only that way. I said sure. And then it asked me to upload 80 of her photos. I said no. Then it said, "Error can't detect Iphone because you don't have itunes 8.3". So I tried installing itunes, and it said error at the end and it won't install. And the screen of her phone is black. So I have no idea if this is charging. I'm doing her a favor and it's slightly awkward because she's a stranger but I fear that it's not charging her phone because I don't have a high enough itunes. I feel perplexed. And I don't know where she went. I feel like I'd never trust a stranger with my iphone. Although, I am wearing my hair with a braid and flower in it. I feel like that makes me look highly responsible because I was at work once with a braid and this lady asked me to watch her kids that night and I had no idea who she was and she had no idea who I was. I was just a random bookstore clerk. I just had a braid and that says Prude, Pride, Puritan, Trustworthy. But to me it says Bad Hair Day Three Hours of Sleep.

I designed this George tshirt with my favorite quote on it. I want to find a way to make it. The white block I wouldn't have around it but I was not sure how to change it because I'm not quite tech savvy.

I'm lonely, Wanna Die

For such a suicidal song, "Yer Blues" is really catchy and quite delighful. It always puts me in a good mood.
I've decided to compile a list of my possible favorite Beatles songs (subject to change) and my least favorite Beatles song (not that subject to change).

Favorites:
I've Got a Feeling
I Me Mine
Yer Blues
I'm Only Sleeping
Long, Long, Long
You Never Give Me Your Money
Hey Bulldog
Good Morning Good Morning
Old Brown Shoe
Something
Don't Let Me Down
Things We Said Today

And much much more.

Least Favorite:
Dear Prudence
For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill (but it's growing on me)
Annnnd that's all I can think of.


I got a book called "A Hard Day's Write" for Christmas that explains every Beatles song. Quite cool. I also got nice new boots, a bag for school, shower gel that smells nice, a tapestry, a brita filter, a Sigg bottle, and pjs.
It was a quiet, anticlimactic christmas which was nice.
I decided to visit my father's house because I haven't in three years. It was somewhat odd and awkward but it felt good to conquer a fear. It was weird when present time came around and I received none. I wasn't expecting any nor wanted any, but it was just a weird moment. I think my dad wants to send me some because he called at 8am asking for my address. Will I resume full contact? No. But did I get over something by going there? Yes. My younger brother is not so young anymore. Height, voice change, braces, acne, attitude adjustment. He was pretty nice and I'm glad to see he's maturing.
I'm going off island today to visit my Grandma and stay at a hotel with a pool (I didn't bring a swimsuit home with me in December, though, darn). Then Saturday I am going to my Grandfather's in Groton. Returning to the island. Then Sunday my friend Sharon is arriving to my house to check it out. We have never spent time with each other outside of school so I'm excited. I will also visit a dear friend Becca the following day. Much to look forward to.

But not the long drive.
I must go pack my things. And dress.

A hard day's write,
Kate



p.s. All I asked for was a George Harrison Tshirt for Christmas, and didn't get it. I can always get it for myself.



p.s.s. Aiden got a Wii and is now a slave to it. He designed avatars for us and mine had bangs and was named Kate. My mom's had long hair and was named Proudey.

He was a hairy bear, he was a scary bear

I'm on the ferry boat to MV. And I didn't expect to be. I feel pretty sick and it's ridiculously snowy out. So I decided to take a reprieve from my teen angst and go home. I am only staying for a few days (hope to be back by 26th to amherst). The last few days I've watched too many bad movies, used way too many tissue, eaten barely enough, smelt nothing, and become frustrated. But it's alright.

When I gave my ticket to the ferry man he gave me Dark Chocolate and said "Merry Christmas!". What if I was Jewish? I also don't like Dark chocolate but since I haven't eaten that much I had it. Bob and Aiden are picking me up. The novelty might wear off after a day. But yeah, at least I'll get some good reading/sleeping/nothing time.

I helped my housemate study for a latin test today and in the process became pretty good at Latin (having no experience). She asked if I could take the test for her. No, I can't.

I'm worried about my grades, but what is it worth now?

So many people going, so many people leaving. So many people with disappointing behavior. The tiny islands that I pass in the water look really beautiful right now.



Mike's mom and boyfriend drove me to the boat. It actually wasn't a bad ride. We talked about plows for three hours. Which oddly enough isn't a subject that annoys me. A woman not in my line of sight is emitting orgasm noises right now. Hope she's having a good "ferry" ride.

The other day I slept naked and it was really nice.


My house had a party that I didn't really attend. I heard it was an absolute disaster though. So if anything, being sick has been an excellent decision for my body.

I don't have an identity.

God in an aquarium riding on a rollercoaster

Normal photobooth.....
then...






So, Who knew that the OIT lab on the 7th floor of the library forgot to disable photobooth? Who also knew that instead of just the normal effects it had even more advanced backgrounds? Por ejemplo, Sarah and I had a laughing fit while we simultaneously were in the computer lab AND on a rollercoaster.

Check this OUT.



















ps. we totally got in trouble for laughing too loudly in the library. highschool.

Puzzling Epidemic

The Freshmen Fifteen:


Has anyone else noticed the absurd, daunting obesity epidemic amongst the squirrel (grey, not black) population of the UMass Campus?

One question: What meal plan are they on?

(Probz go to Berkshire and Worcester, maybe Blue Wall).

Self proclaimed dentist wannabee

Classes end today. But work does not. Work is mounting. But it will be all done soon enough. I have a new friend named Joanna and she is French and wonderful. I really like my housemates. I really like Hermey. I now have my last day of Creative Writing. Which is said, I always become attached to my Creative Writing class.

I have an itchy feeling that foreign people tend to like me a lot. No idea why. I'm 3 out of 3 the last few I met.

I don't think I've learned enough yet

Situated in a room with a forest of blank white screens and minds busy with preconceived notions of always higher beings and archways of ecclesiastical gymnastic proclamations, I lamely palm my forehead. It seems feverish and calibrated, like it’s been sponging in too many hours amongst the sun’s elegant petals and gone dull with calor. But in the nosebleed starch air the sun has hidden away its tendrils and the boil in my eyes can only be explained by chopping into my fried membranes and seeing the pink belly to its uncooked meaty mass. A rich, decaying steam wafts off the top of the mazed gum-like clump. My brain smells like unopened packages of Christmas ornaments and the oil rising off the base spirals out like unwashable snowflake glitter from Frosty’s boots. Haven’t had enough of the raw snow peas with black ringed stains, haven’t unearthed the moldy pages of chivalrous sentiment too many times, until this mass pusses over with the filmy white froth of actualization, with steamy hoops of undeemable knowledge, with the glass, tweedy brass teeth of professorship. In the splintered spaghetti hairs of this mind, you’ll find in the very furs of its roots, the black sand specks of seeds in the center of warts. I have in this choke an adamant deficiency that demands regular feeding of hollowed chocolate bars and late night televisional theatrics. I have in this hold the forceful objections of a fool’s splinter, drooling over empty calorie trysts, thirteen hour naps, and the great, heated bran doorknocker of death anxiety. I’m going to disappear one day and you’re not going to know I was here and it won’t matter how many hands I’ve held and how much Chaucer I’ve perused and if I know the laws of transitivity and how many bottles I did or did not recycle. I’ve been left empty handed and minded and you’ve just come in as the day is setting to see me hunched over a stinking, infected mass, crawling in caviar beads, pawing at my vacant brow, boiling and seeping in the syrup that headaches make.




I don't feel well and I have a paper on Chaucer due soon that I haven't started.

Little babies, little babies, recollections of a childhood actress

Do you ever find music so bad or find it of so little quality that you actually feel someone might be pretentious to claim enjoying and actually finding interest in it? Yeah, well that's how I feel sometimes about half of everything. Mostly Sigur Ros and Bob D.
So I'm sitting here on the couch downstairs (to enjoy the internet--current internet upstairs nonexistent, or residing in the same realm as heat and warm water). In the background are three housemates enjoying, engaging, giggling in the coital throws of the oh-so-experimental Sigur Ros documentary.
Maybe this is good music. I really wouldn't know. Do you have to take an honest part in art to have an adequate opinion of it? I think not. Or else about 89% of critics would be out of their jobs.
This afternoon in my afternoon class that I stayed late on campus for on a Friday afternoon (I would like to see how many times I can use this nine letter a-word as much as possible in one sentence without seeming floppy). Well, in this class my older teacher collapsed and passed out and we had to call an ambulance. I feel like my heart is still feeling tremors of terror, guilt, and shock from it still. Basically, I think it is because we expect teachers to be infallible and keep a distance away from them as emotional beings. We don't want to think of our professors enjoying in fornication, spawning children, getting their period, masturbating, vomiting, ejaculating, wiping their butt, or collapsing... but they do indeed (gender allowing) and it's a hard concept to swallow. It is this kind of trust within authority and structure, and reliance on a higher figure to maintain a certain control in our lives that can produce this ineffable feeling of shock. This feeling in which we are filled with a chaotic grief and fear. Suddenly the world isn't ordered anymore. Suddenly turning in a paper isn't the question or the answer, because the teacher isn't on this planet to read it. Somebody is getting a divorce, some building is collapsing, some car just crashed, someone's lung just caved in, and the world economy just died. I know. I don't mean to get all dooms-day on my first blog post. I generally try to stay clear of such terrible cravings, but given the sense of the day, it seemed appropriate. The structures we center ourselves in are arbitrary, collapsible, and in a sense: cardboard cut outs. They seem reliable and stationery, but really they could fold in on us at anytime. At any rate, the good news is I still have a drop of good ol compassion in my dry, crusted cold veins. The bad news is that I perform terribly in a situation of distress and emergency.

Tonight for my friend's birthday I cut out lyrics of her favorite band and made a poem out of it, as did my other friends. It has turned into a convoluted epic, and I certainly hope she enjoys it. Tomorrow will be filled with much town scurrying, present buying, showering, restauranting, and then hopefully a joyous night of vaginalemergenceanniversarycelebratorydancing.

Be back later.