Let it Go.

No, not you. Shut up, Elsa.

I haven't updated this blog in a long time, and I've had a few reasons.
Writer's block can be quite the beast, as I've documented in a few of my posts.

It's been hard knowing what's safe to write, too.  I know that sounds completely ridiculous, but I've had little ideas here and there on pieces I want to write about, but then I stop myself, in fear of scrutiny.  It's difficult to let yourself speak up when it seems like every action and word has a potential to rip you to shreds.  I've lightly posted about it before, but it can be a bit of a hindrance.  So much to the point where I say, fuck it. It's not worth the agitation. 

I've been undergoing a lot of life changes, especially recently.  Change can be exciting, but it also has its unnerving moments.

My mother passed away on January 12, 2014.  At the age of 54, she succumbed to the deadly disease of addiction.  I'm disconnecting from the fear of judgement for a moment, because the stigma is part of the reason why her recovery was so fucking difficult.  However, I can take solace in knowing she isn't in pain anymore.

The home I grew up in is undergoing some changes, too.  The kitchen is getting remodeled, and so is the bathroom. It's oddly surreal to think I won't be jabbing myself in the head on the corner of that stupid cabinet anymore. It's also weird to know I'll be leaving there for the last time soon.
Deep cleaning mode, sifting through 25 years worth of stuff and things. Cleaning out the literal closets, and laying the proverbial skeletons to rest.  Some memories I find are confusing.  I never knew we had these dishes. The newspaper it's packed in is dated 1993. Huh. Some memories I find are laughable. Of course they would have kept all of my softball shirts. Some memories I find are delightfully surprising. Hey, I found my ghosty lights! Some memories I find give me chest pains as I put up a fight with the tears that well up and threaten to fall from my eyes. Goddamnit, Mom.
The show must go on.  And so I persist. Donate, trash, keep. Repeat.

My sanity is fueled by my darling mister, goofy conversations, and insane amounts of coffee.

As I type this, I occasionally glance at the dog who has been sleeping at my feet for the past 7 months.  We got Lucy about ten years ago, soon before our first dog, Molly died. I wistfully ponder what her new family will be like.  I walk away from the computer, heat up a bagel, and give the other half to Lucy.

Somewhere in me is a small girl, frantically clutching her tattered blankie, desperate to preserve what she knew.
The logical part in me knows that's not how life works, and it's ridiculous to be stagnant.

It is nice to get a sense of closure, an end to that chapter in my life. Okay, Katie. It's time to start your new, beautiful life, now.  The pieces won't pick up themselves, you know.

And speaking of closure, it's time to put this "blog" to an end.  Maybe I'll tackle on other writing stuffs whenever it strikes my fancy, but yeah.  This is a dead project.

TL;DR- Closure.

just looking for my brain. NBD.

As soon as I slip into that frenzy, wanting needing to go into that writing rage,

                                                     My mind goes

 b 

   l 

   a 

 n 

k. 

And I'm faced with my biggest enemy, the Blank Page.

 "You'll never write anything worthwhile," she taunts me with a cold-blooded smile.                                                                      And 

 So

 I 

 Sit. 

 Dumbfounded by my stupidity, I wonder if I'm losing my brain. Every word I think feels like my mind is slipping through my desperate hands, and down the drain.
 Well, Blank Page, you've clearly won. I'm now a little mad at myself for rhyming a ton. [fuck you, that's why.]

I copied this post from my notebook because ... yeah.

Let's have a heart-to-heart.

Dear sixteen year old self,

First off, I want to apologize. Your life isn't going to work out the way you're dreaming of.  Right now, you're aspiring to ditch this place and move to California so you can try to get into doing makeup for horror films.
    I have no idea how you thought it was feasible. You're working at Target, and you're wasting your money on whatever you can. You're not really paying attention in school.
You know what?  It happens.  You're a dumbshit teenager, and that's okay.

Things aren't that bad right now. You don't really need to whine so much. Your hormones are going nuts, I know.  Everything seems magnified, because of it. Your parents are on your case because they know you're awesome, and they want you to live up to your potential.
Your best friend moved away, and how dare her dad do this because you two are so annoyingly inseparable and how are you going to live without her?! She's become a rock star, so it actually worked out really well.
  Honestly, no one gives a shit what your classmates think. I know you're starting to realize that. You're gonna get your high school yearbooks back, years from now, and you're gonna wonder who the hell signed them. You've got a lot of people declaring their adoration for you, along with a generic "HAGS," and you won't have a clue who the fuck they were.


Broaden your musical horizons, PLEASE. You'll be so much happier and well-rounded when you finally do.

You're putting so much unnecessary pressure on yourself. You're trying to be perfect in all the wrong ways. When your art teacher says that you're shrinking, she means that you're obviously being an idiot about it. I'm still trying to figure out how or why that happened, but don't let it take control of your life. You're so much better than that.

I know you're having a hard time with what happened to Tasha, too. Right now, that wound is very raw, and I know it hurts. All I can say about that, is that it'll get better over time, and that this will help put a lot of things into perspective for you. Suicide sucks, and that's the best I can put it. Now you truly know. It's okay, sweetheart. You will be alright. Trust me.

Please try to apply yourself in your interests. Push yourself harder, and don't give up. You don't get to Carnegie Hall without practicing, even if you suck at first.

You're going to kiss a few figurative frogs, and you're going to come across the poisonous kind, too.  It happens, but you can't be an idiot about it. Don't settle for any dickhead that will give you attention because you crave validation. Stay the fuck away from any man who doesn't respect you. You will meet your prince, trust me. You know how you have that 'type' that you've always been looking for, but where the hell can you find that kind of guy because everyone else sucks? Guess what? He's real, and he loves you, too.

I'm sorry to drop this bomb on you, but you're going to have a baby in a couple of years. You never would have guessed it, I know. She will certainly complicate things, and she will change your life forever. But she is amazing, just like you are. She even does that weird squinty eye thing you sometimes do when you smile, only she makes it look cuter.  You're going to do a lot of growing up in a short period of time. I don't want to give too much away, but please be safe. Please be smart.

Also, I'm sorry that you're gonna be living in this same city you've spent your whole life in for a while. Shit happens.

There are some really cool things about being an adult, too.
Your parents are going to be your closest allies. Seriously, they're cool as shit. You already know that, but yeah. Your brain is kind of derp right now.
Having the freedom to do what you want is pretty baller, too.  It won't be the kind of freedom you think you're going to have, though. You don't want to end up like one of those shallow, vapid whores, anyway. You already know that. You're going to find great joy in doing simple things, like being snuggled up on the couch, turning your phone off, and Netflixing.

I know I've given all of this advice to you in vain, because you're gonna do what you're gonna do, anyway.

And you know what?

If you didn't, you wouldn't be the person I am today.  You're kinda cool, and you need to hear it.

Love,
Me

come on. post something.

I've been wrestling with the idea of a new post, but I couldn't think of anything worthy to write.  Should I write about how the media is enforcing heinous gender stereotypes?  How about proper internet etiquette, because it seems like that's been slipping? (Oh yeah.  People are dicks.  It's always been like that.)  Maybe someone will pay attention if I post about my uneducated view on an important social issue.  I've got it!  Maybe I'll

       uh

well, fuck. 

 I have no clue.  But I want to post something. So what'll it be there, slick?  Open up that brain of yours and spew some shit out.

So I look to the amazing internet for guidance.  

Think for me, internet.  Because I apparently can't.  

I wasn't too impressed with the help I got.  The writing prompts I came across were reminiscent of MySpace surveys.  No, thank you.

and then I thought about it.

spew some shit out.

It doesn't need to make sense.  Because fuck you, that's why.  And that is what mind vomit is.

BOOM.

What have I been up to lately?

As of this current moment, I'm sitting on my couch, sipping on coffee, and listening to the sweet voice of my pride and joy trying to decide on a pretty dress to wear for the day.  The wind is assaulting the trees.  The sun occasionally creeps past the clouds and through the blinds.  I'm cuddled up in my sweetheart's hoodie, feeling his heart close to mine as his lingering scent on the cloth intoxicates my soul.  I soak in the moment, and I smile.

Over the past couple of months I have been working hard to get to where I am now.  I am so blessed.  Seriously, I feel like such a lucky girl.  I feel free to do what makes me happy.  While I haven't felt inspiration to write in a while, I have felt inspiration to grow as a person.  I'm reading books again.  I'm playing with fabric, needles, and thread.  I'm learning how to cook delicious things.  I'm working at being the awesome person I know I am.

In the future,  I imagine just how wonderful things can get from here.  I'm actually excited to know that life can be really cool, and it'll just keep getting better from here.

And now, here's a list of what I am not doing right now:

• Meowing at old people
• Making a paper mache sculpture of Bob Ross
• Playing tether ball
• Fishing for carp
• Drawing a picture of Darkwing Duck
• Yoga
• Stealing road signs
• Combing my eyelashes
• Being miserable

simply

amazing.

surreal.

This all seems like a very weird dream.  I question reality as I type this.  Did any of this really happen?

It's like I've taken a double-shot of Ipecac and now I've gotten that horrid taste from my mouth.  I keep trying to purge it.  But now I'm overpowered by the taste and stench of my own bile.  I never want that awful taste near my face again.

now I feel like I'm only half awake, and I'm desperately missing my coffee.

I foolishly spilled my coffee while trying to grasp it.  I was sleepwalking.  My darling coffee scalded my hands, leaving my skin red and peeling.  While I try to savor the flavor of the last couple of sips I have, I lie here on the floor, praying for a refill. 

coffee vs. awful beer

I am awake.

I clutch on to my coffee for the warmth, security, and comfort.  I don't hold my grip too strongly, in fear of spilling the scalding beverage all over my hands, and destroying the precious drink.  The coffee is inviting and soothing, and I welcome its intense embrace as it passes my lips, and invigorates my entire being.  I can always depend on coffee to pick me up and get me going.  It has that astounding ability to melt away my fatigue in an instant, just like magic.  Coffee has that perfect balance between sweet and bitter.  When I wake up to coffee, my day is bright, and I smile because I got my fix.  It seems to know me perfectly, and goes so well with me. 

I am addicted, and I don't want to stop.

Sometimes I get drowsy, though.  It's like someone switched my darling coffee out for a vile mug of Old Milwaukee, flavored with Tylenol PM, Unisom, Ambien, and shame.  I accidentally take a swig, and no matter how hard I try to spit it out, the repugnant taste holds my mouth hostage, and I feel weary and weak.  I violently try to purge out the poison, but all I end up doing is getting myself upset, sick and missing my coffee.

I swear, I had a point to this.  I'll remember it some time.