might as well

I should start doing this blog again. It's February. 2011. I'm not sure I have touched this since I started college. That may not be true. Either way: I'm now a sophomore at UK (second semester yee haw!) and have declared an English Education major. I have to read a lot which occasionally is annoying but for the most part I don't mind.

In previous posts, I mention a boy named Michael who I seemed to like quite a bit. He's still around, thank goodness. Don't know if I'd still be here if it weren't for him. I mean that.

Most of my posts will have to do with school, visiting Centre College on the weekends, lessons I learn the hard way, or gearing up to be a RESIDENT ADVISOR at KENTUCKY GOVERNOR'S SCHOOL FOR THE ARTS!!!! I'm really excited about this, as you can see, because I really wanted the job and I got it, despite it being extremely competitive and me feeling extremely awkward in my interview. I strategically wore white pants to said interview because it takes balls to wear white pants in the winter. Never doing it again.

I may post the occasional picture of a cute animal or stupid video, so just bear with me on the days that I'm so sick of words I can't stand the thought of writing.

i keep forgetting

There is a saint in silver who sleeps on your clavicle, who screams
into my mouth that you are an angel and I am ripping off your wings
feather by feather, who
screams into my mouth that I don't fit underneath
your skin, that your veins are
too close together, that there are planets on the other side of your
skin cells, that there is no vacancy between your
lungs or behind your heart or amidst your muscles
for me and my mascara and my knuckles and my
doubt, who screams that I am a
pile of bones and disgrace and distance and wishful
thinking

I have had nightmares about this
before; I have pictured a giant band-aid with a human
stretched across it, pictured you becoming
familiar with earthquakes and ends of
civilizations, pictured you marveling over my
marrow and pictured the
saint sinking
into your skin and reverberating shouts
just above your sternum until
it is nothing but a
mute tremor, until it is nothing but a cavity which
I can just barely fill, until I rid my fists of all
your feathers and until you fly away



he has a necklace with saint michael which he gave to me. but i wrote about it before he gave me it.

my day with michael

So yesterday Michael performed a 14-hour miracle - he got me to like Christmas. He planned this giant day full of fun and laughter, which I really didnt help by almost dying a couple of times.

Part I: The Grocery Store.

Enter Michael and Katelyn into Kroger. Michael is on a mission. Onions, tomatoes, parsley, and spaghetti. In that order. Self-checkout. "Put in in Espanol!" I say, because he speaks Spanish. So we do, and waste 20 minutes of our day just ringing up four items. Absurd.

Part II: Magee's Bakery (of Lexington)

It looks like a barn on the inside, but we still have to cram ourselves into a table against the wall. The coffee smelled gross, but tasted alright - pastries were an A+ though. We talk about the Holocaust.

Part III: Sqecial Media

There were 30 minutes left on the parking meter. We decide to come back out later and put more money in, if we need to. I'm looking for a birthday present for Roy. Michael sees a cool hanging wooden dragon that he really really loves. He doesn't feel like "wasting" money. So when he goes to put money in the meter, I waste my money. I buy Michael the dragon, and I buy my brother a package of mustaches. I'm excited. I exit and Michael has moved the car and is in McDonald's peeing. He sees me when he comes out and I give him the box. He is confused. He realizes what it is, and is immediately EXTREMELY excited. More excited than was probably necessary. "I'm happy to be with you anyway, but now I have a DRAGON." He really says it.

Part IV: Chalking

We chalk how being together makes us feel. Michael draws a storm cloud with lightning bolts and rain and a sad, sad sunshine. I draw a broken heart, but I add a band-aid next to it with 'Michael' written on it. He doesn't change anything about his, but I know he's kidding. I hope. We also trace our shadows and then color clothes onto ourselves. They're actually very neat. Then I go to swing. This is where things get ugly. Michael follows me and sits in my lap on the swing, while I am still swinging. This would not have been so bad, but I start to slide off the back of the swing, and Michael is sitting on my lungs at this point, eliminating my ability to breathe or speak. My fingers are already frozen, but I'm hanging on to the chains for dear life. Michael is having a great time as I struggle to communicate that he needs to let go. He eventually lets go, but not before I start crying. My arms are REALLY sore the next day. He feels bad.

Part V: Naptime

Michael's room. Nap. Pretty straightforward.

Part VI: Ice Skating

I'm nervous. Michael is already a really good skater, where I am not. He is good at everything. He warms up for a couple laps while I mentally prepare myself. I step onto the ice and immediately lose all good feelings that are left. By the time I'm ready to leave, I have not yet fallen. Was anyone watching when Dale Earnhardt had his fatal accident in the last turn of the race? I have bruises on my hips now, anyway.

Part VII: Dinner
I play Scott in Trivial Pursuit (Canadian Edition?) and listen to him simultaneously diss my intelligence and Michael's dinner. An hour later, Michael's dinner is really really really fucking good and I'm happy.

Part VIII: Boondock Saints

I didn't really watch much of it, to be honest. :)

I really am probably the luckiest girl ever, especially because I have Michael. He's amazing.

i have loved you

I have held your hand in the blue cold, with blood hardening like the puddles at our feet, and I have loved you. I, a nervous accessory to your gentle hands and overwhelming needs, have known you for years without knowing your name. And if I was not full of sin enough to beckon your fingers to my skin, then maybe I was just the girl who could ask them without words. And yes, you will bruise from this. You will scar from this. But I will hold your hand.


best. day. ever. frrlz.

katelyn

a proposal for modesty

I don't want to see your tits. For the love of god, please put those things in a safe place. You skanks have no hearts. Could you consider the rest of us? Not only do I not want to see your tits, I also don't want to have to stand with my arms up for ten minutes listening to Ronnie Fields say the word "cleavage" over and over again.
You whores are the reason I got bitched at for not wearing a belt today, the reason I had to listen to administrators fumble over the female anatomy like a horny teenager getting to second base, and the reason that they're going to start making us wear hijabs next semester.
When you get dressed in the morning, think of the children. Someone's gonna get lost in there.

katelyn