It's · fascinatin' · to · observe · what · the · mirror · does

i will have friends, and a real job, and a cat.

i will only see the family members I want to see, and I will not lift a lever to pour milk in my cereal.

someday, i will never again worry about being rejected.

my only concerns will be clients, parking tickets, taxes, and cellulite.

someday, i will be at peace, and I will never feel this horrendous feeling that clutches at my neck right now,and won't let go. it's not attraction or anything close to it. it's just school anxiety because NOTHING I DO HAS EVER BEEN, WILL EVER BE ENOUGH. I could vomit right now, my legs are so cold.


calm down calm down i am going to australia in 3 days, and it will be so warm there that I will hate my hair.
i want to cut it off.

[x] i have a shopping addiction.
[x] my room mate doesn't want to live with me next year because she hates the other people in our dorm.
[x] i have few or no female friends i could live with.
[x] i am afraid of my summer job.
[x]i don't want to read my french.
[x] i am going to do my tutorial reading and stop crying now.
[x] i i i i, so petty so self-centered.

but things could be so much worse.

i hate the absence of sun here. people ask me if it is this cold in ohio. no it is not this cold in ohio.
nobody gives a fuck about me.
i am a nuisance to everyone i have ever met.
i have been rejected for a spring internship by the harvard undergraduate law committee.
my boyfriend is regularly 2 hours late.
no explanation.
no telephone call.
my room mate is no longer my friend.
my boss insults me.
and the person who could make me feel better about all of this has been dead for nearly 5 years.

i am tired of falling in the snow and ice, and i am tired of being informed that i am tired or ugly
and i am tired of being told i am pretentious.

yes, i am pretentious.
the only way i could avoid seeming pretentious is by pretending to be unpretentious.

and do you know what that would be?

pretentious.

on the bright side, the infection that was waging war against my right eyeball has died down, and i found my favorite lipstick.


how are you, dear reader? feel free to complain. i just did.

Have you ever seen cremated remains?
They are dull and brown and gray and kind of gritty.

And you don't DESERVE to know what they look like.
You don't deserve to know what I look like.

Little grooves between each of my countable ribs.
And I still can't get my hips back into my pants.

I have to put my hips in one hip at a time.
One at a time, and then I tip my tremendous ass up and pull the denim high.

Ain't nothing attractive about an ass crack.
Do you remember the time I slapped your face?

Oh, that's right. That's wrong.
I never slapped your face, never touched you.

Except on TWO different hallway occasions, when the crisp edge of your button-up, and
The soft sleeve of a teeshirt touched my left arm.

It was my left arm both times. About a two-inch square area just south of the elbow.
I closed my eyes when you did it.

I closed my eyes like when a person dives, or fucks, or prays
Or doesn't want to look at someone else's ashes, or ass crack.

I loved you I loved you I loved you.
You dirtbag, you fucking bag of dirt.

Dear Readers,

I spent the 5 day Thanksgiving break with Carson and his girlfriend and his girlfriend's family.

I am doing okay. A lot of homework, a lot of stress, but Carson got me some A-MAZING new speakers for which I am very thankful.

I have 3 new tutoring students, and one of them is a ton of fun. He is something of an artist, and he looks like a blond sheep. He also pays well.

I won another poetry scholarship, only about $80 this time. So far I have applied to Stanford, Columbia, Princeton, and Miami University. By the end of this week, I will have applied to University of California-Berkeley. I also have an interview for Princeton later this week, so please keep your fingers crossed for me.

I'm starting to realize that some people who I thought cared about me were being fraudulent. Whatever.

Nobody's holding my hand any more, and for the first time, I'm not sorry. Music is my boyfriend. I feel clean.

Something like love,
Katherine

HA. I went clubbing in Orlando, FL last night. With a Pollack, a rugger, a Harvard student, a rilly nice girl from Oregon, and a nurse. And I learned the twist & shout.

But the highlight of the night was pre-clubbing.

Recreated for your reading pleasure:

Mormon: You're really pretty. You have a certain beauty.
Self: (laughs so hard she spits water on her amazing nurse room mate)
Mormon: (starts drawing on a napkin) They're beautiful.
Self: (mightily alarmed at the use of the 3rd person pl) Um, thank you.
Mormon: I was talking about sailboats.

It is needless to say that the Harvardian and Texan regaled me with all manner of nautical songs on the bus ride to and from clubbing. As the nurse says, "They sure like to tease you, don't they?"

And other, unrelated matters are also looking up.
Shit's never simple, but I am glad I/he exist(s).

This message was brought to you by the love & support of Rachel Sainte, Kristen, Hannah, &c.