Back To School Blogging

While driving to Breesi's house Friday, I listened to this interview on the radio with a middle-aged woman (Libbie) who took a year-long road-trip adventure to "find herself." Before she left, Libbie's girlfriends threw her a going-away (apparently this story used a lot of hyphenated words) party, and one of her friends got her a box of Peeps. Libbie was wise and thought Peeps were repulsive, so she decided to keep them as companions on her journey across the US. She named them cute P names and strapped them in her passenger seat. She took pictures with them at funny places and used them to bring up conversation with strangers whom she never would have met had it not been for the Peeps. A while through her journey, she had to replace the original Peeps with new Peeps because they were falling apart, but she still has the original Peeps.  

The point of the story that I really enjoyed was how she figured out that she needed to end the adventure. She flipped on the Wizard of Oz one night at the part where the Wiz is flying up in the hot air balloon away from Dorothy, and Dorothy is crying out, "Come back, come back! Oh, how will I ever get home?" Glinda says, "Why, Dorothy, you've known how to get home all alone. Just click your heels," blah blah blah. It's pretty shruggable that she came the whole way and figured out that she didn't need anyone else or anything else (i.e. her journey) to help her find herself, but I like it all the same. It's like the end of an episode of Scrubs. You can go to the webpage here to read about it, or just click this baby to listen to the podcast version of The Story. It was really pretty cool.

While long ago I had adopted Libbie's taste in Peeps (that is, none), I

still get them every Easter from my parents. This year, instead of giving them to my gobbling brothers, I decided to put a few in the microwave and then save the rest to make a diorama with Breezy. Inspired by internet America. For now they are festering in the shoe-box until we make use of them.

An interesting thing happened just now--I wrote this and I didn't know I was going to. I typo-d "breathed" and went from there almost automatically. Anyway. -She breathed into the window pane and smudged her nose up against the glass--ew--it was instinct to back away from the car window even though there was no way her exhales could reach me; I surrendered to it. Her eyes were wide as she struggled for my attention--and more, my approval, an older, chaperone part of me she saw in someone who had a separate life they left to come home on spring breaks and labor days--a nemesis, but of one to gain favor. I remember when it was me on the other side of the glass, me pining, me straining, me clenching my teeth in willpower to force elders to like me and say I was "mature for my age." Me, still yet pining, always pining, for others' attention. Me, almost taxable; me, independent of spirit...but my independence was lost forever, squashed under the flat, solid sole of my starvation to be noticed.

In other news, it's back to school and as weird as ever, for multiple reasons. Hopefully God will give me the focus I need to get to the summer.

Peeping,

Kaitlin

Octatonic Fever

Lately, I have been listening to Third Eye Blind non-stop.  Inside the music of Third Eye Blind, I get this desire to create--a seemingly interminable desire, to mold the licks and melodies that are catchy and that jab you in all the right places at all the right times.  Not an incredibly celebrated group of composers in the world of fine arts...but that's how I get when I listen.

The last line of "The Road Home" is getting me reeling: "There is no such beauty as where you belong."  Where the hell do I belong?  How I wish and wish and wish that life were just sitting in bed listening to Eric Whitacre and singing in University Singers and talking to Dr. Crabb.  How can I be a journalist when there is such a thing as music?  This is what I think sometimes.

But how can there be just music when there is such a thing as reality.  And really, if I were to do music all my life, what could I do?  Join an opera thing.  Conduct a choir--but I wouldn't want to conduct high school because high school kids don't give a shit, and I wouldn't want to conduct elementary school because they could never be good and I could never go into the depth I wanted to.  I could perform...but how?  Where?  For whom?  If University Singers was hiring sopranos right now for 30,000 a year with benefits, I would so apply.

But there are other levels: there is the service level, the writing level, the business level.  There are so many levels of my own aspirations and my own expectations that I don't even know where to start.  I am afraid not only that it will be too late to start over but that I will be too tired or okay with just settling.  

How do you even know when you've settled?  With anything?  How do you know when something is the best you're going to get?  And should we even settle for the best we are going to get?  

I mean, really, is the principle of being human striving for the impossible or indulging and developing into what you are?

My thoughts are going in circles.  I know I have thought about this before.  Re-reading my own postulations makes me start to think I am the type of person who never goes far enough into finding the answers to her questions.  I think I just enjoy asking them and thinking about them.  But this is discouraging and makes me fear that I am like this in all endeavors--socially, religiously, academically.  

Despite the cloudy vibe of this blog, I actually had a great day.  I will miss Omaha this summer.

have a listen

Do re mi,

Kaitlin

And now I have been elated and am trusting in God that this is the right thing.  It is the middle of the night and things are looking up--I have support and God is always there.

Beginnings Of A Spiral

The existence of the world baffles me.  My respect for people has always been high, my love of people and the way the world works has always been fiery--I've always been fascinated by culture and society and Earth.

But I seem to put my trust in things that let me down.  If someone I thought was so admirable and noble, such a role model and a future-seeker--if they can let me down this monumentally, where does that leave the rest of the world?  If I love the rest of the world and people in it so much and thought I had found the upper end of things in a person who ultimately disappointed me, then what am I supposed to think about everyone else in the world?  Sure, people are human.  Sure, it's a beautiful thing.  But that means everyone will let me down.  No matter who I find.  So does that mean I should stop trying all together or let it be okay to get hurt by someone who I thought was the best?  Because either way, people are human and people will let you down.

It is funny how the "people are just people and they are not perfect" argument can be used both ways, in defense and in accusation.

I've been watching the 3D animation version of The Pilgrim's Progress here and it has made me think about things.  I can't tell if it is meant to be a slight mockery or a genuine adaptation, but it makes me think all the same.  

Things like how God never lets you down.  [So it is said.  And I guess God has never let me down...but it's hard to put a finger on it.]

And ideas like how people get caught up in the wonders of this world and suffer in the end.  [It is confusing to me because of my ultimate love for the world.]

But it seems like these ideas are coming into my life at the exact right time.  Also, Breezy has come into my life at the exact right time.  Sometimes it feels like things are working out...and most of the time it doesn't.

Daily jumbled,

Kaitlin

 

Who Now Will Be My Rewarder?

We are signing the lease on the apartment tomorrow at 8 in the spanking a.m., thank GOD.  I am so ready to not deal with this anymore.  I am so ready to not try to win people over anymore.  I am so ready to stop hounding my roommates and stop being a nagger.  I hate naggers and I'm becoming one.

In other news, I have Tiger Calling Club training today.  They tricked me into thinking this was a campus job.  It is a campus job, but the locale is not on campus.  It is downtown.  Thanks, Reynolds Alumni Center.  But I am glad I got the job, at least.  Hopefully it will take my mind off of things.  It might be interesting, talking to old Mizzou-ians.

We are singing this song in U. Singers called Valiant-for-truth.  It is about Mr. Valiant-for-truth, who has endured many pains in his long life and is on a sort of quest to do God's bidding.  He receives a summons to cross this river into what I am assuming is the afterlife.

"I am going to my Father's, 

and though with great difficulty I am got hither, 

yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble 

I have been at to arrive where I am.  

My sword, I give to him that shall succeed my in my pilgrimage, 

and my courage and skill, to him that can get it.  

My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me, 

that I have fought his battles, 

who now will be my rewarder."

The sword--I wish it could be given to me.  I wish I could succeed Mr. Valiant-for-truth in his pilgrimage to do God's bidding.  He is talking about this pilgrimage of a journey to the riverside, but we all know that it is a symbol for life itself.  Life is a pilgrimage.  

And my pilgrimage has not been Valiant.  Toward God or anyone.  

Life pretty much sucks right now.  But I hope it is not over soon and I still have a chance to take the sword.

10 points for Gryffindor, 

Kaitlin

Infernal Readings

Dante is a hero.  He goes into the underworld and comes back up.  But what else does he do?  Does he even need to do anything else?

Seeing the underworld is so important for characters--and characters are based on us, based on humans.  Isn't it important for us too?  Is there always an otherworld that we must journey to?  And if so, do we always get a guide?

So what is my otherworld. 

It doesn't necessarily have to be an underworld.  It can be a fantastic place, as they of the Classics say.  A place where magical, unrealistic things flourish.  My otherworld...is it this little situation that I have on my hands currently?  It could be.

A) When I first stepped through the veil of greenery into this magical land, it was through the fantasies of the late hour during finals week--coffee inducement, sleep deprivation, Memorial Union, cramming, pancakes: these would all influence interpretation, would they not?

B) The excavation of my otherworld, which we will call Allegory, was done through the intricacies of cyberspace--dangerous?  Fantastic?  Ambiguous?  I do think so.

C) The climax of my experience pfrancing around Allegory was only the culmination of all of the bizarrely perfect nights, days, mornings, afternoons, conversations, commitments, looks and favors Allegory had served me on a silver platter--in which, of course, I indulged and gave back--and is this climax undoubtedly a symbol of a real life Too Good To Be True?  Hmm.

D) The exiting of Allegory could only be fitting for something so unreal and so beautiful--a completely unexpected abrupt red light, or an explosion, maybe?  An explosion of reasons?  Could it only end this way if it were too good to fizzle out?

There is a slew of lessons I could take away from my otherworld; but I have no idea which one is THE one.  Of course I will come out changed, of course I will come out different...but is the lesson to become untrusting?  Is the lesson to rearrange my priorities?  Or is the lesson to be patient?

I don't know.

Despite the sarcasm in this post, I'd like to think the lesson is to be patient.  In the meantime, I've also been adjusting my priorities.  It's hard to go to God first (sorry, Glob), but it's about time I try to really figure this out.

At least I found a way to incorporate the big ideas of Dante into my own little life.  Even if I don't find the solution.

"There is no such beauty as where you belong."

Kaitlin

Blog blog blog.

Ah, PWN3D again.

This sucks.

Wowzer Bowzer

Wow, it is amazing how much better I feel after having video chatted with Candace tonight.  I just remember how great she is and how much connection we have.  We are starting a webcomic--why didn't we think of this sooner?  What could be more fun?  Rhetorical.

Talking to Candace made me remember that life can be carefree (or carefreeER) if I let it, and simplicity is not an impossibility.  Just being around her, even if not materially--just talking to her--just reading her words--it always makes me motivated to be the best I can be.  I feel SO much better.  My mood has perked up immensely in the past 2 hours.  Even roommate snips are nothing now (and they have been a lot more than nothing lately). 

Ah.  My own room.  I can't stop dreaming about it.  I can decorate it how I want, I can watch the TV I want, I can play the music I want, I can turn the lights off when I want.  And there will still be someone there when I wake up--just across the hall.  I'm stoked to use the bathroom in the kitchen--I'm stoked to go back and forth between the toaster and brushing my teeth at the bathroom  mirror.  For some reason that is just exciting to me.  I'm excited to take a nap in the living room if I want and make mac n cheese and brownies every night.  I'm excited to have people over.  AH!  What a life it will be.

With lifted lull,

Kaitlin

A Duel?

Part of me just wants to start every blog in traditional blogger/Epicurious article style: "Have you ever listened to a song that has brought back a string of memories?  Well, for me, that is Explosions in the Sky."  But I refrain.  HA!

I thought it would be easier with my parents when I left home, but it has just made it harder.  My dad just doesn't understand that sometimes I need things explained to me.  I don't understand taxes.  I don't understand most of the officialities of the world, as a matter of fact.  I don't understand the child support situation we are in.  Any time I ask a question about it, my dad immediately starts to talk to me like I am a child in that up-tilting, eye-bulging tone of voice.  Immediately!  He rarely gives things a chance.  He rarely trusts anyone else's opinion.

And I'm going to have to deal with this conflict between my mom and my dad for the rest of my life.  Let me ask you this: who is going to walk me down the aisle at my wedding?  It may seem like a simple question with a simple answer at first.  But--my stepdad has been the dad.  My dad has biologically been the dad, but my stepdad took over his role when I was 4.  Would I want my blood father to be there for the big moment?  Would I want my fathering father to be there for the big moment?  Which is more important?

How do I do this?