today, i watched as you fell back in to love.
only, this time, it wasn’t with me.
its fine, dear heart. your new love has set me free.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
everyday i'm studyin'
study break: noun. a break from studying. because my life is studying and I'm taking a break to blog about it.
I feel like i'm losing it. about to lose it all. every last marble. plucking each petal, getting closer and closer to the last.
I envy the people who get to chase their dreams, they have dreams.
I, i have a dream. That is to one day have a dream to work for.
There. That is what i'll answer next time someone asks what I'm going to school for.
Honestly, I have no idea what I'm going to school for. That's exactly why I need to be in school. First I must find myself.
I feel like i'm losing it. about to lose it all. every last marble. plucking each petal, getting closer and closer to the last.
I envy the people who get to chase their dreams, they have dreams.
I, i have a dream. That is to one day have a dream to work for.
There. That is what i'll answer next time someone asks what I'm going to school for.
Honestly, I have no idea what I'm going to school for. That's exactly why I need to be in school. First I must find myself.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Katrina's Floating Head
This is going to be a segment where I talk about my sadness and such.
You see, my best friend moved away to the University of Texas and I can no longer see her everyday or talk to her as often as needed. SO, she made me a cut-out of her face, glued to a popsicle stick. I tell it all of my woes. And I might just feel inclined to blog about something in the future. I MISS MY FRIENDSIES!.
You see, my best friend moved away to the University of Texas and I can no longer see her everyday or talk to her as often as needed. SO, she made me a cut-out of her face, glued to a popsicle stick. I tell it all of my woes. And I might just feel inclined to blog about something in the future. I MISS MY FRIENDSIES!.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
a man across the room
he sips cautiously from his steaming mug
the tell-tale swift inhalation informs me that the beverage is putting up a fight.
a woman behind the counter never ceases smiling
candy-apple hair dances in pillars around her rounded, ivory face as she repeatedly thrusts lattes into the paws of spoiled customers
the buzz and bustle of the early risers makes her look like she could use a cup for herself.
Someone coughs
Keyboards click
Newspapers crinkle
An elderly man cackles at the morning news, oh young people these days.
What draws us in? What makes this coffee house home?
Could it be the familiarity? The warm, toffey-colored walls? Squashy armchairs help, no doubt. Maybe for some the wafting
smell of roasted beans churning circles in a blender is what brings them in. As for myself, I enjoy the predictability.
The personas, the artists, the democrats, the rebublicans, the posers, the actuals, and everyone in between: I enjoy knowing
exactly what we all come together in this one room for. I adore the warm, slow-sweeping feeling of peace
that this myriad of folks emits.No matter how rushed, how completely stressed out of their minds they are, each one has time
for coffee. To myslef, meaning that each one knows how to take a moment out of the day, the precious gift that they live, to
breathe and enjoy. Even if it's only for the five minutes I wait in line, I prefer the company of those who know what is most
important in life.
he sips cautiously from his steaming mug
the tell-tale swift inhalation informs me that the beverage is putting up a fight.
a woman behind the counter never ceases smiling
candy-apple hair dances in pillars around her rounded, ivory face as she repeatedly thrusts lattes into the paws of spoiled customers
the buzz and bustle of the early risers makes her look like she could use a cup for herself.
Someone coughs
Keyboards click
Newspapers crinkle
An elderly man cackles at the morning news, oh young people these days.
What draws us in? What makes this coffee house home?
Could it be the familiarity? The warm, toffey-colored walls? Squashy armchairs help, no doubt. Maybe for some the wafting
smell of roasted beans churning circles in a blender is what brings them in. As for myself, I enjoy the predictability.
The personas, the artists, the democrats, the rebublicans, the posers, the actuals, and everyone in between: I enjoy knowing
exactly what we all come together in this one room for. I adore the warm, slow-sweeping feeling of peace
that this myriad of folks emits.No matter how rushed, how completely stressed out of their minds they are, each one has time
for coffee. To myslef, meaning that each one knows how to take a moment out of the day, the precious gift that they live, to
breathe and enjoy. Even if it's only for the five minutes I wait in line, I prefer the company of those who know what is most
important in life.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
its not going to be easy, buts its going to be fun as hell
Why is it that coffee always leads me here?
oh right, because I only drink it at one in the morning.
I'm terrified, or am i?
I'm thrilled, or am i?
I'm swelling in my mind, my heart, right?
or is that you?
I'm impatient, thats certain.
I don't even know. I don't even know.
What don't I know?
Nothings changed from yesterday,
Yet, nothing will be the same tomorrow, either.
I'm going to embrace it, but so cautiously:
always careful.
oh right, because I only drink it at one in the morning.
I'm terrified, or am i?
I'm thrilled, or am i?
I'm swelling in my mind, my heart, right?
or is that you?
I'm impatient, thats certain.
I don't even know. I don't even know.
What don't I know?
Nothings changed from yesterday,
Yet, nothing will be the same tomorrow, either.
I'm going to embrace it, but so cautiously:
always careful.
Monday, April 25, 2011
WRITTEN SEPTEMBER 2010
The Perfect Shot
Shaking knees, sweaty palms, back stiff from sitting perfectly still. I feel none of this. Somewhere, deep in my subconscious mind, these sensations register, but all I can focus on is the target. I raise my 300 Winchester Short Magnum rifle up to shoot, the weight of it familiar in my experienced hands. Broadside, staring me dead in the eye, stands the biggest deer I have ever taken aim at. Everything comes down to this one moment, the chance to prove myself. And I am terrified.
My Dad and I have been frozen in the hunting stand all afternoon, watching for any sign of decent game. Our morale seems inversely related to the clock as minutes trickle by. I had hoped that today would be the day that I have been practicing so hard for, the day that I would finally get to kill my first buck, putting my name on the chart with the real hunters. I glare at the peeling, green paint on the walls, tugging on the ear flaps of my annoyingly itchy camouflage hat as I marinate in disappointment. All of a sudden, a large, brown-gloved hand grasps my elbow and begins making sharp, enthusiastic gestures towards the window behind me. My Dad, using our special father-daughter sign language, signals for me to turn around slowly so as not to awaken the rickety old stool I am perched on. Excitement floods my veins on taking in the sight beyond the small window. My chance has arrived! Standing next to a patch of prickly pear cacti off to the side of the dirt road, grazing on dead grass, is the most tremendous buck I have ever seen in person. Defying gravitational laws, he raises his gargantuan brown head from the ground to reveal antlers of thickest bone, spread out wide like a pair of arms beckoning me in. Fourteen spikes of pure glory, pointing up to the heavens. As we watch him eat, he makes a teasing pattern through the weeds. Closer, farther, a bit closer, a bit farther; he taunts me.
The sky turns orange while my nerves begin to set with the sun. Finger poised on the trigger, I await the perfect, opportune moment to squeeze. My hands grow numb in the icy air and my left foot sleeps, encased in its knee-high rubber boot. My bodacious new best friend stands picking at his corn, and taking his sweet time about it, still over two hundred yards away. All visibility in the ever-purpling night sky will soon be lost, taking this wondrous opportunity along with it. It’s now or never. I pull hearing protection muffs down over the ear-flaps of my hat and secure the butt of the rifle against my right shoulder, the barrel protruding out of the pane-less window. I spy my quarry through the black spotting scope mounted atop the gun. Oh, he knows what a prize he is. My Dad crouches over and whispers, “D’you think ya could make that shot?”
BAM!
To this day, I still swear that I heard him say, “You better make that shot.” Regardless of whether it was the stifling power of the earmuffs combined with the flaps of my wonderful hat, or simply my selectively permeable ears, I am glad that I misunderstood him. Twelve years old, shooting from two hundred and thirty yards away, at dusk, straight through the heart, I finally made my perfect shot.
Shaking knees, sweaty palms, back stiff from sitting perfectly still. I feel none of this. Somewhere, deep in my subconscious mind, these sensations register, but all I can focus on is the target. I raise my 300 Winchester Short Magnum rifle up to shoot, the weight of it familiar in my experienced hands. Broadside, staring me dead in the eye, stands the biggest deer I have ever taken aim at. Everything comes down to this one moment, the chance to prove myself. And I am terrified.
My Dad and I have been frozen in the hunting stand all afternoon, watching for any sign of decent game. Our morale seems inversely related to the clock as minutes trickle by. I had hoped that today would be the day that I have been practicing so hard for, the day that I would finally get to kill my first buck, putting my name on the chart with the real hunters. I glare at the peeling, green paint on the walls, tugging on the ear flaps of my annoyingly itchy camouflage hat as I marinate in disappointment. All of a sudden, a large, brown-gloved hand grasps my elbow and begins making sharp, enthusiastic gestures towards the window behind me. My Dad, using our special father-daughter sign language, signals for me to turn around slowly so as not to awaken the rickety old stool I am perched on. Excitement floods my veins on taking in the sight beyond the small window. My chance has arrived! Standing next to a patch of prickly pear cacti off to the side of the dirt road, grazing on dead grass, is the most tremendous buck I have ever seen in person. Defying gravitational laws, he raises his gargantuan brown head from the ground to reveal antlers of thickest bone, spread out wide like a pair of arms beckoning me in. Fourteen spikes of pure glory, pointing up to the heavens. As we watch him eat, he makes a teasing pattern through the weeds. Closer, farther, a bit closer, a bit farther; he taunts me.
The sky turns orange while my nerves begin to set with the sun. Finger poised on the trigger, I await the perfect, opportune moment to squeeze. My hands grow numb in the icy air and my left foot sleeps, encased in its knee-high rubber boot. My bodacious new best friend stands picking at his corn, and taking his sweet time about it, still over two hundred yards away. All visibility in the ever-purpling night sky will soon be lost, taking this wondrous opportunity along with it. It’s now or never. I pull hearing protection muffs down over the ear-flaps of my hat and secure the butt of the rifle against my right shoulder, the barrel protruding out of the pane-less window. I spy my quarry through the black spotting scope mounted atop the gun. Oh, he knows what a prize he is. My Dad crouches over and whispers, “D’you think ya could make that shot?”
BAM!
To this day, I still swear that I heard him say, “You better make that shot.” Regardless of whether it was the stifling power of the earmuffs combined with the flaps of my wonderful hat, or simply my selectively permeable ears, I am glad that I misunderstood him. Twelve years old, shooting from two hundred and thirty yards away, at dusk, straight through the heart, I finally made my perfect shot.
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Your Grateful Customers Everywhere
First, we would like to cordially congratulate you on maintaining the world’s most elusive Internet service. It’s not everyday that people find themselves so successfully extricated from society. You have done an exemplary service in causing us to get off of the computer. We might even go outside every so often, thanks to you! One user even reported losing three pounds of body weight because they began spending less time online after your installment. People are healthier; grades have improved, dogs are getting walked, more children are being fed, and all thanks to you! Thanks again for doing such a great service, NETGEAR!
Your Grateful Customers Everywhere
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