Something funny: I always feel oppressed sitting in front of my computer...but I never feel this way about writing anywhere else. So the other day I wrote this very poetic blog sitting on campus relaxing in the sun. I never posted it though. I've done that about 5 times. I try to sit down and write them here, but you can't recreate sentiment and have it sound even semi-persuasive.
Ok, now for the promised depressing part:
Oh, sigh for the pains of growing up. I'm the baby of my friends from High School. As my two closest friends turned 18 we went out to do something "grown up" on their birthday night. For Kelli we smoked some cigarettes in a park, for Marilyn we sat in the back of her truck choking on huge cigars and feeling like such rebels. Along came September 6, my turn. This would be the climax of all birthday adventures: we would go clubbing. I know, clubbing is really rather banal and not too terribly thrilling of a "climax." You see, you just don't understand Kelli, Marilyn and I. For us it was a production. I went to the mall and bought glitter gold pants and a shear (I try to be sexy occassional just to highlight how truly pathetic I am) blue top - but it went beyond that. Kel and I went to the beauty shop..I bought blue hair extensions, golden eyelashes, glitter makeup - an entire kit. That night, all glammed up I must say i looked damned sexy, as unlikely as that seems.
5:30 pm Phone rings. Kelli and Marilyn didn't feel safe going alone without guys, and, because of the late notice, none of our guy friends could go. No big deal, sometimes things just don't work out. I just am silly about these types of things. So I take the dogs for a walk around the block in my gaudy whorish outfit. Though still a little disappointed I say to myself it's bound to happen sooner or later.
I figure they both will just come to visit me at UCLA and we'll go then - this will be especially nice because we can just crash afterwards in my dorm room and not worry about the ride home. After coordinating plans several times and having them fall through I just assumed we would get to it this summer, and saved my first clubbing experience for them.
It had to happen one time or another. When three people form friendships there are always the natural alliances of closeness that fluctuate. One will always be closer to another, and one will always be the outcast.
Kelli and Marilyn go to the same school, they commute together, hell they even have the same classes. Here I am at UCLA. I suppose it's only natural the way things are turning out. Maybe it's just jealousy. They have each other and suddenly I have no one. Perhaps if I had found a bosom pal I wouldn't feel so terribly wounded.
Phone rings in the early afternoon. I'm surprised to hear Marilyn's voice. I haven't spoken with her in ages. We shoot the shit for a couple of minutes then it comes out. "So, Kelli and I are going clubbing on Saturday and thought we ought to let you know, see if you wanted to go..."
Yet if it's natural, why does it hurt so much?
I lied and said that I couldn't, and said that I had in fact already gone clubbing with some chums in the hall.
Mother says that it isn't natural. Somehow I've never been able to maintain friendships; undoubtedly after a year or so I end up crying on my mother's shoulder, depressed at the prospect of starting all over, alone. My mom's a horrible person to go to when you just want sympathy or you just want someone to cry with you. She can't just plunge into emotions and stay there for a bit, she needs to fix things. Immediately. She told me that I have this terrible independence. That I refuse to be vulnerable in front of my friends...and that in itself is unnatural.
So what's the alternative? Honesty?
Marilyn, Kelli, I know you don't need me anymore, but I really need you right now. I have no one else.
Why is it that I always have my artistic (or autistic, whatever pleases you) epiphanies sitting outside with the warmth of the sun bathing me? How different form when I sit here, in my suffocating dorm room. Something about the white wall beside my cluttered yet still impersonal desk sterilizes what little creativity I possess. I think of many brilliant things out there. In here I remain stupid. So I spend the majority of my day avoiding you.
Hell, you'll find out about my idiocy soon enough. Glory, if you already know me you are well aware that I am a blithering buffoon.
Should be in anthro, but instead trying to figure out how to add a comment box. katherine 9:53 AM
Mom, you're Amazing
After three hours of horribly tedious and painful work I just clipped the final pin curl to my head. I don't know how Marm even feigned interest after 70th curl.
If it doesn't turn out wonderfully tomorrow I think i'll just have to cry.
Mom, I am so sorry for ever showing the slightest disappointment after seeing the results of your many hours of labor curling my hair katherine 2:00 AM
Wednesday, February 20, 2002
HURRAH! LOOK DOWN THERE! SEE? IT WORKED! katherine 9:17 PM
Program Massacre of Sproul 467
For the past...say, three months, my internet connection at school has been absolutely horrid. Of course, computer illiterate Katherine just accepted the problem and worked her way around it... Example: I always have to blog from either Lilia or Joann's computer...or do anything important there.
Houston I have solved the problem. Joann said something to the effect of perhaps I had too many programs and the school connection was just too fast for my computer.
Hmmm....logical
So I forced myself to bloody my hands, and have just returned from butchering all my computer programs.
Ahh, the smell of dead computer programs in the brisk chill of the evening
Upon originally dedicating myself with some amount of diligence to this - the blogging of my life - I was incredibly excited. I actually went to several online tutorials and attempted to teach myself the "Hell-fire" language, commonly known as html. Oh, heave a universal sigh for the thrill of inspiration.
Then reality sets in. Katherine realizes "No, I hate all things associated with technology, and honestly haven't the willpower to persevere through study when the subject matter becomes difficult..." So I gave up.
Fortunately Joann did not. Thank heaven for roommates that one can use. She has figured out how to post pictures, so I thought I'd share some of the exciting things that happen in our room:
"Good Times" in Room 467
Oh Holy Night
I think the idea originated with Lilia wearing her blue scarf, then it juggernauted (I believe I was the main force behind this motion) into the reinaction of the Nativity. Funny the sort of people you meet walking down to dinner with a beard and moustache painted on your face
"O Hamlet, speak no more!
Thou turn'st my eyes into my very soul,
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.” Shakespeare, Hamlet III.iv.(I don't remember the exact lines).
“That Katherine’s such a spiritual little girl,” old women with lace veils on their heads used to say to my mother after mass. Spirituality’s so simple to a child. Religion is pure and the path is clear-cut.
As a child I hated the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32). I saw myself as the faithful older son, the one who always stood by the father…the one who didn’t waste away his inheritance, who wasn’t rewarded with the fatted calf. I stood surrounded by sinners, all of whom would have their own fatted calf, and I would receive nothing. Then little Katherine grew up. Sin became much less infrequent and the outward signs of holiness diminished. Along with my growth and fall in holiness came perhaps a little wisdom. I realized that there really were no older sons, that we all were prodigal, always falling short of the perfection demanded of us by our Heavenly Father. In a way I prided myself on my own fall from grace because it made me more human, less like the hypocritical Pharisee, more like the tax collector of Luke 18:9-14. How silly I was: even the acknowledgement of my own shortcomings I intermixed with false pride.
Pride. This overbearing sense of self permeates my life. Anyone who mentions this, my most unmentionable flaw, I immediately shun.
Anel, eighth grade, best friend: One afternoon sitting outside in hot sticky PE uniforms, “I wouldn’t be so close to Anel.” Karla thereupon produced a note addressed to her from Anel. That night I had my first migraine headache…it was the first time I felt betrayed by someone I truly loved. I remember curling into fetal position on my bed, cradling my knees to my chest, sobbing so hard I could hardly find room in between groans of pain to breathe. I burned the note, and even as a senior cringed with raw hurt every time I passed Anel in the hallways.
Richard, friend, three hours ago on the phone: Left the Catholic Church, secretly hates the fact that I am Catholic. We’re discussing why I feel like the Catholic Church is the place where I feel God wants me to be. Completely off topic and having nothing to do with what I am saying, Richard brings up “The Christian Life.” He’s baffled by the fact that some people can call themselves Christians and curse or drink or smoke for pleasure…all three of which are indirect attacks at me, and in a wayward way, Catholicism. He says such people are not Christians- I don’t remember the exact argument. At first indignant, I soon found myself crying uncontrollably, unable to respond I had to hang up.
Why would they say these things? Why would they want to hurt me so? I try my utmost to turn the tables: They are cruel; they are judgmental. Christ preached overall of love, mercy and compassion.
It’s all a smoke screen. Yes Richard, yes Anel. You’re right. All this time I hated you and wrote you down in my book, the little list I keep of my enemies and of my friends. Yes, there you are, under the caption of hypocrites…pointing at me and saying “hypocrite” all you do is condemn yourself. You charge me with not being a Christian, but by doing so go against the love, the compassion that Christ taught.
Oh God, forgive my pride; forgive my willful ignorance.
I’m so sorry. I’m so ashamed. I’m so…
I’ll make it right. I’ll erase all the names under the heading “friends”…those who gratify my own warped sense of self, those who affirm how wonderful I am, how witty, how funny…above them all I put you; Anel, Richard. What name shall fill the void you left under my enemy category?
The Unreliable Narrator So yes, the play...no, I really don't feel like analyzing it in the end. So I won't. Suffice it so say that it is a worthy way of passing two hours of your time. If you do see it and would like to discuss, then I suppose you can email me, and I just might respond if I find your email intriguing in any way. knfowler@ucla.edu. It' s running at the Geffen up until March 17th I believe.
Obviously I haven't the slightest clue how to link on Blogger with any skill what-so-ever, but, give me a break- I'm new at this.
Yet another side note I wish I didn't have the habit of making up words...it would save so much of the time I spend editing my blogs. katherine 12:39 PM
Went to see a very interesting play tonight written by a man by the name of David Rambo entitled "God's Man in Texas."
For some reason I am completely exhausted and haven't the energy to delve into the complicated world of thematics at the moment, so I"ll write of it tomorrow morning. And to all a goodnight. katherine 12:16 AM
Friday, February 15, 2002
eviscerating romanticism
Theme of the day:
"Shall each man find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone?" Mary Shelley Frankenstein
Every girl, no matter how much she pretends to loathe the day, possesses a clandestine hope deep within her and sleeps a night full of wonderful dream on the eve of Valentine's day. Yes, I too fell victim to this horrid sickness last night. But don't trouble yourself: I've recovered.
Tonight I had planned to eat dinner with an old chum from high school.
Side note and somewhat interesting bit of information: This particular boy filled my dreams entire junior year. Anyhow, the plan was to meet outside of a certain dining hall (the name really doesn't matter, no one really cares) at 7:30. For some silly, girlish reason I spend my entire day looking forward to this dinner. Not just because it's something I can tell my friends back home to fill them with envy, but also just because it's something to do. It means I have one more day that I can say, "Oh, tonight I ate dinner with so and so," or "Yesterday I went to ---- with -----." Fill in the blank with whatever you please, it really makes no difference to me. In short, it's so that I can say, "No, I am not completely alone in college. Someone finds me entertaining, someone finds my presence enjoyable, I have one friend." (Side note: nothing is more annoying than the fact that both of my roommates cannot function without some sort of mind numbing pop culture music blaring at all times of the day when I am trying to think and formulate sentences).
Of course I'm running slightly late, mostly due to the fact that I'm putting on a fresh layer of make-up, trying to look as nice as possible for this oblivious boy. I panic, what if he's waiting outside for me, so I practically run up to the hall. No David. After 15 minutes I try to reason myself out of being disappointed. "The plans were not very plainly laid out, he must have forgotten, maybe he hadn't realized it was Valentine's Day, and he already had plans...." the list goes on. Really I do not hold a grudge against him at all. Every night people go to the dining hall with someone, it's nothing special...the only reason I hold it to be so important is because I never go to the dining halls with someone. I eat alone. So I ate alone tonight. I wasn't going to tell anyone; in fact, I took an entire hour eating one plate of food so that I wouldn't have to explain anything to my roommates.
As for my plans for the remainder of the evening...I'm contemplating whether or not to become royally sloshed. Generally I do not give into such lugubrious behavior based upon misplaced maudlin sentiment, yet, I ask myself: Why not? A somewhat frightening boy promises to take care of me and remain sober himself; yet, there's the slight problem of my hating Frat parties in general...but, as Ivan so wisely says "Everything's fun when you're drunk."
