Close Your Eyes

Rest and Just Believe

2012-02-05T22:57:00.003-06:00

I'm always amazed at the graciousness of God and His presence in my life. I see it in the things that make me indescribably happy like my godson's smile or the peace that I feel when I'm attending mass. Further more, I'm humbled by (as a great inspiration of mine would say) "moments of unscripted grace." Here's on that happened today.

Lately, I've been feeling overwhelmed by the new role that been placed in my lap: responsible adult. Neither of these two words describe me very well. Nor do I aspire to become either.. not any time soon, anyways. I'm tired more often than usual; I have no time for myself; I'm frustrated and irritated more often than not.. It's not very good.

However, something happened to me today that just made me stop, throw my hands up, and give it to God.

This weekend, my mom came for a visit. She was helping me buy new clothes for my new job. More professional wear. Which, as you might imagine, I have little to none of. Anyway, I was really excited to have my mom come for a visit. Even more so because I knew my sister and brother-in-law would be going home. So it'd be just me and her. I know it's a terrible thing to say, but I know my mom prefers the company of my sister over me. It just is what it is. So I was doubly excited learning she'd be making a trip just for me.

Well, when she got to BR she told me she wanted to get on the road pretty early the very next day. Meaning she'd stay less than 24 hours. I was a little jolted and hurt because I thought she'd try to make time for a proper visit. Time for me. But that didn't happen.

I also wanted to discuss my car situation. I thought she'd have good news for me. I thought we'd discuss things. But when I brought it up, I found her evasive and, even more upsetting, indifferent to what I'm going through. She even took my sister's side on another issue that had upset me earlier that week. But, as I said, I've been irritated a lot lately, so maybe that could explain that. Oh well. Point being: I was upset. And hurt. And feeling.. overwhelmed and ignored. Which, in a person like me, is not a very good combination.

So, on the way to mass this morning my mom and I were listening to inspirational music and a song came on that just grabbed me. The words were just what I needed to hear when I needed to hear them. I can't describe the feeling I got hearing the lyrics as they played.. powerful is about as close as I can get. I was nearly moved to tears. Coupled with the homily of mass, this song really helped me relax and prepare for the week ahead. And the responsibilities that will come in the future.

It's called "All Things Are Working" and here's some of the lyrics:

Falling apart
and tearing at the seams
Tribulation lends a hand
and squeezes all your hopes, your dream
You say you retreat,
you say you just can't win
Before you let your circumstance tell you how the story ends

Know that His word says you can stand,
He'll cover you with His grace
Everything you need is in your hand,
So lift up your head and say

All things are working for me,
even things I can't see
Your ways are so beyond me,
but You said that you would
let it be for my good,
so I'll rest and just believe

I don't know what God has planned for me in the future. And this may be far from my trial, but I have decided that I will allow Him to take the wheel and do His will. I can't let every little problem and difficulty get my down. I have to trust Him and His judgement. And in return, I know He'll provide me with everything I need. Even strength and understanding I can't see myself having or helping. I will try my best to be patient (although it's not a strongpoint for me) have faith. I'll rest and believe.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Cubicals, calls, and stuff--oh my!

2012-02-02T19:33:00.006-06:00

Okay, so I actually ran out of stuff to list for the title, but this is the obligatory new job post. That's right, I finally got my big post-grad, big girl job. Which, I guess if I were much of an adult, I wouldn't refer to it as that, but eh.

As of Wednesday, I'm training to become part of the Resolutions Team for Home Depot's corporate office. That means I'm issuing customer concessions and solving problems for the biggest home store in the world! Omg. Right now, I'm basically just listening in on phone calls (complaints) and watching the other members of the team do their work. I did get to key in a few gift cards, but more on that later.

So, day one:

There are 4 of us from the recruiting firm (it's not a temp agency, it's a recruiting firm) who started in Resolutions. We arrived at the large concrete and glass building at 8a like we were told and waited in the lobby for someone to give us further instructions. And although we're all young adults (actually, one girl told me she's 28), we were like children on the first day of kindergarten. The room was silent. Every time someone came through the door, we picked our heads up hoping they were coming for us. Most people just breezed through with a kind smile before swiping their keycard and moving through the door at the back of the lobby. We were silent. And scared.

Melissa, a Supervisor from our department, finally came in at about 8:05a (though it felt like we had been waiting much longer) and retrieved us like we were the last kids at daycamp. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly like she had just ran down the six flights of steps it would have taken to get from Resolutions to the lobby. "They told me you all would arrive this morning but I didn't know where to find you." No one said anything. She motioned us to follow her and we did.

We all herded into the elevator and Melissa pressed 6. The top floor. The elevator is half glass, so I watched as we slowly ascended into the air. The elevator slowed feet from the ceiling and then lurched to level with the floor. We all filed out after Melissa and followed her into the office.

The office floor was about what I expected: a large room filled with cubicles and people buzzing around doing work. Melissa then began assigning us to employees to shadow for the day. I was assigned to Ammie. She was very nice and enthusiastic. I liked working with her. Under her. Watching her. She has the efficiency of an elementary school teacher: very patient and always smiling.

At 10a, though, it was time for Ammie to go to lunch. Since I didn't know any of the other temps, I just went to the large break room on the third floor (which Ammie showed me)and read my book. Alone. Because it was so early in the morning, I guess no one else was on lunch so it was pretty empty. Which I didn't mind; I always value good reading time.

When I got back, Melissa informed me that I'd be moving to someone else's desk. She wanted Ammie to work on another task. So I moved to work with Lakesha. Everyone calls her Kesha though (like Keisha, not Ke$ha). She was more comfortable than Ammie. She joked around with the other team members and was way more relaxed. I guess she's been there longer. Anyway, I did some work with her and then I had to move again.

This time it was Carlos. There was already another temp with Carlos, but he let me sit in. It was a little cramped with three people in big rolly chairs--wow, I just realized I typed "rolly chair" and not office chair--into one cubicle. Carlos is what you would call a class clown. He moved around the office talking and joking. It was interesting. I can't really say I learned much from shadowing Carlos. But it was still interesting.

So, yeah, that's about how it's going so far. I'm excited to have a 9-to-5 and be all corporate America-y. Actually, it's 8a-5p, but yeah.

More to come! (hopefully)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Shadow

2012-01-30T19:11:00.002-06:00

I wanted to experiment with writing emotion. I decided to go with the one I've experienced the most recently and felt the deepest: Death/loss.

---

Carrie Morgan was too young to remember her grandfather’s funeral. In fact, if you asked her about it, she probably would shrug it off and tell you it was “Sad, I guess.” She wouldn’t’ remember holding her mother’s trembling hand as they stood outside the church, greeting the family members as they fluttered in, one after another like black rose petals picked up and scattered by the wind. She wouldn’t remember being squeezed into the front pew, snuggly pressed between her mother and aunt just a few feet from the open casket. She wasn’t yet old enough to read all the words printed on the programs, which had managed to outline a full 82 years of life in less than 300 words. She wouldn’t remember standing in the graveyard, holding a rose, watching as they lowered the casket and her father said goodbye to his father; her grandmother’s anguished cries of “Edward, oh my Edward” fell on her deaf ears.

But what she did remember was growing up without her grandfather. Years after the funeral, she could recall the void left in her family by his absence. Her grandmother seemed to move slower, as if the weight of loneliness were too much for her to bear There was no joy at her grandparents’ house. Carrie could remember staring at the pictures hung on the walls and set on the coffee tables, waiting for her grandfather to somehow spring forth and re-introduce color into what had become a very grey adolescence.

One late afternoon, hen the whole world seemed still and quiet, Carrie found her grandmother sitting by the window in her old rocking chair gazing at nothing in particular on the other side of the glass panes. There was a squirrel which immediately caught the young girl’s attention as it darted from one end of the yard to the other, pausing only cock its head up and stare sideways back at the house. Still, her grandmother’s eyes were eerily vacant, her face emotionally hollow. She looked like a doll, Carrie remarked, only the craftsman had forgotten to paint her smile on. And although she couldn’t remember her grandfather’s funeral or draw on any pleasant memories to cheer her grandmother’s mood, she felt in that instant the cold chill of longing.

Carrie walked over to the her grandmother resigned to that rocking chair, reached down deep through her soul and pulled out a pinch of courage. “What do you miss most about him?” Her voice was so thin that it crumbled on her lips and the question tumbled to the floor – a jumbled mess of emotions. She thought abut asking again, but couldn’t find another bit of courage to draw upon. Instead, she took her grandmother’s hand in her own and just held it there. At first, her grandmother was unmoved. Her hand rested on top of Carrie as easily as a dove might land on a branch. But Carrie held it there, just reminding her grandmother that she was there. There for her.

After a moment of still observance, her grandmother sighed deeply. It was the type of sigh heavy with sadness; the type of sigh that burdened the person that breathed it and anyone within distance of the breath. Carrie felt that sigh. It hung in the air until her skin had absorbed it and it weighed down her very bones.

“Shadow.”

The word was so unexpected that Carrie was sure she hadn’t heard correctly. Truly, she answered, “I don’t understand.”

“I miss his shadow most.”

“But Grandma--,”

“When I had your grandfather with me, I loved everything about him: his smile, his eyes, his touch on my hand, his voice, even his snoring. But his shadow.. That was special. You see, even when we were alone, cuddled up in front of the fire our shadows would be dancing on the walls. And when we went to bed, he held me in his arms, and I felt safe under the covers. But on the wall, our shadows molded together to form one and I never felt closer to him. His shadow followed him wherever he went, and mine followed his. We were bonded by our love and our shadows were never far apart. And now that he’s gone, I miss that shadow. I miss that silent, constant reminder of his presence.”

A week later, after years of loneliness and waiting, Carrie’s grandmother went to meet her grandfather. And though she couldn’t remember any part of her grandfather’s funeral, Carrie remembered this one. She spent every minute looking for her grandmother’s shadow, but never saw it.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Try not to Drown in This Stream

2012-01-18T21:04:00.005-06:00

ad·dic·tion
noun
the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Sometimes, I really hate the person that I am, the desires that I have, the behavior I exhibit because of some deep-seeded need I can't explain or defend.

Lately, I've stopped trying to stop these actions and just giving in. And you know what? I find that I quite enjoy it. And then, I hate myself. It's an addiction, an obsession.. a guilty pleasure. Emphasis on the guilt. But I don't want to stop. I think about it more and more. Constantly. And then I fall slave to my horrible habit. But I find that the flames of Hell are quite warm... inviting, even.

Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment--doing these things, testing, escalating, knowing that soon it's all going to come crashing down on my head. And the pain will be so blissfully numbing that it was all worth it. Oh, that sounds lovely...

And it's no one's fault, really. A consequence of coincidence. A coincidence of consent. I can't say I was driven to this behavior by anyone or anything. I'm just.. drawn to it.

Worst of all, I can't talk to anyone about it because it's so deplorable and irrational. I can't even explain it to myself! I guess I'm just hopeless, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for it to fall...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Science & Faith

2012-01-10T22:46:00.004-06:00

Recently, very recently, like within the past hour, I read a very interesting and telling blog by a close friend. This friend has brought me through some of the craziest adventures of my teenage years and hilarious memories. And this friend has always been brutally honest.. with others and with himself.

I've always admired his bravery. So I thought "What the hell". I may as well be honest.

So I've been listening to The Script's album, Science & Faith. A-MAZING record! I try to listen to just one song and I always go through the whole cd. Start to finish. Everytime. Sometimes, I feel as if they're speaking directly to me, singing my memories.. my faults. Other times, I feel like the girl they're singing about.. the heart-breaker, the bitch.

Anyway, here's I song that really eats at my insides:

Where does that leave us?

Tried to break love to a science
In an act of pure defiance
I broke her heart.
As I pulled apart her theories
As I watched her growing weary
I pulled her apart
Having heavy conversations
About the furthest constellations of our souls. Ooh.
We're just trying to find some meaning
In the things that we believe in
But we got some ways to go.
Of all of the things that she's ever said
She goes and says something that just knocks me dead.

It leaves me in pain.. Which only you make better. And in a constant state of worry and confusion that simply go away when you're near me. It leaves me strongly desiring the joy that you bring me.

You won't find faith or hope down a telescope
You won't find heart and soul in the stars
You can break everything down to chemicals
But you can't explain a love like ours.

I need you more than anything :)

Ooohhhh
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real
Ooohhhh
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real

-------
This is song is perfect for us. Science and Faith. Two completely separate and powerful ideas. But ideas that are both necessary for living.

I don't know what it is we have. There's really no word for it. Then again, we've never been ones for labels or boxes. But whatever we have, whatever we keep fighting for, it's real. And I love it.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

My Heart and My Love

2011-12-27T00:14:00.002-06:00

I can’t stop looking at this picture. I love it so much. I love the people in it more.

On my phone, I keep a picture of my godson, Tralynn, as the background because his smiling face always causes me to pause and smile too. Even when I’m stressed. Even when I’m frustrated. Even when I get a particularly upsetting text message. He’s always there, smiling back at me or just looking strange like “Why you so mad, Nanny?” And I smile. I just can’t help it. And I love that.

And my boyfriend, Chris Taylor. My amazing boyfriend. I’m really lucky to have him in my life. He’s so adamant about how much he’s changed because of me; how I make him want to be a better man. Don’t get me wrong, he was pretty great when I met him, but I do see how he’s changed to dedicate himself to our future. And I couldn’t ask for more.

This picture was taken Christmas day. I bought Tralynn a bike. Lightning McQueen, of course. Before that, my boyfriend put it together for me. I watched him as he laid out the parts and carefully read the instructions and worked with the tools, checking his progress to make sure the bike was safe for my godson. He caught me staring a few times and asked what I was doing. I tried to play it coy and said, “Oh, you’re just being all manly and stuff.” He smiled and grunted like a caveman before going back to work.

As I watched him, I got the strangest feeling: There he was, my boyfriend, the man I love, taking his time and energy to assemble something that would ensure my godson’s happiness. His willingness to do this task for me meant so much. More than he’ll probably ever know. I joked about how macho he seemed working with tools and stuff, but I think that’s because I was trying to keep myself from crying or showering him with appreciation.

When we delivered the bike on Christmas day, Tralynn was so excited. Chris brought it in and before we got inside, Tralynn ran to the door and screamed, “A bike! A bike! Bike!” And I told him it was his bike. He couldn’t wait to jump on his bike, so much so that he began “riding” in the kitchen. Chris and I followed him and tried to teach him how to ride a bike. Tralynn was very excited and determined to learn that day. We took it slow, Chris and I coaching him through the correct foot positions and how to propel himself forward.

Within about 20 minutes, Tralynn had learned to turn one pedal and push himself forward on his bike a few feet. He couldn’t understand the perpetual motion of cycling.. just yet. But it was fun to teach him the basics. Chris was so gentle and patient with Tralynn, holding his feet, supporting him on the bike, telling him to “Walk on it” and that he had to “Use both feet.” Tralynn even learned to turn himself around. And a new phrase: “Move Chris!” I watched the two of them, learning together and really sharing a special moment. My godson and my boyfriend. My heart and my love.

This picture says so much. I loved seeing my boyfriend being so mentoring, so caring, and so great with my godson. At first, I wanted to make sure the two of us were going to make it before introducing him to someone so important to me. Kinda like a divorcee waiting the obligatory 8 months or whatever before introducing her new boyfriend to her kid. I didn’t want to be the type of person who paraded different men around a child like Tralynn (his mother does enough of that). But I’m so glad I found someone like Chris. Someone who seems to get along with my godson, because he’s very important to me.

The experience this picture captured is best Christmas present I could have ever asked for. And I’m so happy to have it.

.:~o*’Kaylyn’*o~:.

Final Countdown

2011-12-04T22:41:00.004-06:00

Da da daaa
da da da da
da da daaaa
da da da da da da
da da daaa...

Okay, that part was ridiculously hard to transcribe. But seriously, it's final's week. And for me, that means final finals. Le gasp!

So, here I am, Kaylyn.. completing college in less than a week. Kaylyn, who can't remember how to do simple high school geometry for work. Kaylyn, who still can't spell despite over 10 years of schooling and (very) soon a degree in English. Kaylyn, who watched two hours of Regular Show and laughed her ass off like it was Frasier. The girl who bought the Victorious album and blasts it in her car. The girl who kicks ass in Just Dance.. even when she's playing a 5, 7, and 10 year old (no mercy!). Sigh.. yeah, that girl. She's about to be post-grad.

I suppose I thought I'd feel different. More accomplished. More deserving. More educated. But, in truth, I still feel like the same girl I was 5 years ago. I'm just not sure how to feel about that.

All I've ever wanted to do was write. Quite honestly, I haven't been doing much of that lately either.. but that's for another post. In order to write, I was told I had to go to college, continue my education. It wasn't an option. And because of that, I guess I suppose I thought ending it would feel.. better.

I mean, yes, college had offered me opportunities I wouldn't have otherwise. But in one year, I've managed to have two of the biggest accomplishes of my life. I've been to England. I've graduated college. The only thing left is to publish a book... Although I'm not holding my breath on that one.

When my sister got married, people asked how she felt afterwards. She said, "I dunno, I just thought I'd feel different. Taller, even. Or something." I didn't understand what she meant then, but now I think I do.

I'm just not ready to graduate college. I'm not even sure what it means to be ready for something like that.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

You're Welcome

2011-11-24T08:47:00.003-06:00

Here we go.

My annual Thanksgiving post.

As I sit here, in my aunt and uncle's house, watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade (yes, cliche, but that's what the holidays are all about right?), exhausted from the drive to Dallas, I'm still really happy and thankful.

I'm so lucky for the people in my life. My family. My friends. But I've realized that the reason I've got such great people in my life is because I surround myself with greatness. And that's only possible when one's pretty great themselves. So, if I'm half as awesome as my friends, I must be doing something right.

There are so many people I could put in this post. If you're reading this, then yes I am very thankful to have you in my life. Every year, I notice that some people are dropped from the list and more are added. But some people remain. I'm so happy to have such a loyal group of core friends. Y'all are amazing, really. And I know I'm a better person for knowing each and everyone of you.

So, this year, I'm saying thank you and you're welcome. Thank all of you for being in my life and if I bring just a fraction of joy to your life as y'all have brought to mine, then I must be doing something right.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Been Awhile...

2011-10-31T22:11:00.002-05:00

Oh wow. Where have I been? This semester has definitely been stressful. Trying to keep all my relationships in tact while not tanking my gpa in the process. So much of me just wants to say "Fuck it" and wait it out for another semester. Doesn't seem so bad. But so much planning and preparation had gone into a winter graduation. My mother is proud of me which I admit is pretty nice for once.

But when I'm pretty stressed, out of ice cream, liquor (note to self: remedy soon), and not enough time to watch Man in the Iron Mask, I turn to my blog. Because at least here, I know I can vent without fear of retribution or judgement.

So... here goes..

I hate who I am sometimes. I saying "This is what I want." Makes me feel like a bitch. Like, who am I to demand things from the universe? What have put into it? And everything I have put into it wasn't for my own benefit... Was it?

This guy at work is constantly doing nice things: taking shifts, staying late, volunteering his time to the rec, etc. He says he's "building up good karma" and one day, he plans to "cash out." I don't know if I agree with that thinking. But I do think every once in a while I should be able to say what I want and not feel bad about it.

But I do.

And I feel horrible about it. I want you to do things like we discussed, like we planned for. Us. Together. But at what cost? And am I willing to pay it to get what I want?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Kitten - Pt. 3

2011-09-03T14:28:00.002-05:00

There was a time, she remembered, when her faith wavered. A short, fleeting moment when she forgot all that they had built together in two years. A time when she questioned and doubted herself and him. She doubted their relationship. In that dark, awful time she called for him, beckoning for him to come to her.

And he did.

And just like that, she had quelled the fires of desire which lustfully licked at her insides and burned with cooling passion for another.

But now those fires were rekindled...

And he would not--could not come to her.

----

She sat on her bed with her legs folded under her. There were was a textbook opened near her, but she cradled her cell phone in her hands.

I would do anything to make you happy, kitten. You know that. he had written.

She studied the message as if somehow, her stare would change the words, rearrange the letters in a less troubling fashion. They did not change. The words glared back at her, demanding a response. She could picture him, waiting to see her reply as her name lit up his phone and the thought of her face lit up his heart.

I know, she wrote back. She tapped the send button before she could type anything else. She fell back onto her bed pleasantly thinking of all the things that would make her happy. All the things she desired. All the things he could give her. The trips, the gifts, the dinners... All accumulated in her mind while she waited for his next text.

Just then her phone began buzzing incessantly. She looked at the lighted screen in surprise. “Hello..?”

“Hey, sweetie,” she heard from the other end. He was smiling. She knew he was smiling; he had to be. His voice was far too cheery for him not to be. Then again, he always sounded this way when talking to her, she noted. Unless she had waken him or lost track of his schedule and called while he was working, he was generally happy to talk with her.

“Hi, honey. What’s up?” she said, perhaps a bit too apprehensively, she thought. But it was too late to take it back.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Nothing much. Going to find foods now. What about you?”
She relaxed some on her bed, stacking pillows behind her head and all but kicking the textbook to the far corner. She was done studying for the night. “Oh, I’m just reading some stuff for class tomorrow.” She asked him about his day though she knew the response before he gave it: Eh, fine.

Her phone buzzed singularly. “Oh, hold on for a second,” she said quickly.

What are you doing?

Nothing, she tapped back.

With expertise, she switched the screen back to her call. “Okay.”

He said nothing, but she could hear the beep of the cashier’s scanner in the background. He mumbled a quick thank you to the cashier and then the rattling of his plastic bag. “Sorry, I was checking out.”

“So what--,” her phone began buzzing. Once, twice, and again. “Uhm.. Hold again, honey.”

She switched to the other line. He was upset and tired. He didn’t have to say a word for her to know. With one exhausted breath, she knew exactly why he had called. She sat up in bed, ready to help ease his mind if only for a few moments. “Hey,” was all she said.

“Kitten...” he said heavily, as if the agony of his thoughts were too much to bear. “I can’t sleep. And I have a headache.”

“Have you taken anything?”

There was a pause.

“Maybe you should, boy.”

“Eh, I know.”

Though it pained her to do so, she asked him to hold the line and switched over. “Honey?”

He was there, smiling again. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Can I call you back later?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m just about to eat anyways. Wanna just call me before you go to sleep?”

She smiled, thinking of his voice being the last one she would hear before falling asleep. How she had been spoiled to that treatment years before their relationship began. How she wished he were there to whisper into her ear before bed and kiss her forehead, wrap her up in his arms and hold her until she fell asleep. “Okay,” she said, moving the phone away from her ear to switch the line back over.

“I love you.”

She stopped short. For some reason that resonated with her as she realized what she was about to do, trade one for the other. More over, how easy it would be for her. She hadn’t given it a second thought. Until now. She exhaled, “I love you too, honey.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Edge of Grace

2011-08-01T06:45:00.004-05:00

So today my former creative writing teacher, Christa Allan, released her second novel, Edge of Grace. On the heels of her debut novel, Walking on Broken Glass, this one explores another dark corner torn from Christa's own personal experiences with the blinding light of faith.

On top of my excitement for Christa, the release of this work forces me to examine my own goals and progress. Or lack thereof.

I think part of the reason I'm so happy for Christa is because she is living proof that it can happen: You can be published. Dreams can come true. However, the flipside of that coin is the fact that I haven't done it yet. Not even close. But I know I can do it.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel myself on the "edge of grace", so to speak and I'm just waiting for a push into the murky waters of authorhood. I don't know what form this push will come in (life experience, tragedy, brush with death, happiness), but I'm eager to meet it.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Cheers?

2011-07-05T07:55:00.002-05:00

I can't believe I'm actually here, in London. It's been the place of my dreams for a lifetime and now I'm here, writing from a British dorm room located in a "posh" area. It's strange, exciting, and a little intimidating all at once.

Now that I've realized the dream of a lifetime, what else is there to look forward to? I've held on to this goal for so long and now that I've achieved it, I don't know what's next for me. If there is anything... Perhaps I've reached my pinnacle moment, my peak, the highlight of my life. Maybe everything after this will be drab and boring; I'll live a quiet life somewhere in Louisiana and History will forget my name as I forget this trip. Who knows?

I'm not really sure how to feel at the moment. It's such a strange mixture of emotions. What I do know is this is not how I thought I'd be feeling...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Tick Tock

2011-06-22T00:49:00.004-05:00

Yet another very short nothing written in like 2 mins.

I sit here waiting
for the door to open
and you to come in
to feel your lips against my skin
to hear your voice
and give you mine
but I sit here waiting--
just me and Time.

Another moment
another minute
or two
another lifetime
here without you.

The silence so toxic
I may die where I sit.
If only you'd come in
and help me breathe a bit.

.:o~*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Poison IV

2011-06-07T13:46:00.002-05:00

You're my poison IV
and I need every drop
I want you inside me
give me all you got
Sink into my veins
flow through my blood
numb all my senses
Just make me feel good

You're my poison IV
I need you to live
because no one else
can give what you give
Yeah, you're poison, it's true
You're poison, but I can't quit you

My friends say you're no good
and they leave me be
I use you more than I should
it's insanity
But you're my poison IV
and there's no rehab
You're my cure
the only one I'd have

Just one hit
and, baby, I'm yours
You make me forget
and poison me to the core

You're my poison IV
I need you to live
because no one else
can give what you give
Yeah, you're poison, it's true
You're poison, and I won't quit you

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Trouble

2011-05-26T21:10:00.005-05:00

My first experiment in free verse. No rhyme, no meter, no musicality; very unlike my usual stuff, I know. So it's going be bumpy. At best.

----

I've been having these thoughts
awful
wrenching
haunting
unyielding thoughts.
I thought I could write them down
bind them together
tie them up
imprison them
silence them.
Instead
they rebounded
they redoubled
they regained momentum and pushed through the recesses I had forced them in to.
Angry, they came in full force
thoughts
thoughts
thoughts
images
images
words
behavior.
A smile, a glance, a look
Touch.
Smell.
Wanting.
Curiosity...

.:o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Note: I can't explain what it means to write out these feelings. Though they may seem random, the words have meaning. This piece means a lot to me. It's a very troubling subject. I can't explain it. So don't ask.

Cheez-It!

2011-05-16T23:38:00.002-05:00

As you all know, I don't do notes on Facebook. But I love Chih, so here ya go:

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 92 Truths about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

NAME: Kaylyn Hawkins

Age: 20

BIRTHDATE: 09/20/1990

PRESENT ADDRESS: Varies. :P

WHAT WAS YOUR:
1. last beverage = Moscato
2. last phone call = Margan
3. last text message = Chris Taylor
4. last song you listened to = Does the Law&Order theme song count?
5. last time you cried = Mid-semester nervous break-down. Wasn't pretty.

HAVE YOU EVER:
6. dated someone twice = Regrettably.
7. been cheated on = Yes.
8. kissed someone & regretted it? = Only the timing. ;)
9. lost someone special = Yes
10. been depressed = No.
11. been drunk and threw up = Haha. Yes. Welcome to college!

LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:
12. Blue
13. Blue
14. Blue

LAST YEAR (2010), HAVE YOU:

15. Made a new friend = Many!
16. Fallen out of love = No.
17. Laughed until you cried = Nearly everytime.
18. Met someone who changed you = Doesn't everyone?
19. Found out who your true friends were = Always knew.
20. Found out someone was talking about you = They always are.
21. Kiss anyone on your friends list = Not all I'd like. ;)

GENERAL:
22. How many people on your FB friends list do you know in real life = A lot.
23. Do you have any pets = Sadly, no.
24. Do you want to change your name = Maybe my last name. ;)
25. What did you do for your last birthday = Go to Harry Potter land!!
27. What time did you wake up today = Too late.
28. What were you doing at midnight last night = Watching tv.
29. Name something you CANNOT wait for = LONDON!!!
30. Last time you saw your mother = Too long.
31. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life = Nothing. I love it.
32. What are you listening to right now = Family Guy episode.
33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom? Ugh. Unfortunately.
34. What's getting on your nerves right now = I'm almost out of wine, but not questions.
35. Last visited webpage = facebook.com
37. Nickname = Many.
38. Relationship status = Taken.
39. Zodiac Sign = Aptly, Virgo.
40. He or She = Me!
41. Elementary = Been there, done that.
42. High School = Doesn't count.
43. College = Hell.
44. Hair color = Brown.
45. Long or short = Long. ;)
46. Height = 5'4"
47. Do you have a crush on someone? = Yes.
48. What do you like about yourself? = Pass.
49. Piercings = God, no!
50. Tattoos = Absolutely not.
51. Righty or Lefty = Righty.

FIRSTS:
52. First surgery = Wisdom teeth removal?
53. First piercing = Ears as a baby.
54. First best friend = Martika Wilkins.
55. First sport you joined = Gymnastics/Dance.
56. First vacation = Can't remember.
57. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> = ???????????????
58. First pair of trainers = I'll let you know when I come back from England.

RIGHT NOW:
59. Eating = Nothing.
60. Drinking = Wine! We've been over this. :P
61. I'm about to = Do something naughty.
62. Listening To = Commercials from said Family Guy episode.
63. Waiting for = Chris Taylor to get off.

YOUR FUTURE:
64. Want kids? = Only if they're adopted.
65. Get Married? = We'll see.
66. Career? = Graduate?

WHICH IS BETTER:
67. Lips or eyes = Eyes.
68. Hugs or kisses = If we're talking Hersey's, Hugs all the way.
69. Shorter or Taller = Eh.
70. Older or Younger = -no comment- ;)
71. Romantic or Spontaneous = Spontaneously romantic.
72. Nice stomach or nice arms = How about a nice face?
73. Sensitive or Loud = Real.
74. Hook-up or relationship = Relationship.
75. Trouble maker or hesitant = Only trouble is interesting.

HAVE YOU EVER:
76. Kissed a stranger = Not yet. ;)
77. Drank hard liquor = Yes.
78. Lost Glasses/ Contacts = Nope.
79. Sex on first date = Nope.
80. Broken someones heart = Yes.
81. Had your heart broken = Yes.
82. Been arrested = As if they could catch me!
83. Turned someone down = Yes.
84. Cried when someone died = Yes.
85. Fallen for a friend = Yes.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
86. Yourself = Pass.
87. Miracles = Yes.
88. Love at first sight = Absolutely.
89. Heaven = Yes.
90. Santa Claus = Patron Saint of Charity, yes.
91. Kiss on the first date = Yes.
92. Angels = Yes.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Kitten - Pt. 2

2011-05-16T00:33:00.001-05:00

She closed the door to the bedroom behind her; carefully. The hallway was empty, silent. She tip-toed her way to the bathroom and selected the number from her recents list.

“What’s wrong?” she asked into the phone, careful not to raise her voice too high.

“I can’t sleep... I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Coming from anyone else, the words would have made her gag. But somehow, the smooth voice that lulled her to sleep each night what seemed like a lifetime ago managed to pierce her skin and warm her blood. She smiled a small smile, only to herself.

“Why can’t you sleep?” she asked after a brief pause.

She heard him exhale deeply, covering the receiver in his weighted breath. And for some reason, that too made her smile. Imagining him in bed, alone, and knowing she was the only one on his mind gave her a sense of importance.. belonging.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I had some glasses of wine earlier. You think that would help me sleep.”

“You’d think.. but you’re not exactly normal.”

And so it began. She offering hurtful blows to his ego, tearing down his pride and he redoubling, defending, drawing closer. It was a dance they knew all too well. She loved the steps. But when the music ended, a blanket of silence fell over the conversation once again.

“I should probably go back to bed,” she said suddenly.

She heard him frown. “Oh, uhm, yeah. I guess you should.”

Though she knew she could very easily hang up, something inside wouldn’t let her so easily.

“Hey...” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to retort with something smartly sarcastic, but instead just answered, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, kitten.”

The sound of that name made her melt. But her defenses quickly kicked in. “I think you’ve had too much to drink. Go to bed.”

With that, she hung up. Just for good measure, she flushed the toilet and ran her hands under the tap. Then she carefully made her way back into her bed.

“Hmmph?” He rolled over to face her.

She pulled his face close, gave him a kiss, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. This is what she loved, the feeling of him next to her. The warmth of his body, the softness of his skin. His smell. The way he made her feel. She was his girl.

And his kitten.

When You're Away

2011-05-08T22:57:00.004-05:00

When you're away from me
Sometimes I just can't breathe
You're my sun, sky, and air
And I hate when you're not there
For me,
it's like dying
but no crying
because I'm trying
to go on.
But this feels so wrong.
Please come back to me
because I can't wait to breathe.

----

Just a little nothing I wrote in like 2 mins. But I like it, so yeah.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Kitten

2011-05-04T20:23:00.002-05:00

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked, half of her expecting an answer, the other not wanting to know what that answer may be. They lay in her bed, the light of the television painting the room in a bright blue glow.

He had no hesitations before responding. “You’re beautiful.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, hoping to ease away any more frivolous thoughts.

She sighed, knowing that was the only response she would ever gain from him. Even after two years, she knew he would only feed her what she wanted to hear. Still, she pushed the subject further. “You know what I mean.” Her voice was strained, almost pleading with him to defer from showering her with compliments. She was drowning in his false confidence.

“You don’t believe me?”

Here we go, she thought to herself. “I didn’t say that.”

He moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her frame.He kissed her shoulder, then he pecked forehead again. “Sweetie, I love you. You’re perfect.”

She sighed, turning to face him now. His arms still surrounded her body, holding a hand at the small of her back and the other sweeping stray hairs away from her face. She locked eyes with him, focusing on the round dark circle swimming in a sea of blue. “You know I don’t believe in perfect.”

He playfully swatted her butt as if to scold her. “Perfect for me.”

He cupped her cheek and kissed her lips. She held the kiss, reveling in the feel of his mouth on hers. In that moment, she wished she could freeze time. She felt so small, enveloped in his arms, blanketed by his body mass. It was warm, comforting.

Within moments, they were both asleep. Every now and then, his snoring would stir her awake and she would have to reposition herself. Her movement was a way to gently alert him without fully waking him. She hated to wake him while he was asleep, even though his snoring sometimes made it impossible for her to get any rest some nights. For all of his snoring, he actually was a light sleeper; she could never leave the bed without waking him.

She was a lighter sleeper, though. The slightest vibration near her head sent her eyes flying open. A bright white light emanated from the device plugged into the wall adjacent to her. She glanced over, first noticing the time: 3:42a. What the fuck... She looked over at him. He was still fast asleep.

It was a text: ‘Hey, are you awake?’

She considered not answering. But no one texted at 3 o’clock in the morning just to chat. And though she tried to ignore the text, she cared too much for the sender to do so. ‘What’s up?’ she sent back.

‘Can you talk?’

‘No. Are you okay?’

‘I’m just having some trouble sleeping.’

‘I wasn’t. :P’

A low growl started at her side. She looked over at him, a man who loved her unconditionally, sleeping peacefully through the night. She envied him, being able to sleep so soundly. She looked back at her phone: ‘5 minutes. Please, kitten?’

She bit down on her lower lip and melted. Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. No sooner had she left the bed did he roll over to face her. “Mmphh..?” he breathed.

“Bathroom,” she said simply. He accepted the lie instantly, resuming his position and falling limp again. God bless him, she thought as she made her way to the door, he can’t stand to see me go.

Crossroads

2011-04-26T13:22:00.003-05:00

I'm not good at a lot of things: I'm lazy, apathetic, and flaky. I forget. A lot. Despite my current employment, I suck at math. Hard. (Thanks again, Rachel!) I'm uncoordinated. I stumble, run into things, fall down. I've even been told "I wouldn't call the way you move dancing." Though that last one may have been a compliment...

I like to call myself a writer but I haven't published anything or even completed a project that wasn't for a grade. And most of those have been close calls. Or late altogether. I don't even have the balls to submit anything for professional critique.

Still, I can't help but feeling like I'm capable of something more.

This morning, I was in the library and found myself looking at grad schools. Again. UNO to be exact. While glossing over the admission requirements, I felt a certain sense of excitement and temptation. But I also felt lost and overwhelmed. And a little guilty.

For so much of my life - in fact all of it, I've been told what to do; pointed in the right direction. I became secure with that. I daresay I'm dependently secure in it. Now, it seems like all those guiding forces have left me and I'm completely and utterly lost. Alone. Confused. I don't know what I should do. I don't know what I want.

What do I want?
What do I want?
What the fuck do I want?

Such a question...

Even if I knew what I wanted, I don't know how to get it. I'm not even sure I have the ability to get what I want. I've never had to make decisions before. Can I be trusted to plan my future? How will I know it's right? Is there a wrong way?

I've been bred as a creature of submission: Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Give me parameters, restrictions and I'll perform well. Very well. It's part of being a Virgo. It's part of being a younger sibling. It's part of being the daughter of a protective mother. It's who I am. It's all I know.

Just do what you want.

That would be sound advice, if only I knew what I wanted...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

WWYD?

2011-04-11T19:55:00.005-05:00

What would you do if you knew something you weren't supposed to? Something you knew you couldn't be trusted with? Something that you couldn't forget?

Would you use that information? What about the additional information you gained from the original secret you weren't supposed to know?

Would you feel guilty? Would you tell him?

Would you do it again?

What to do? What to do?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

P.S. - Yeah, don't ask. I'm going through some things right now...

My Life According to Jason Mraz

2011-03-25T22:55:00.004-05:00

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 15 people you like and include me. You can't use the band I used. Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "MyLlife According to (band name)".

Pick your Artist: Jason Mraz

Describe Yourself: Geek in the Pink

How do you feel: Lucky

Describe where you currently live: Galaxy

If you could go anywhere, where would you go: Bella Luna

Your favorite form of transportation: Plane

Your best friend is: Not So Usual

You and your best friends are: Coyotes

What's the weather like: Forecast

Favorite time of day: After an Afternoon

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called: A Beautiful Mess

What is life to you: Life is Wonderful

Your last relationship: You and I Both

Your fear: The Darkest Speace

What is the best advice you have to give: Live High

Thought for the Day: Make It Mine

How I would like to die: Kickin' with You

My soul's present condition: Dynamo of Volition

My motto: No Doubling Back

____________

Okay, so yeah, that was a bit harder that expected. Especially since I could really only name about 10 Jason Mraz songs off the top of my head. The others I got from here. But that was fun!

As y'all know, I don't write notes (which is what this originally was on FB and I was tagged), so if you want to do this just post on your blog and I'll be sure to read it! :)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Tomorrow

2011-03-22T14:26:00.002-05:00

So... someone very dear to me that I care about very much is turning 30 in just a few days (7 to be exact!). I wrote this to explain my feelings on the situation and hopefully ease him:

"Tomorrow"

Do not worry about tomorrow, love
for we cannot fear what we're unsure of.
The sun will rise
and it shall set,
but between, be content.

Tomorrow you grow older
and soon I hope to follow.
If God be gracious
to grant me tomorrow.

Tomorrow, tommorow...
Oh, it comes hurriedly!
So close your eyes, rest your head
and stay with me.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Come to bed, honey

2011-03-09T21:52:00.003-06:00

I was sitting in class today, noming on some animal crackers, waiting for the teacher to start. Well, I guess I had my hands too close to my face because the next thing I know, I have my palms to my nose and inhaling deeply with the biggest smile on my face. My hands still smelled like Irish Spring. Which is the soap my boyfriend uses in his bathroom.

I love staying with him. One night is never enough. Before we went to sleep, I watched him come into the room through half open eyes, pulled back the blanket and smiled. "What is it?" he asked. I just kept smiling. "Why are you smiling like that?" I simply answered, "Come to bed, honey."

Those four words felt so good to say. Come to bed, honey. Hold me close while I feel the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest against my back. I want to feel your arms around me, keeping me safe. I want to feel your lips kiss me gently on the forehead before you whisper, "I love you, Kaylyn." (whether you know I'm asleep or not). I want to fall asleep in your grasp and wake up to your face. I want this tonight and every night. So, come to bed honey. Come, stay with me.

Simple moments like these really ground me in our relationship. What it is now and what I hope it will be. Whether I'm making eggs for him or picking out a new dress shirt and tie combination for an event we're attending or just simply asking him to come to bed... I realize this is our life. Together. And that makes me indescribably happy.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

There is an I in FAIL

2011-02-23T13:53:00.003-06:00

So I took a test today that I felt pretty prepared for. I actually studied for about 2 hours last night--yes, me, I studied a head of time for a test instead of cramming the morning of. I made out a detailed study guide for the type of question I was made to believe I should expect. I even hand wrote the study guide, woke up early, went to school an hour before class and typed it. I was thinking that if I could see the material twice and retain it better. Which actualy worked pretty well. I waited outside my classroom, reading over my now-printed out study guide which by now I could pretty much recite by heart.

The class settled in. Only about 12 people were brave enough to take the test. As the teacher came in with her stack of exams, I felt confident... Bring it on, baby! Then, I saw the test.... Take it back, please!

I wasn't prepared at all for the questions on the exam. But the policy is, "If you see the test, you take the test. And if you take the test, I grade the test." Needless to say, I sat there in a state of complete shock followed by a deep depression. I must have stared at the words for a full 10 mins, hoping there was something on the page that would save me. No dice. I wanted to cry. But I pulled myself together and just started writing.

I wish this were the paragraph where I say I started writing, things started flowing out fluidly, and I realized I knew more than I thought. I wish I were writing, "while making my study guide, I picked up a lot more than just the answers I was looking for." But life isn't like that. Not mine. Not this time.

I fucked up. My focus was so narrow that I left no wiggle room for the possibility of another type of question being asked on the test. So now, I wait for the dismal score to be returned. I've already told myself it's a 0 and have worked out the different scenerios required for a decent gpa from the class.

I'm learning to live with my decision. I'm upset, yes. But I also know the professor has a right to ask whatever questions she wishes. And I'm supposed to be prepared. I know that now. And I'll know for next time. Guess that's the real knowledge gained from all this.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Silver Lining

2011-02-09T12:06:00.005-06:00

Often times, I'm shocked and appalled at what passes between humans these days. How we can so easily hurt each other. How immoral things are now considered the norm and there are those who would make a profit of it. I'm talking to you, Ashley Madison! Still, I know there is hope.

Nothing examplified this better than the unexpected gift I got this morning:

After being caught behind a terrible car accident on the interstate on my way to school and making it to campus later than planned, I decided to quickly duck into Coates to get a little snack before class. I emptied the change from my wallet (because what I wanted isn't in the machine that accepts TigerCards) and proceeded to the vending area. I put my quarter through the slot and heard a hollow clanking from the machine. It didn't register. Being a Barbe kid, I know that all vending machines have their temperments and some require "special treatment" to work. So I didn't panic, I simply retrieved my quarter and tried again, this time being careful to roll the quarter slowly down the slot. Clank. No dice.

Still, I had other coins so I tried a dime thinking maybe the machine was full of quarters and couldn't accept anymore. Tender amount: $.10 Sweet. I try another. $.20, $.30, $.40 I'm out of dimes. So I try a nickle. Clank. Sighing at the dismal realization of not getting my morning noms, I pressed the release button and retrieved my change from the machine. As I turned to leave, I noticed a girl standing behind me smiling and holding out a dollar. I don't know the amount of time she had been standing there, but I'm guessing it was significant enough to know I was having trouble with the machine taking my change. I thanked her and gave her my handful of change. She even stepped back to allow me to use her dollar to get my snack. After snatching my animal crackers (yes, this was all for animal crackers) from the bottom of the machine, I thanked her again and dashed off to class.

That girl was still on my mind while walking through the quad. Instead of being impatient and tapping her foot or sighing louldly to alert me of her presence, she had waited calmly, watching my plight with the machine and then offered help after I had given up. She didn't know me and still, she helped.

Some people call it a silver lining. Some call it moments of unscripted grace. Some call it Ace Ventura Jr. For me, it's a girl in Coates with a spare dollar.

So, to that girl in Coates with a dollar, thank you (again). Thank you for letting me know my faith in humanity is not wasted and that there is still good in the world.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Compliments of Miss Rachel

2011-01-13T20:58:00.003-06:00

Okay, boys and girls, it's time to play a little game: You are to repost this with the first word you see in the wordsearch. If I'm understanding this correctly... So, uhm, yeah.

"CRUSH FOOL"

First word(s) I saw. Which I find ironic because I am a romantic. And more often than not, romanticism is associated with being "foolish" or the cliched "hopeless romantic" so..yeah.. interesting.

Thanks Rachel! :)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*~o:.

Love's Great Burden

2011-01-09T20:51:00.001-06:00

I wear my cross on my hand
encircling my finger, this cursed band
of polished metal and sparkling stone
my burden to bear and mine alone

Given to me with honest intent
to love the giver without relent
but this gift I now resent
and its meaning so lament.

Sadness the child of fear unnamed
fear of living with a heart contained
Such fear accompanies shame
and I alone bear the blame.

To lose the ring, to break the bond
and all the things which correspond
To know his token I no longer wear
that is a cross I cannot bear.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Lady of the Blue Rose

2010-12-27T03:58:00.002-06:00

There once was a beautiful princess who lived in a far away castle with her father, the king. The queen, her mother, had died years ago when the princess was just a little girl. The king was never able to mend his broken heart and remarry.

He brought in the best tutors for the girl, who grew into a smart and beautiful young woman.

One day the king fell ill and was unable to govern the land. The princess, being a young girl devoted to her father, had never married and was unfit to rule according to the law of the land set down by her ancestors. Her father did not wish to force his only daughter into a loveless marriage for the sake of the kingdom, knowing that she would resent his decision and hate him for the rest of her days. However, he also knew that his days were growing shorter.

He called his daughter to his room late one night.

“My dear daughter,” he said as she kneeled beside his bed and took his hand. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman; your mother’s light shines through your eyes.”

“Thank you, father.” she said.

“But as you know, my days are numbered. I fear I shall not make it through this illness…”

She shook her head, “Please don’t speak that way, father. Your heart is strong, you shall...”

He stifled a laugh and began coughing. After clearing his throat, he said, “Ah, my heart has endured an unbearable pain for many years. And I never want you to suffer as I have. You must take a husband, daughter.”

She nodded.

“You must choose someone worthy of your love, my dear daughter. This shall be your choice and your choice alone, so choose well. Do you understand?”

“I understand, father. Rest now. I shall come and visit you again in the morning.”

The princess placed a kiss on her father’s cheek and watched as he shut his eyes for sleep. He never opened them again.

The princess held a great contest to find her husband. She announced that she would marry the first man who brought her a single blue rose.

Many thought she was insane for her request, for nowhere in the land did blue roses grow.

The princess remained resolute, “Any man who truly wishes to marry me will find a way.”

Princes, lords, dukes, and other distinguished gentleman came from all corners answering the princess’ challenge.

The first suitor was a wealthy prince from another kingdom who wished to form an alliance between the two lands with his marriage to the princess. When he set eyes on the princess, he was struck by her beauty.

The princess greeted him with a graceful bow. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Have you brought what I’ve asked?” she prompted him.

The prince smiled and clapped his hands together. A servant, dressed in fine silks, entered the room carrying a glittering gold box, ordained with colorful jewels. He opened the box and pulled out a beautiful rose crafted of gold and jewels.

“Your blue rose, my princess.”

She princess eyed the object curiously. “What is this?”

“The stem is crafted of pure gold and, see here, those are bits of jade and emerald to make the leaves. The center holds a flawless diamond. And here, the pedals are polished sapphire. It is a beautiful specimen, not unlike yourself, Princess.”

The princess frowned. “This is not what I’ve asked for. This is not a blue rose; it is not even a flower. This is an ornament – a symbol of your vast wealth. It means nothing to you.”

“I don’t understand. Will you not marry me? You would refuse me?”

“You have not done what I asked. You have not brought me a blue rose.” She answered simply.

The prince began to get angry. “What you asked is impossible! There is no such thing as a blue rose.”

“You did not put any thought into this. Instead, you used your wealth to create a solution. And what you have produced is nothing more than something to display, something that tells of your wealth, something pretty. I will not be your pretty little wife, serving as a testament to your wealth. You care nothing for the simplicity of a flower and, therefore, cannot care for me. No, I will not marry you.”

The prince stormed off, never to return to the kingdom again.

The princess saw a great deal of suitors, all bearing a “blue rose.” But none to her satisfaction. After months of searching, she was tempted to give up but she remembered her father’s words and saw one last suitor.

He was a young apprentice to a textile maker. He had very little money, but had heard of the princess’ challenge and believed he had a solution.

“Have you brought what I’ve asked?” she asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I believe so, Princess.” He showed her the flower he had brought along with him. It was a flawless blue rose.

The princess took the flower in her hands and examined it. “What trick is this?”

The young apprentice was confused. “I don’t understand, Princess. Is this not what you asked for?”

“Indeed it is. A bit too well, I'd say. How did you accomplish this?”

“First, I took a simple white rose and dyed the pedals using a dye from my master’s shop. But the flower wilted hours later from the damage. I knew such a quick solution would not survive the journey to your kingdom. So, instead, I thought to place the dye in the water feeding the flower. And there you have your blue rose. Is it to your liking?”

“It’s perfect. You have brought me what I’ve asked for, using resources available to you. You would not risk the simple beauty of a flower to easily please me, but rather created something new and unique for me to enjoy. You not only considered my happiness, but the well-being of another living thing: the flower.”

“I am glad you are pleased, Princess.”

“As you know, my father was taken away from me by an illness that weakened his body, but his heart had died long before that. He warned me against a hasty decision in my marriage because he wanted me to love with all my heart, just as he did. I set this challenge to find a man worthy of my love.”

The apprentice’s heart sank. “I am not worthy to love a princess.”

She smiled. “I am much more than a princess.”

.:~o*’Kaylyn’*o~:.

Laziness, Thy Name is Kaylyn

2010-12-21T20:52:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I started a story a few weeks ago. Just a random idea: nothing too important. Anyway, I really wanted something spectacular for the ending but I couldn't get the language right. Anyway, for those of you who were wondering about the ending--all 3 of you--I figured I shouldn't just abandon y'all. (I really am trying to work on that problem: finishing things, especially writing)

So, here you go, (a summary of) the ending:

Quinn and the leader of the bandits charge each other. The bandit's movements are rash, violent and harshly contrasted by Quinn's swift and easy movements. Quinn is able to block the blows of the man, with little effort. First blood is awarded to Quinn, who clips the man's cheek with the tip of his sword. He's angered, but doesn't react. He only smirks, wipes away the blood with his forearm and lunges at Quinn once again.

The larger man guarding Ellie shouts to his boss, urging him to "Take him down!" Ellie keeps her eyes closed tightly, just as she was told by her brother. She can hear the swords clatter together, but can't tell who's winning.

"You fight very well for a man who steals," Quinn comments as they continue to circle one another. The man says nothing. He spins and attacks Quinn once more. Quinn blocks the blow easily and notices the fatigue setting in on the other man. He gets an idea.

Quinn leads the man back with a series of quick maneuvers. Shuffling back quickly, the man clumsily trips over a tree root and falls flat on his ass. Quinn stands over the bandit, his sword held at the man's neck. "Remember our agreement," he says before offering a hand to the bandit leader, who takes it and is helped up.

Relieved, Quinn begins to walk towards Ellie and tells her to open her eyes. Just as she does, the bandit leader plunges a concealed dagger into Quinn's back. Ellie shrieks. Quinn drops to the ground.

The leader, along with the larger man flee the scene. Ellie rushes over to her brother. There is so much blood. Ellie begins sobbing, pleading with Quinn to get up. He tries to calm her, but the pain is beginning to numb his senses. The light in his eyes flickers in his last few moments.

"Quinn..." Ellie cries. "You can't leave me. Please."

"I'll never leave you." His voice is barely that of a whisper. He take her small hand, which is trembling. "Ellie, I'll watch over you. Always."

With that, Quinn's eyes roll back in his head. Ellie buries her face in her brother's chest and cries.

A strong wind blows through the forest.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Filler [You're welcome Jazz]

2010-12-10T13:15:00.002-06:00

Because I'm really stuck on the story but I still want to post regularly:

1. What time did you get up this morning?
9:45a
2. How do you like your steak?
Between two buns. :)
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows AT MIDNIGHT, BITCHES!
4. What's your favorite television show?
Law and Order: SVU
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
New Orleans.
6. What did you have for breakfast?
I didn’t.
7. Your favorite cuisine?
Grandmaw’s.
8. What foods do you dislike?
A lot.
9. Favorite Place to Eat?
In bed.
10. Favorite dressing?
Italian.
11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
2002 Hyundai Accent, silver.
12. What are your favorite clothes?
Jeans.
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
London, England. *fingerscrossedstudyabroadsummer2011*
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
Poisoned.
15. Where would you want to retire?
Florida. I hear that’s where all the cool old people go.
16. Favorite time of day?
Night.
17. Where were you born?
In a hospital.
18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
I guess football.
19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
Everyone. Because I don’t write notes.
20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
No one. I don’t write notes.
21. Who are you most curious about their responses?
These questions are pretty silly.. I don’t really care what anyone else’s responses are.
22. Bird watcher?
No.
23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Night owl all the way.
24. Do you have any pets?
Yes, I have a monkey and a puma. ;)
25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
I made a 91 on the Mathnasium exam and have “try out/interview” tomorrow! Super exciting.
26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Amber.
27. What is your best childhood memory?
Jamaica.
28. Are you a cat or dog person?
Dog. Cats are evil.
29. Are you married?
Not to my knowledge… but I have missplaced a few hours due to some drinking.
30. Always wear your seat belt?
Religiously.
31. Been in a car accident?
Two.
32. Any pet peeves?
Many.
33. Favorite pizza topping?
Pepperoni.
34. Favorite Flower?
Blue roses. :)
35. Favorite ice cream?
Chocolate chip cookie dough.
36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Checkers. Or Rally’s (just for you, Mel!)
37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
Once.
38. From whom did you get your last email?
Which account?
39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Barnes&Noble.
40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
Nope.
41. Like your job?
One of them.
42. Broccoli? Steamed or with cheese?
No.
43. What was your favorite vacation?
20th birthday trip to HARRY POTTER LAND!!!
44. Last person you went out to dinner with?
My boyfriend and my sister.
45. What are you listening to right now?
This girl in the lab who obviously learned how to whisper in a saw mill… with the saws running.
46. What is your favorite color?
Blue.
47: Favorite Band?
Band? Do they still make those?
48: Favorite Beer?
None.
49: Favorite Comfort Food?
Fried porkchops and mashed potatoes.
50: Favorite way to relax?
Reading.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

More Story Time

2010-11-11T23:11:00.004-06:00

I stood between Ellie and the bandits. Her small fingers clung to the back of my shirt. From behind my back, she peaked out at the group of men ready to kill us.

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a quiet tone.

"Yes, Evergard," the leader chimed in. "What will you do? Would you really expose her to such bloodshed? Make her endure the sight of your cold corpse?"

Ellie dug her fingers further in.

My heart was pounding. I was certain I could exterminate these men with little difficulty, but I had to protect Ellie.

"I won't fight you all," I said at last. They all grinned in delight.

"That makes this easier," said the one who had twisted Ellie's arm. He began reaching for his weapon.

"I haven't finished... I only wish to fight the best among you."

They exchanged glances. Then the leader asked, "And what makes you think we care about your wishes?"

I smirked. "Simple: You gain the honor of saying you bested Quinn Evergard, nephew of the emperor, legendary swordsman. Just ask your man there."

The leader looked towards the frightful one. He nodded. The leader began to stroke his chin. "Is that all then? A story--that is the grand prize? I--,"

"You get me. If I lose, I'll be your slave."

Ellie squealed. "Brother, no!"

They all laughed. "Take it, boss!"

When they were finished laughing, the leader spoke again. "High stakes, Evergard. And if you win?"

"I'll spare all your lives. All I ask is that you leave these lands. If I catch you stealing from the good people of my uncle's empire again, I shall have you imprisoned and sentenced to the full extent of the law."

The fearful one's eyes widened. He knew the punishment for thievery.

"Do we have an agreement, gentlemen?"

They thought it over for a moment. One of his men was too afraid to face me. "I am not fit to cross blades with him," he said. He laid his weapons down in the dirt as a sign of peace. I noticed he had a sword strapped at his side but he produced a dagger from within his boot. Disappointed at his lack of courage, the leader thrust the reigns of his horse towards him. He gladly took them and led the animal away.

"Guess I'll be fighting you, then. However, I have a condition of my own."

I gave him a curious look. The audacity! "Oh?"

"The girl. She stays with him," he pointed to his rougher inferior. "I want to be sure there will be no tricks from you. A fair fight: She won't be harmed as long as you don't try anything."

I could feel Ellie trembling behind me. "Please..."

"Do I have your word on that?"

"On my honor."

"Deal." I turned towards Ellie to see tears running down her cheeks. Her eyes pleaded with mine. She shook her head slowly, her fingers holding tightly to my forearms. I walked her over to where the other man was standing very slowly.

He took her somewhat roughly.

The blood ran hotly through my veins. "If you harm one hair on her head, so help me..."

He grinned. "Then I suggest you be on your best behavior."

I drew my weapon, "Ellie, shut your eyes."

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Story Time!

2010-11-07T14:39:00.002-06:00

Haven't had a story in a while... Let's fix that:
______

It was my favorite time of day: The quiet time when all is still as the sun breathes her last sigh before yielding to the twilight hour. I lay with my back cushioned by the soft blades of grass, staring up at the sky.

“Where do you think we go when we die?”

It wasn’t the question so much as the interrupting voice which startled me. I turned over on my side and looked at Elsa. She was on her back as well, with her fingers laced behind her head. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful; like a fallen angel.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” I responded. In truth, I had thought about death many times but I didn’t want to frighten her. She was only a child; sure pure, so innocent. She probably had a naïve little fantasy about death. I imagine she thought people went quietly, painlessly as if they fell asleep one night and never woke again.

I knew better.

Still, I entertained her thought. “I don’t know, Ellie, where do you think we go when we die?” Her lips twitched as if she would say something, then she paused. She opened her eyes and stared up at the sky.

“I want to go some place nice. Like… there.” She pointed upwards.

“That would be a nice place to go.”

“Yes, and I would watch over all the people I loved and protect them. I would lie on a cloud all day and just watch the people down below. And if they were in trouble, I would send a strong wind to warn them.”

I thought about her idea for a moment. It sounded nice. Much better than the alternative. “Would you protect me?”

She looked at me without turning over. “You don’t need me to protect you. You’re my big brother. You don’t need protection.”

“I would if something ever happened to you. I would if you went to live there,” I motioned towards the sky. “Ellie, if you left me…” I couldn’t finish my statement. Equal amounts of fear, anger, and despair began to stir in my heart. I wasn’t quite sure what the next words out of my mouth would have been.

She closed her eyes once again. I wasn’t sure if she had heard me. We remained in silence for a moment. Then she said, “We should head home. They’ll be lighting the torches soon.”

“Aye,” I nodded. I stood and offered my hand to her. She took it and dusted her skirts once she was standing. I picked the stray pieces of grass from her hair and shoulders. Her face twisted into a frown. She hated when I played with her hair.

She looked up at me with a familiar twinkle in her eye. “Ready?”

“You first.”

She giggled and ran off towards the path home. I watched as she made her way to the edge of the forest. I remained in my place, giving her a bit of a head start as always. Eight… Nine… I began running after her.

The forest was quiet now. I could hear her little feet as they trampled over the leaves dusting the forest floor. She tried to be clever this time, weaving around trees and darting in different directions. I kept running after her in good fun but I never took my eyes off her.

Then I heard something which chilled me: Horses.

“Ellie! Ellie!” I called after her. “Slow down. Ellie, come to me.”

But it was too late. Ellie’s footsteps had stopped. I heard the men’s voices on the air. They were laughing. I knew she had been caught.

There were 3 men, each dressed in black. Bandits. Two of the men held Ellie by her arms while the third man remained on his horse watching. She was fighting to be let go, but they held her tight.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” said the man on the horse. “What are you doing here alone?”

I stepped forward. “She’s not alone. Let her go. Now.”

One of the men holding Ellie smirked. There was a familiar hunger in his eyes as he looked at me. The other one looked as though he had seen a ghost. Both remained in their positions waiting for orders from their leader.

“Why would I do a thing like that? She’s such a charming young girl… How much do you think she’d fetch at the slave auction? I know some men who would pay handsomely for a girl her age.” He began laughing as did his men. I wanted to slit their throats.

Ellie began kicking and thrashing about. “No! No! I’ll never be a slave. Do you know who I am? I--,”

“Hush, child.” The man with the hungry look said. He twisted her arm behind her back and I saw Ellie wince.

The man on the horse raised his hand, “Enough.”

“So it is true… You’re him.” The other man holding Ellie said with a fearful waver in his voice.

The man on the horse looked from him to me. “Who is he?”

“That’s Quinn Evergard, the nephew of the Emperor. I’ve seen him on the battlefield. He’s the best sword in the land.”

I felt my anger rising. For years, I had protected Ellie from my deeds. She knew that I fought in the Emperor’s army, that I protected our family’s lands, but I had spared her the details.

“Is that so?” The man on the horse began stroking his chin. “Well, well, royal blood... Looks like we have struck gold here, men.

Ellie broke free and ran towards me. “Stand behind me.”

The bandit leader dismounted. He drew his weapon. “What’s it going to be, Evergard? There are three of us and only one of you.”

“One is plenty.”

“Ha! Well then, let the games begin!”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Mr. Right

2010-11-02T21:11:00.003-05:00

My sister asked me what my "perfect" man would be like. I laughed and told her, well first, I'd have to believe in perfect. But after I thought about it, I liked the idea. So I guess my ideal man would probably be something like this:

Eyes. He'd have to have gorgeous eyes. I'm an eye girl. Light brown, green, hazel, etc. Something that pops.

Smart. I'd like him smart. Not annoyingly so, just enough to where I can carry on a conversation with him without getting annoyed or angry. But I'd have to be able to follow the conversation as well.

Passionate. Whether that's about painting or writing or saving orphans, he'd have to be passionate and dedicated.

That being said, committed. I'd hope he'd be committed to me, but my ideal man would not be wishy washy or flaky. He'd say he's going to do something and then do it. I love that in a person, especially a man. Conviction.

Kind. I don't want a hardened man. He'd have to be friendly, gentle, generally pleasant to be around.

Curious. I don't like people who feel like there's nothing left to learn about in the world. He'd have to be interested in travel or books. Learning.

Romantic. Oh yes, he would most definitely have to be romantic. Flowers just because. Dancing in the living room to a commercial. Surprise dinners. The whole nine.

Other than that, physical stuff isn't too important to me. I guess I'd want him at least as tall as me if not taller. But not freakishly so. A great head of hair would be nice. I do love running my hand through lush hair.

So, yeah, my ideal man. There ya go.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

P.S. - That being said, let me clarify that I love my boyfriend very much. And I am very happy with him. This is just what I'd like if I could craft my ideal man.

Temptation

2010-10-10T18:27:00.005-05:00

Between borrowed moonlight
and stolen nights,
with gentle laughter
and body's delight,
they took their bond to new heights
and revealed in a state of excite.

She, pure in all things,
tricked him easily as the serpent did Eve;
offering the unblossomed fruit to her Adam-
a prize he could only previously fathom.

She, whose hunger grew with each kiss,
refused to pass a moment such as this.
And she begged him to be taken,
longing no more to be a maiden.

He, a gentleman in all respect,
failed to do what he felt correct.
Instead he gave into his weakness:
her and her one interest.

But he who quenched her appetite
began a torrid internal plight:
He had done what was asked
but was it truly right?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Statistics

2010-09-02T15:51:00.004-05:00

I utterly respect Lyfe Jennings. He's one of the very few hip-hop/R&B male artists actually saying something with his lyrics and trying to better his target audience. He speaks about love--real love, practical love, tough love, lost love... He's just great. Some of his songs include: Must Be Nice, Hypothetically, Never Never Land, and S.E.X. (a personal favorite of mine). Seriously, check him out. His music is smooth, very easy to listen to.

Well, Lyfe has a new song. Statistics. This song is, for lack of a better word, scary. Here's a bit of the lyrics:

25% of all men are unstable
25% of all men can't be faithful
30% don't mean what they say
10% of the remaining 20% are gay
that leaves you with a 10% chance of ever finding your man.

15% of all men got a complex
15% don't practice safe sex
20% come from a home without a father
so you have a 50/50 chance of marrying a coward.

Now I don't know where Lyfe got his information from or if he's talking specifically about Black men, American men, or what. Still... 1 in 4 chance of infidelity? 1 in 2 chance of marrying a coward (which, he's really unclear as to what that could mean). Eep. And let's not even talk about the 15% of men practicing unsafe sex...

Just something to think about...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Someone call a plumber. We have a leak!

2010-08-23T16:55:00.002-05:00

Haha. I'm clever.

Anyway:

Orphanarium

Case Number: 9601481
Author(s): Undetermined
Name: Not Assigned
Age: Not Assigned
Birthplace: Not Assigned
Genre: Undetermined

There’s no telling how long we’ve been here, in this place. I don’t know much about myself, but I do know I hate this place with every fiber of my being (whatever that being consists of). The main complex is falling apart. There are tiles missing from both the ceiling and the floor. The staff has attempted to cover these disgraces by doing what they can like hanging pieces of artwork over the cracks in the wall but even those are unfinished. Like so many of us.

Case Number: 2742408
Author(s): Undetermined
Name: Kim
Age: “high school”
Birthplace: Tulsa, Oklahoma
Genre: Young Adult

Another boring, boring day. This place is so sad. Nobody enjoys themselves. There’s no parties or dances or anything fun to do. Most of the others just sit around in their rooms and pout all day. I’m so glad my author was better than that. I have a personality. I have a name. I’m one of the lucky ones. The longer I stay here, I know just how lucky I am.

____

In case you can't tell by the layout changes and the multiple posts, I'm busy busy writing and blogging. Who knew boredom is the best inspiration?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

I refuse to write about the first day of school

2010-08-23T13:52:00.003-05:00

Sorry to disappoint anyone. But although today is, in fact, the first day of a shiny new semester, the familarity of this semester outweighs any excitement I may have about starting again.

I will admit a few things have changed since last semester: I drove myself to school for the first time in a car that's completely mine. Yay! Both traffic and parking were a bitch though. I thought showing up an hour early would ensure at least a decent spot but I was sadly mistaken and ended up parking across the street from campus. Which means I'm not living on campus this go round either. In ways I miss living on campus (the simplicity, the ease of travel, not to mention the shortcuts that are impossible to take in a car... at least legally). Also, because my sister lives so far away, I have to be absolutely certain I don't forget anything. There will be no running back to my room real quick to grab something now. Sigh.

Also, I've only met 3 of my teachers today. One of which I had last semester so there was nothing special about that. The other was in a class of about 380 students so not much interaction there either. I am interested to see what my third professor's class will bring... She's like a mix of Mrs. Goodaker and Ellen. So maybe I'll blog about her class sometime later in the semester. But not today.

Today, I refuse to write about the first day of school.

.:~o*'Isianya'*o~:.

Inspired Inklings

2010-08-10T12:18:00.003-05:00

You know, I had originally planned to frame this in a story. To mask my thoughts with quotes and narrative so that I could distance myself from this and its critique. But you know what? I'm tired of hiding. Part of being a writer (I think, at least) is knowing when to step back and write just for yourself sometimes. So here it is: a completely raw, honest look inside my head as I see it:

How do you know you're in love with a man?

You know you're in love with a man when you find yourself laying beside him, gently running your fingers through his hair watching as each strand folds under the pressure of your hand and springs back up again, poised and ready to be petted again; and you smile because you realize what a great head of hair he has and wishes he didn't cut it as often so you could appreciate moments like this all the time.

You know you're in love with a man when you begin to move your hand down to his face; carefully outlining his lips with your thumb, feeling the soft brush of his mouth against your finger and you sigh because you realize how gentle his kisses can be when placed upon your forehead, yet fiery and passionate when planted on your lips.

You know you're in love with a man your hand begins to turn and your palm scrapes against his chin and jawline; feeling the stubble he hasn't shaved yet because you surprised him by coming over so early (though you would have called ahead of time so he could properly prepare but you just wanted to see him so badly, you rushed right over without a second thought) and you realize he's perfect just as he is still in the t-shirt he wore yesterday and with bedhead.

You know you're in love with a man when he begins to stir from all your touches; when he smiles without opening his eyes and sighs, "Hey honey"; when he outstretches his arms to beckon you closer and you realize in his arms is exactly where you want to be.

You know you're in love with a man when you place yourself beside him so that your curves contour to his shape and he takes you in his arms and pulls you closer; and you realize your heart is beating faster.

You know you're in love with a man when he begins to slide his hands under your shirt, one over your bellybutton and the other rests on your chest, and you realize it doesn't matter whether you're sleeping in a big bed or on an old futon: this is the best position to fall asleep in.

You know you're in love with a man when you begin to drift to sleep yourself; when walls of the apartment fade away with each breath and you realize there is only one breath in the entire room: the two of you, together.

You know you're in love with a man when the rise and fall of his chest against your back in time with yours is like a gentle lullaby and the warm breath on your neck like a soft blanket enveloping you in security; and you realize this is how you wish to fall asleep every night for the rest of your life.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Kids Say the Darnest Things

2010-07-22T18:57:00.005-05:00

Okay, so if you've talked to me in the past 2 months, you know I hate my job. Well, I guess I shouldn't say that. I can't complain about making $8.10 an hour, 6 hours a day, 5 days a week; never working past 6p; and having weekends and holidays off. But the children...!

I confess I do have a few favorites. Those are the ones that constantly remind me of the wide-eyed innocence of children, the carefree happiness that comes with no responsibility, and the stress-free outlook that accompanies not being able to think past age 12. I love those kids.

The problem is: There's only about 5 of them at daycare.

The others are selfish, temperamental, whiny, self-centered little bastards. Seriously. My coworker was approached by a crying little boy complaining about his classmate. "What's wrong?" she asked. The little boy sniffled and said, "Him won't play with me. Him said him not my friend." I looked over to see who the little boy was pointing to. The irritation seethed in my being. The crying boy was pointing at a kid I can only describe as a mini psychopath: All the crazy, half the size. I rolled my eyes and said, "Adam (that's the psychopath's name, Adam) is being a dick." Before this job, I would have never used that word to describe someone. Let alone a 9-year-old.

Still, the kids manage to teach me things. They open my eyes to how kids now see the world and what they're being taught by the media.

For example: There's this girl at daycare. Her name is Tatjana. We call her "Tot" for short; like Tater Tot. Tatjana is going to fifth grade. She's 10. And she's on a diet. One day while I was making my rounds about the lunch tables she shows me a picture of an outfit and says, "When I get skinny, I'm going to dress like this." Tatjana breaks my heart. Honestly, she does. She tells me things like, "This is part of my eating plan." It's part of her diet--which, according to her, is not just a diet but a "lifestyle". 10 year olds shouldn't have lifestyles! The saddest thing is Tatjana is not overweight by any means.

Then there's Emily. The funniest, liveliest, ...loudest girl at daycare. Emily's going to third grade. We were riding the bus on our way back from The Children's Museum and I was texting. When I was done, Emily caught a glimpse of my wallpaper. She looks at me and says, "Is that your boyfriend?" I told her yes. Instead of asking his name or how long we've been dating or even if I love him, Emily asks "Is he skinny?" I was floored. I asked her why she would ask me a question like that and she replies flatly, "Because skinny is better." If Emily were about 10 years older, I would have gave her some quippy response along the lines of Not if they're an ass. But Emily, being a kid, knows nothing about tact and says exactly what she thinks. All. The. Time. She's brutally honest, emphasis on brutal.

Another one is Isaac. Isaac is a little less favorable than Emily or Tot. He's a spoiled brat. Full meaning on both words. At daycare, we have a video game console. And the children each get a turn to play for a certain amount of time. They share and take turns. Now, while some of you may be following this concept perfectly, Isaac has a hard time grasping it. He wanted to play the game after Adam (Yes, mini-psycho Adam). I told him I'd come get him after Adam was finished playing. Well, Adam was playing with 2 other boys who got off the game before their turn was up. I told Isaac he could go play. He goes over to the game and refuses to play. I asked him what the problem was and he says, "I want to play the game!" I told him this was his chance. He starts to get upset saying he wanted to be first player. I explained to him that Adam was still playing but if he wanted to play (like he asked to), now was his chance. He starts huffing and puffing and getting angry saying, "But I want to be first player!I never get to be first player! I never get anything I want!" Because Silverstone doesn't run on vegetable oil, I use all my strength not to hit this little boy. I told him very calmly that I'm giving him exactly what he asked for: to play the game. Isaac storms off and starts crying angrily. He screams he hates daycare, wants to go home and never come back. If only I could have gotten that in writing...

These kids have taught me so much this summer. I feel I have a better understanding of the next generation. And I'm pretty scared.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Unexpected Inspiration

2010-06-16T20:25:00.002-05:00

I was unexpectedly hit by a bit of inspiration in a very unlikely place: While watching So You Think You Can Dance. While the context of this quote is unimportant (and would require entirely too much explanation for those not familiar with the show), the quote stuck with me. Nigel Lythgoe, one of the judges and executive producer, said to one of the dancers: "Sometimes we forget to dance because we let the steps get in the way."

This stood out to me because it spoke to me. Sometimes we forget to just dance because we let the "steps" get in the way. The way we were taught to do things. They way we think they're supposed to be done. The so-called correct way. I've dragged some of my more reserved friends to clubs many times and they tend to echo the same sentiment, "Oh, I'm not sure I can do this. I can't dance like that." But dance, much like life, is not about the method. So often we are caught up in how we're being perceived that we forget how we are being presented. When I'm out on the dance floor, I just ride the music and forget everything. I forget how I'm being perceived and what's presented is confidence. And a little bit of sexy on a good night.

Lately I've been battling a lot of combating thoughts and trying to balance a lot of mixed emotions. I've been trying to learn the steps. Learn the right way to handle this situation I find myself in. Tonight I realized that I just need to dance. To live. To follow my instinct and just feel it.

Here I go...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Stroke of brilliance..?

2010-06-06T22:17:00.002-05:00

So I've just been hit by possible inspiration. I dunno. But I'm typing very fast to get this down. and I'm putting it here because a) I want to find it and B) I want to put something less depressing up.

Okay. So. My new(est) idea is this: Orphanarium.

What happens to abandoned ideas? Books that are never completed? Songs that are never sung? Paintings never finished? ...They go to the Orphanarium.

The Orphanarium is a place like no other: Where it's inhabitants are characters from stories that haven't been fully developed; it's walls are covered with incomplete art; over the loud speakers plays bits of music that haven't been finished.

But what happens when the Orphanarium's newest residents begin to make their own lives? Complete their own stories...

Awesome right?

Ironically, this idea will metaphorically end up at the Orphanarium. Haha.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[i'm]perfection

2010-05-30T23:16:00.002-05:00

There's no such thing as a perfect human. There couldn't be even if I believed in such things. "Perfect human" is a definition oxymoron. (As is "normal human" but that's another discussion)

All of us are the sum of our actions. Think about it. When your friend mentions someone, what's the first thing your mind goes to? "Oh, so-and-so? Is the one who did that small, insignificant thing that one time?" Yeah. Case and point.

I guess I've been wondering lately if people change. Do I believe people can change? Can I? Have I? If I did something once, what's the possibility of me doing it again? Even if the thing was a horrible deed that I would never want to do again... What distinguishes between mistake and habit? How do I know if it was a one-time thing or the beginning of a pattern?

I'm scared. I used to not trust other people. Now I'm not sure if I trust myself. If I can be trusted. If should be trusted. I don't think I want to keep another man's heart only to break it. I don't want to cause anymore pain.

We're supposed to learn from our mistakes. What have I learned? Did I even give myself time to learn? Sit back and look at my choices... I'm trying to put everything in order much too late, I think.

One day I'll have the answer to all these questions.

One thing's for sure though: I can't do this anymore.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

so chris taylor can think he's demanding

2010-05-26T00:59:00.001-05:00

"Blood Bayou" pt 2

After this night, all will be changed.

Her words lingered in my ear. I didn't want to think much about this night or what she meant by that statement. My thoughts begin to trail back two nights before this...

I'm in the bar, sitting there with a half-emptied pint in my hand. I sip it slowly, not in any rush to return home because, honestly, there's nothing left for me to go home to. My thumb idly brushes against the handle as I let my thoughts sink into the deep, amber liquid inside.

"Got somehtin' on yer min' der, eh James?" The bartender says but I don't hear him.

"I say, James, it ain't gonna drink i'self wit ya jus starin!" he muses, a bit louder this time so that not only I hear him but the two men sitting on either side of me turn their heads in attention as well.

"Oh, uhm, sorry Domino." I take a big gulp, grimacing as the liquid burns its way down my throat. "Better?"

Domino fixes his mouth to make what I can only imagine is a smartass comment when his attention shifts to the door. A hush has fallen over the bar and all the patrons have their heads turned towards the door as well now.

I follow suit and find myself staring at a very strange individual. He stumbles in, a noticeable gait in his stride, hobbles over to the end of the bar and motions for Domino to poor him a drink. He nods. The place is silent... save the sound of the stranger's drink whishing into his cup. Those that seem to know him watch the bar with a suspicious glare. Those that don't fear him all the same.

I was no exception.

My mind is racing with inquisitions. But I know better than to voice them now. Slowly, the other patrons begin whispering, murmuring, muttering until the place is filled with conversation and laughter once more. A few people still side-eye the stranger as he drinks in solidarity but there is no interaction.

When Domino comes to refill my drink, I give a slight inclination of my head towards the end of the bar as if to say What's this about?

He shakes his head. You don't want to know.

Fine. I shrug.

Two refills later, drunken light-headedness begins to set in. The bar becomes a blur of dim light and sound. Now, I am ready to go home. I drop some money on the counter (probably much more than the cost of my drinks now that I think about it)and make my way out of the bar. Everything is spinning. I feel sick. A cool sensation graces my face. I'm laying on the gravel.

The sound of approaching footsteps grows louder. "You're much sadder than I thought." A voice says.

A shadowy silhouette is all I'm able make out. I say nothing. I just want to lay in the street and wait for death.

"James Bordeaux..."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know much more than that."

Then, he begins telling me of a way I can solve all my problems. He describes a woman like no other; a woman who could help me. My interests are peaked. "Where can I find her?"

He gives me the directions. Of sorts. I am to venture into the deepest parts of the bayou. Not many men dare to travel in the bayou since the disappearances and bodies turning up on the banks. Still, I listen to the man standing over me until he says he must leave. As he walks away, I notice his walk is not sturdy. Before I can stand and chase after him, he's gone.

And so I'm here, staring at Madame LaFleur...

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Time for a bit of Scheduled Maintainence

2010-05-22T18:48:00.002-05:00

Well, it's that time of the year again. The end. At least, academically speaking. So, of course, as I look around, a lot of my friends seem to be doing a great deal of reflecting. It almost seems inevitable at this point. How was the school year? What am I looking forward to this summer? What am I up to? Blah blah blah...

I have no desire to reflect on this past semester. I did what I could. Period. Whether you take that as what I wanted to or what I'm actually capable of, that's up to you. I'm satisfied with my grades. End of story.

So I'm going to take this time to reflect. Inwardly. (I'm really just going to free write at this point. I just need to flush out some thoughts)

I have so many thoughts on my mind, really. Some fully formed. Some just whispers. Some fading memories. Everything all jumbled up inside my mind. I find it hard to give these thoughts voice. Hearing them out loud makes it harder for them to go away. It's easy to push thoughts back to the deep, dark recesses of your mind but words... Words are a different beast altogether.

I once wrote that writing makes it real. Well, spoken words tend to have that affect as well. Not only do you hear what you're feeling, fearing, worried about.. but someone else will as well. Whoever you're telling now bears all that plagues you. Now they share the anxiety. And, to me, that's just not fair. I don't want anyone else to carry my cross. I'd rather be crushed under the weight myself. That way, I'm the only one who suffers.

There is one person who I trust completely. One person who I know I can tell my secrets to without fear of sharing burdens. That is because this girl is the strongest person I know. Nothing can break her. She's a phoenix. I've seen life throw so many things at this girl and still, she takes it all in stride, with a smile. I admire her. A little jealous, too. She never complains or whines (at least not to me). She's driven. She's my best friend.

There are so many things I wish to tell her...

Your Eyes are my Looking Glass

2010-05-17T23:54:00.004-05:00

Your eyes are my looking glass:
my future tinted in blue.
To see myself
my life
my future,
I simply look to you.

When I don't see the forest
when I can't pass the tree
when I won't break through my thoughts
I just need you to look at me.

Show me my reflection,
magnify my imperfections.
Show me an image made to last
because your eyes are my looking glass.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

so chris taylor can think he's demanding

2010-04-27T11:53:00.008-05:00

because I hate it when Aaron's disappointed with me

2010-04-19T21:55:00.003-05:00

"Blood Bayou"

The bayou was thick with fog that night; an impassible, opaque, blanketing fog that warned all trespassers to turn back immediately. Stillness surrounded the area as far as the eye could see. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing lived. Save for the singing cicadas, the whining mosquitoes, and myself. The splish of my paddle sounded like gunfire against the dark waters. Each row echoed a thousand times over, as if the cypress trees were marking my every move; calling and answering to each other with each pass of my paddle. Yet, I continued on.

He said to keep going until I felt unwelcomed and uncomfortable. When I felt scared, I should paddle fifty more paces. And when I wanted to turn back, I should paddle ten. There I would find her, he said.

A low, guttural moan wavered on the wind. I stopped to listen for the source. With a shaky hand, I continued on. Forty-seven paces later, the moaning grew louder. It was a chilling wail that could only come from someone in a great deal of pain or distress. I swallowed hard, knowing I still had ten paces to go.

The cries grew louder, resonating through the bayou. It sounded as if it were coming from all directions. I craned my neck to see only darkness. I crossed myself as I glided deeper into the Devil’s playground, praying that God hadn’t abandoned me. I hoped the All Mighty would forgive me for the sins I would commit this night.

She was everything the whispers rumored: beautiful, enchanting, and haunting. She stared at me with deep, hollow eyes that bore into my soul. Her gaze fixed on mine and I found myself quickly entranced by her. I dared not move nor speak.

“You are very brave to come here alone,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly sweet for someone of her reputation. She almost sang the words through a gentle smile. But I tried not to allow myself to be swayed by her sly grin. She stood there, frozen, waiting on my reply. My eyes traveled down her slender figure, noticing her breasts; how they didn’t rise and fall to any rhythm, yet stayed there perched just beneath her neck. She wasn’t breathing.

After a moment of steadying my voice, I called back to her. “I seek Madame LaFleur. I am told--,”

“I know why you are here, James.”

Something deep within my spirit stirred at the sound of my name dripping from her lips.

“What must I do?”

She threw her head back and laughed with a vibrancy that shook the bayou. She extended her arm, beckoning me to her with a wave of her finger. “Come with me, dear James. After this night, all will be changed.”

.:~o*’Kaylyn’*o~:.

Unfinished Business

2010-04-12T17:34:00.004-05:00

I want to complete something. Anything. Just take a story through a complete arc with an exposition, climax, and resolution. Just to present a character and have my reader(s) follow them through their journey, discovering more about that character with each step. Is that so hard to ask?!!

Well, considering the author, yes.

I've never finished any story. Ever. Oh sure, I've started a few... but they never really close. Sure, I have some ultra short, 2-3 pagers that I've completed but that's more of a newer thing.

I never finish anything. I know this. After 19 years, I should know this. But it's not for lack of wanting. I just... don't. Could it be some inner insecurities about having my writing judged so I protect myself by never finishing, shielding everything from the public eye? Or maybe I'm just a future suit-wearing, pencil-pusher who naively believed through her teenage and young adult years that she was creative or special in any way. I dunno.

I also don't know why I keep setting myself up for failure. NaNo. Script Frenzy (which page's count is currently 0/100 with 18 days to go). Collaborations with friends. Gaia.

Fail after fail after fail... And yet I keep writing.

Maybe I'm just impatient. Maybe I just haven't given myself enough time. Or, rather, devoted enough time to one project. I always get distracted or intrigued by a new idea and abandon a project I've labored over for weeks for a shiny new one. I get distracted very easily. Rome wasn't built in a day. Some novels take years to complete. And that's with writing everyday!

I must be crazy. But, hey, aren't the most interesting writers always?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

3 Small Words, 1 Big Difference

2010-03-21T18:15:00.004-05:00

A very good friend of mine once wrote that love is "indescribable trust." And when I first read these words I don't think I knew what he meant by that. But an experience this weekend made me realize he's right.

My boyfriend and I were watching an episode of Nip/Tuck and I was having trouble focusing. My thoughts made it difficult to concentrate on.. well, anything really. When he asked me if I was alright, I of course said yes. He said it seemed like something was wrong. I apologized and we went back to watching. Well, he did. I looked over and noticed he was looking at me. "What?" I asked. He said something just didn't seem right, I seemed distant. After about the fourth round of this back-and-forth questioning, I finally told him what was bothering me. I should have known better than to try to hide something from him.

When I confessed, I broke into uncontrollable crying because my thoughts were so deep and scary. He gathered me into his arms and let me cry on his shoulder, touching me gently and softly whispering it's okay. When I calmed down enough to speak, we talked about everything I was thinking and feeling. He put me at ease, letting me know my thoughts weren't unwarranted, but that I had nothing to worry about. He told me he loved me. And love him for that and so much more.

What I realized from that moment was that I can trust him with even my darkest insecurities. And that's an amazing feeling, to know you can be so open and honest with someone and know you won't be met with opposition or ridicule for being foolish or not trusting in them. Or yourself. It took me months to realize this, but I now know I fully trust him. I love him. And he loves me.

I think I had a problem with this in the past. I loved someone, but I didn't trust him. I didn't feel I could tell him what I was truly feeling; my insecurities about myself or the relationship. And ultimately that was our downfall. Now I know you can't have love without trust. Not real, deep, true love. And I'm so sorry I had to hurt someone before I could figure this out.

The Bible says:

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:18

And I realize that I've been punishing myself for about 10 months now, afraid to trust anyone but Rachel with my concerns and insecurities.

Finally, I'm ready to stop doing that. I'm ready to trust completely, indescribably. I'm ready to have a perfect love. Even though I don't believe in the word perfect, I'm willing to try.

And I hope you're ready and willing to try with me.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Losing It

2010-03-08T17:53:00.005-06:00

I want to challenge my writing. Expand it. Improve it. And one of the ways I've come up with for doing this (other than the obvious write more) is to write what I normally wouldn't write. Write about things I've never personally experienced. Write what I think should happen. What I think it looks like, tastes like, feels like. I think if I do this, then my writing becomes less of a disguised catharsis and more of a weaving of detail. I want to tell stories, to write novels, to be published. I just don't know if I want those stories to be my own anymore. This is weird because for so long it's been "Write what you know." But I want to break away from that. I feel like writing what I know is exactly that. I know. I know exactly how the story's going to end (or how I want it to end since I never actually finish anything) and every twist between. So I'm going to take a stab in the dark here and hope I hit something:

"Losing It"

I love my boyfriend very much. And I know he loves me. He doesn't say it much, but I know he does. He doesn't have to say it.

Our anniversary's coming up. It will be 4 months this Friday. I'm so excited! He won't tell me what we're doing though. I texted him the other day to ask him what I should wear and he just sent back: "w/e sumthin cute i guess" He's so mysterious.

Friday is here and I cannot wait to get out of school. Normally, I like my afternoon geometry class. My teacher says I'm one of her top students. But today is unbearable. I spent most of the hour drawing little hearts in the margin of my notebook instead of taking notes. I didn't even write down the homework. When that bell rings, it's like someone sent an electric shock through my body. I leap out of my seat and bolt for the door.

My boyfriend's waiting for me in the parking lot. I see him leaning against his car with his phone in his hands. He looks so cool standing there. I give him a smile as I walk up to him. "Hey you."

"Hey," he says not looking up from his phone. "I was just about to text you."

I giggle. "Well, here I am."

"So you are. Come here," he slides his phone into his pocket and reaches out his hand. Instead of pulling me into a hug like I expected him to, he lifts my arm above my head and spins me around. I feel my dress rise a little bit as I twirl. "You look great."

I feel my face get all hot and I know my cheeks are red. "Thanks."

"Come on, let's go." He pushes the unlock button on his keychain and walks around to the driver's side door. I toss my backpack on the backseat and go over to the passenger's side. He drives mostly with his left hand, except to turn, leaving his right hand free to rest on my thigh as we ride along.

I put my hand on top of his and look over at him. He steals glances over at me when he's not watching the road. We're stopped at a red light, I lean over and say, "I love you."

He nods. "Your mom cool with you coming over, right?"

"Uhm, yeah." I lie. My mom thinks I'm at Jenna's studying today after school and that she'll have to pick me up when I call. She lives just across the street and won't be back from dance practice until after 6.

"Awesome." I feel his right hand tighten its grip on my leg.

We pull into his driveway a few minutes later. I notice his dad's truck is missing. "We have the house to ourselves?"

"Happy anniversary." He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I turn my head to kiss him for real but he's already getting out of the car. I reach to the backseat and grab his gift from my backpack. It's the new cd from his favorite band. I saved up and got the 2-disc edition with concert footage because I remember him telling me he's never seen them in concert before but would like to someday.

His house is so quiet when we walk inside. It's completely empty. "Where's Bingo?" I ask.

He's looking down at his phone again. I wonder what he's doing because I didn't hear it go off or even vibrate. "Oh, uhm, yeah, my dad had to take him to the vet this afternoon. Come on, I want to show you something upstairs." He takes hold of my hand and leads me up the staircase to his bedroom.

He sits me down on the edge of the bed and goes to his desk drawer. He comes back with a small rectangular box. "Here, this is for you." he says holding out his hand. I could cry right now but I try to stay cool.

Before I can get out a Oh, you didn't have to get me anything, I open the box and see it: The most gorgeous necklace ever. It's a silver chain with a heart pendant in the middle. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

He sits down on the bed next to me. "Let me see it on you."

I turned my back slightly to him and pull up my hair into a ponytail with my hands. I feel the cool metal slip easily onto my neck, the heart resting gently between my breasts. Then, I feel something warm and smooth on my neck. It takes me a minute to realize my boyfriend is kissing me. He's never done that before. I want to ask him what he's doing, but I get this warm feeling all over, like slipping into a bathtub full of hot water. Something inside tells me to move away and so I do.

"What's the problem?" he asks.

"Nothing.It's just... I.. I-I haven't given you your gift yet." I pull out the cd and hand it to him.

He stares at it for a minute, his face still. Then he turns it over, reading the songs on the back. "Hm, I already have most of these. Oh, I downloaded this one a few days ago." He shrugs his shoulders and tosses the cd into a pile of clothes on the floor.

I frown. "I bought that one special. It has concert footage. Didn't you say you'd like to see them in concert one day?"

"Well, yeah, but you can get that stuff on youtube."

I feel so stupid. Why didn't I think of that? "I'm sorry." I say quietly.

"Don't worry about it. It was a sweet gift. You're a sweet girl." He says leaning in closer. He begins kissing me, but it's different this time. His kisses are hard, sloppy. I try to keep up with him but something catches my attention: His hands are roaming. I pull back.

"What are you doing?"

"Relax."

"But your hand was on my--,"

"You don't like it?"

"No. I mean, yes. Well, I don't know. You've never done that before." I blurt out all at once.

He smirks and leans in close so that his mouth is close to my ear. "Just relax," he whispers into my ear. His hot breath makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "It's our anniversary." His voice is low, confident, ...sexy. I swallow hard, trying to relax. I shut my eyes and he begins kissing me again.

I can feel his hands all over me touching, feeling, squeezing. I try not to think about it, because when I think about it I want him to stop. And when I don't think about it, it's the exact opposite. His hands slip under my dress and before long I hear a faint snapping noise. The sudden slack in my chest tells me what this means. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

Still kissing me, he slowly leans back onto the bed. I have no choice but to fall onto the bed with him or I'll break the kiss. His hands push my dress all the way up to my stomach. My legs instantly form millions of goosebumps on them. I feel the warm palm of his hand caressing my thigh, moving it's way to the back and then gripping the skin there tightly.

He breaks the kiss and my eyes fly open. I look up to see my boyfriend taking off his t-shirt. I've never seen his bare chest before. He lays back down on the bed, but this time with his leg on top of one of mine so I can't move away. I don't think about this though. Instead, I try to focus on my boyfriend's eyes. His stare seems different now. There's a spark of something shining out behind his hazel-green stare, but I can't name it.

He starts kissing my neck again, harder; more passionate than before. I can feel his teeth against my skin. I let out a cry. He moves his way up, kissing my neck, my jaw, my cheek... Soon, his mouth is back at my ear again. He exhales, warming my ear with his breath. "Let's see you out of that dress." he says in the same low voice as before. A pulsing sensation rushes down my spine. He moves his hands along my sides, pushing my dress further and further up. With ease, he removes my dress and unhooked bra and I'm left there in nothing but my panties.

I feel very self conscious with this much skin exposed. Goosebumps cover my whole body and I feel so cold. An astonishing feeling shocks me when I realize my boyfriend has one of my breasts in each hand, squeezing hard. He pinches the sensitive skin on my breasts between his index finger and thumb. I shut my eyes tight, trying not to think about this. But a painful sensation causes me to cry out.

Then, I hear the sound of his belt buckle as he slips off his jeans. He climbs on top of me in just his boxer shorts and positions himself directly above me. I can feel something solid pressing exactly between my legs; the weight of him pining me onto the bed. I love my boyfriend. Relax, relax, relax. Don't think, relax. I love him.

He leans in and kisses me on the lips. I reach my hands up to either side of his face and pull him closer. His tongue slips in and out of my mouth. The solid mass resting between my legs becomes more firm and my boyfriend starts pushing his hips against mine; grinding into me. I can't remain still. Without thinking, I begin to move with him until we have a comfortable rhythm together. The pulsing sensation in my lower back begins throbbing faster and faster. My head is beginning to feel light from trying not to think about anything.

What happens next is something my body expected but my brain hadn't prepared for. The pain is excruciating. It feels like someone is splitting me in half, right from the center. I let out a loud moan, but my boyfriend doesn't stop. He continues pressing into me. I love him. I love him. The pain begins to dull when I stop thinking about everything that's happening and the pulse from my back moves between my legs, the pounding dulling the pain. My breaths become shorter and it feels like my body is going to explode. I think I have to go to the bathroom.

My boyfriend lets out a low groan and a warm sensation hits my inner thigh. He falls next to me and starts catching his breath like he's just finished running a marathon. I don't know how to feel. There are so many emotions running through my head. Confusion. Is this what I wanted? Anger. I can't believe I just did that. Guilt. My mom is going to kill me when she finds out I'm not a virgin anymore.

That's when it hits me. All my thoughts come rushing in at once when I come to realization I'm 15 and not a virgin. I want to feel better; safe, so I look over to my boyfriend who's already putting his jeans back on. "I love you," I say weakly.

He nods and pulls his phone out from his pocket and starts texting.

I love my boyfriend very much. And I know he loves me. He doesn't say it much, but I know he does. He doesn't have to say it.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*~o:.

Of Windows and Mirros

2010-03-05T12:22:00.001-06:00

So, my 11:30a class got canceled today. And I have a bit of time before my 12:30p class. 7 mins to be exact. But, anyway, after a conversation with my sister, I have these thoughts I wanna put down for now and I'll clean this up later.

Basically, I told my sister the events of this past weekend. My godson's 2nd birthday. Some dude named Andre. My boyfriend cheating on me. The whole thing.

Her response wasn't what I expected. Or, rather, not what I wanted. Instead of shock and disappointment, she responded with general curiosity and seemed to enjoy playing the role of Devil's advocate. Or, I guess, in this case, Nikki's advocate. She said, "Well, I mean it's not really my place to tell you who to be with and whatever... but I guess where she was coming from is kinda what everyone was thinking when you brought Chris home. You know? People see you and then they see him. But, you know, they don't see what you see in him." (or something to the effect of that)

And this kinda struck me because, well-- for one, she's right. I don't see why anyone can't see what I see in him. And I don't understand why. He's sweet, charming, funny, creative, imaginative, and, oh, those eyes... But why is it that no one else seems to see this? According to my sister, they see older. Period. And, she says, he never really seems to be as great as I make him. She says, he's a bit boring when she meets him. And quiet. I try to explain that he's usually tired from working or I've woken him up early to come hang out in the day.. but she doesn't get it.

So, I guess my question/thought is: If the eyes are the windows to the soul, can they also function as mirrors? Can we get a reflection of someone just by looking at them or a reflection of ourselves in someone else's eyes?

Case and point: When I look into my boyfriend's eyes, I see him. I see me. I see love. I see a me that he imagines. The me he loves. But I don't know if I necessarily live up to that in anyone else's eyes...

I dunno. This is very messy and I will clean it up later because it's 12:32p and I have to go now. I just needed to get this down.

A Bit of Perspective

2010-02-23T19:32:00.002-06:00

It is appalling to me how little the American audience has advanced. I know not everyone has the same ideals, beliefs, etc.. Still, I would think that here in the "Melting Pot," we would learn to accept (or at least respect) other lifestyles. And it really irks me to be wrong in this aspect.

This is what I'm talking about:

Today, I went to see Valentine's Day with one of my closest, dearest friends. Cute movie. I had tears. Twice.

****SPOILER ALERT*****

Anyway, there's a part in the movie when the newly-outted sports athlete is met by his lover who, for most of the movie, seems to be hitting on Julia Roberts. The twisting reveal that Bradley Cooper's character is gay has little time to settle before a heart-warming gesture between him and his star athlete boyfriend takes place. Lover. Man. Person. I dunno, it's not clear exactly how serious their relationship is. Still.

While this is a very sweet moment in the movie (I think), the rest of the theater did not seem to agree. Mel and I clutched each tightly, waiting for them to kiss. The rest of the audience began to groan and audibly express their disapproval . "Ughh... no! Uh, man! Yuccck. Gross."

And it really bothers me that a man can play a philandering adulterer and get more approval than a faithful, loyal boyfriend---even if he's boyfriend to another man.

Ahhhh. It just kinda agitates me.

Yeah. So that's my schpeal. I probably would have more if someone were to ask me about this in person.

Thoughts? Comments? Agree? Disagree? ..Anything?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Poetry

2010-02-10T14:51:00.001-06:00

"Poetry"

Poetry:

You slave and sweat
and all you get
is one word
to fill the void
to utterly avoid
an explosion
of thought

Creativity caught
between rhyme and meter
ink-stained fingers
blood-shot eyes
and, yet, to your surprise
line by line
a stanza is born
speaking
breathing
right here
write now
it doesn’t matter how

Paper cut sacrifice
your blood will now pay the price
for one, small literary device
so clear and concise
it must suffice
it must enchant
it must entice
it must beguile
at least for a while
until you find
unwind
design
another line

Refine
refrain
reset
because in the end
poetry is all you get.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[And, yes, I am writing a poem--trying to, at least--and in my frustation crafted this. Strange how that works...]

No, seriously, who dat?

2010-02-03T23:09:00.002-06:00

I just don't get it.

This sudden fascination or obsession, really, that everyone seems to have with the New Orleans Saints now that they don't actually suck anymore. This abrupt change of heart can only be described as Saints-fever.

And it seems like I am part of a microscopic minority that has not been infected.

Don't get me wrong, I like football. Every year, I try to catch the Super Bowl no matter who's playing (for the commercials, if nothing else). And half time. Always gotta watch half time. And, when my family can't travel to Texas, we still tune in to the Dallas Cowboy game.

It's frustrating to think that after Feb. 7th, it really won't matter anymore. If the Saints win... Yay. If they lose... Well, isn't that what we're all expecting anyway? Win or lose, LSU will still have school the next day. And life will resume.

I don't understand why people choose this one single event to cling to for a moment of happiness in their life. "This is important for the state of Louisiana!" they say. "This is first time we've really been on the national map since Katrina!" And? Who says we need the attention anyway? Can you quantify this new-found Saints fandom in anyway? What are we gaining from this? A short-lived happiness? For a whole year, you can now interject any sports-driven conversation saying, "Hey, I'm from that state!" Wow... Big change.

No matter how hard you cheer, Drew Brees will not hear you in Miami.

Don't get me wrong, the city of New Orleans is... entrancing to me. I plan to be married there. I'd love to live there. But I refuse to jump on the bandwagon and ride it to Miami simply because my driver's license reads "LA".

I just won't do it.

I don't feel like I need to.

I was happy when the Saints were losing. (There are about 1000 other reasons for other states to look down on Louisiana anyway) And I'll still be happy if they somehow become a Super Bowl-winning team.

Football does not make me happy. It never has. And I doubt it will.

It's the people. You. Him. Y'all. Us. Together. That's what makes me happy. And I as long as I have that, I say Who Dat? Who Cares?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[MUSE]ic in Me

2010-01-29T00:20:00.001-06:00

He comes to me in the darkness;
With inspiration to drive this artist
The lyrics to the song I'm singing
My breath of life-
my reason for living.
Faded by logic and
fueled by illusion,
peeking out from my mind's confusion.
Pointing me in the right direction,
steering away from perfection.
In the shape of a man
with eyes like the sky,
my harshest critic,
my closest ally.
The spark that lights the creative flame
My body, my heart:
He bears the claim.
Completion is never the object.
Only expression, only content.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Ghost of Lovers Past

2010-01-27T23:21:00.003-06:00

There are certain things I should know by now. There are certain things I just shouldn't do. I should just know better by now.

And yet, I find myself chasing ghosts of the past for some sort of closure. And the funny thing is, I don't know if I'm after these spirits, these memories, this person to help them move on... or myself.

I hate this power you have over me. I hate this thing--whatever it's called--between us. I hate that I can't forget you. I hate that I don't want to.

I love him.
I love us.
I love now.

Begone spirit. Haunt me no longer!

I beg of you.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Cavendish Manor

2010-01-18T22:47:00.003-06:00

“One more time.”

“Another? But we’ve been over this a dozen times since we left Ermington!”

“Yes, and we will go through it again and again until we pass through the iron gates themselves. Now, once more.”

Maggie sighed loudly, knowing she couldn’t fight the will of Professor Tillman much longer. “Fine. Cavendish Manor stands as the largest estate in the country, run by a staff of servants under the supervision of Miss Anne Cunningham. It was designed and built by Josiah Cavendish, the father of Jeremiah Cavendish, who took what little money he had to his name after his wife’s death and nearly tripled it before his untimely death. Everything went to Jacob Cavendish, who had to be called away from abroad to oversee his grandfather’s affairs. And John--,”

Professor Tillman cleared his throat loudly.

“Sorry. Young Master Cavendish is the youngest in the powerful line of Cavendish men. He’s beginning to show early signs of the same disease that killed his great-grandfather, which is why I was called upon to be his companion whilst his father is away on his many business trips. There.”

“Must everything sound like village gossip when you say it?” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He was busy thumbing through the thick book that had been resting in his lap most of the ride up to Cavendish Manor. Margaret wasn’t convinced he was actually reading it as the pages turned too fast between his fingers.

“Sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

He snapped the book shut. Maggie jumped. “How many times must I remind you? It is not what you say, but how you say it, Margaret.”

She groaned. “Call me Maggie, everyone does.”

He nodded. “Yes, everyone does. Everyone in Ermington. Everyone not of the privileged class. Everyone doomed to live in that godforsaken village with no hopes of being more than a seamstress or a common butcher.”

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. “My father was a butcher,” she spat.

Seeing the hurt in her face, Professor Tillman set his book aside and placed a hand on her knee. “I’m sorry. Your father was a decent man. He was my friend, after all. I’ve known you since you were a child, Margaret. But now you must leave such things behind. At Cavendish Manor, you will be expected to act like the lady your parents always wanted you to be treated as.”

She wouldn’t look at Tillman. Instead, she turned her teary gaze out of the window. The countryside passed by quickly. Everything looked so different. There were blue skies, clear pastures, birds twittering about. It was beautiful. Even the roads were smoother. The carriage traveled easily enough with hardly a bump felt by either passenger. Margaret wondered if this is what money bought people.

“Approaching Cavendish Road, sir!” the driver announced.

Professor Tillman straightened his position and began smoothing his attire. He produced a small cloth from his inside jacket pocket and polished the lenses of his glasses in his lap. “You will remember everything I’ve taught you, won’t you Margaret?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Follow every instruction Miss Cunningham gives you.”

“I will.”

“And never speak out of turn.”

“I won’t.”

“Right then,” he said.

Cavendish Manor rose into view. Margaret pressed her face to the window to get a better look. It was enormous. The house looked more like a palace than a home. You could fit everyone from Ermington in there! she thought. The iron gates swung open to allow them in and Margaret couldn’t help but notice the letters “JC” formed at the top in what seemed like woven gold. A small portly woman stood alone in the drive. She was waving wildly at them.

“Professor Tillman…”

“Yes, Margaret?”

“I’m scared.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Blergh

2010-01-14T17:27:00.003-06:00

UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!

Next week is going to suck. Class. Rehearsal. Work. Not to mention wanting to continue my health and fitness regimen (126, baby!). Ugh. I am not looking forward to going back to BR.

That is all.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Also, I have a new story in the works. Newly inspired by something I'm reading. Hopefully, it'll be a well-welcomed distraction.

100 truths about K. Marie

2010-01-10T20:47:00.004-06:00

Because I just don't post notes on FB. I don't know why anymore... Just don't. So here ya go:

WHAT WAS YOUR:
1. last beverage = Pink Lemonade kool-aid (made it myself ^-^)
2. last phone call = Made? My sister. Received? My mom.
3. last text message = Chris Taylor (still texting now ^-^)
4. last song you listened to = Paparazzi - Lady Gaga
5. last time you cried = Last night (happy tears!)

HAVE YOU EVER:
6. dated someone twice = Yes. Ugh.
7. been cheated on = Yes.
8. kissed someone & regretted it = The kiss? No. How it happened... well... :/
9. lost someone special = Yes.
10. been depressed = Yes.
11. been drunk and threw up = Close.. But no.

LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:
12. Blue
13. Brown
14. White (especially those 3 in combination - like my bedsrpead)

THIS YEAR HAVE YOU: (2009)
15. Made a new friend = Chyeah!
16. Fallen out of love = Unfortunately.
17. Laughed until you cried = All. The. Time.
18. Met someone who changed you = "For Good" ^-^
19. Found out who your true friends were = Never had a doubt...
20. Found out someone was talking about you = Aren't they always? :P
21. Kissed anyone on your FB friend's list = Yup.

GENERAL:
22. How many people on your FB friends list do you know in real life = Every one. Well, I've seen them.
24. Do you have any pets = Does my boyfriend count? :P (no)
25. Do you want to change your name = Nah.
26. What did you do for your last birthday = PRIDE!
27. What time did you wake up today = 7:50a (church)
28. What were you doing at midnight last night = Watching Nip/Tuck season 1
29. Name something you CANNOT wait for = March 28th!!!!
30. Last time you saw your Mother = Before I closed my room door... (she was in the hallway)
31. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life = Nothing. I rather like my life.
32. What are you listening to right now = Chris Rock's loud mouth.
33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom = Uhhhmm.. Knew a Tom Gurly in elementary... But we never "talked". Ew.
34. What's getting on your nerves right now = See no. 32
35. Most visited webpage = Facebook.
38. Relationship Status = Hidden. XP
39. Zodiac sign = Virgo
40. He or She = ME!
41. Elementary = T.S. Cooley Elementary Magnet School (I love saying that!)
42. High School = Barbe High
43. College = Southern/LSU
44. Hair color = Brown
45. Long or short = Short
46. Height = 5'4"
47. Do you have a crush on someone? = Yes. (Luckily, I'm dating him ^-^)
48. What do you like about yourself? = Uhh... Skip.
49. Piercings = None.
50. Tattoos = Gross.
51. Righty or lefty = Righty.

FIRSTS:
52. First surgery = Uhm.. when they cut the umbilical cord thingy off and made my belly button. Does that count?
53. First piercing = Ears when I was a baby.
54. First best friend = Carrie (Sigh, I miss her.)
55. First sport you joined = Gymnastics.
56. First vacation = Oh Lord... I don't remember.
58. First crush = Luis Cerna (2nd grade)

What you are doing:
59. Eating = Gumbo, actually.
60. Drinking = Pink Lemonade kool-aid (made it my-- deja vu)
61. I'm about to = Log in to Gaia.
62. Listening to = Chris Rock's loud mouth. (still)
63. Waiting for = Rachel to get on AIM! :P

YOUR FUTURE :
64. Want kids = Yes. Adoptive.
65. Get Married? = I hope to.
66. Career = Writing.

WHICH IS BETTER :
67. Lips or eyes = Eyes.
68. Hugs or kisses = Hugs.
69. Shorter or taller = Taller.
70. Older or Younger = :P
71. Romantic or spontaneous = Spontaneously romantic.
72. Nice stomach or nice arms = Nice heart.
73. Sensitive or loud = Sensitive.
74. Hook-up or relationship = "Ooh no, I do not hook u-up! I go slowww..."
75. Trouble maker or hesitant = What kind of trouble? ;)

HAVE YOU EVER :
76. Kissed a stranger = No.
77. Drank hard liquor = Yes.
78. Lost glasses/contacts = No.
79. Sex on first date = Never.
80. Broken someone's heart = Yes.
81. Had your own heart broken = Cracked, never broken.
82. Been arrested = No.
83. Turned someone down = Yes.
84. Cried when someone died = Yes.
85. Fallen for a friend = Yes.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
86. Yourself = Not really.
87. Miracles = Yes.
88. Love at first sight = Yes.
89. Heaven = Yes.
90. Santa Claus = Not anymore.
91. Kiss on the first date = Maybe, depends on the date.
92. Angels = Yes.

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:
93. Had more than one gf/bf = At a time? No!
95. Did you sing today = Yes, in the car.
96. Ever cheated on somebody = Yes.
97. If you could go back in time, how far would you go = Very. 16th century England.
98. If you could pick a day from last year and relive it, what would it be = April 11th.

No 99. Well, that sucks.

100. Afraid of posting this as 100 truths = Nope.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

My Year According to FB

2010-01-01T18:32:00.001-06:00

What a year! (Because I'm wayyyy too lazy to write a summary of 09 post)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[MUSE]ic in me

2009-12-30T03:16:00.002-06:00

Moments

2009-12-28T20:23:00.004-06:00

I wish I could steal a moment like this:
A moment captured in your kiss
A moment spent in your embrace
A moment just staring at your face
A moment with your hand in mine
A moment where our fingers are intertwined
A moment having you near me
A moment being where I want to be

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*~o:.

Seriously?

2009-12-19T17:00:00.001-06:00

Want me to grab you by your neck
I can tell it make you wet
Ooh, girl
It ain’t working unless you sweatin now
…
We on the mantel,
Shorty dismantled
Hit it from the side
Show you how to love handle

Apparently, this is what passes for a romantic song nowadays. Ugh.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

WWZ

2009-12-04T14:59:00.003-06:00

I'm beginning to scare myself. Not that I work better under pressure, nor am I enjoying the tremendous amounts of stress I'm putting myself through. But I do find that with heightened importance and impending deadlines, I spit out some rather clever work. Here's an example: [This is a paper I literally wrote in just over an hour. 946 words. It's meant to be a response to WWZ. She did say "have fun with this paper"...]

“It’s the end of the world!” my grandmother announced, quite assured of herself, as she swept through the living room with her arms failing about. My sister and I tried not to laugh as we were sure her heightened eccentricity was a result of her missed prescription dosage and inherent senility. We focused our attentions on the matter at hand: our Uno game which had come to a complete stand-still there on the living room floor. I had called “uno” two hands ago, but had yet to deliver the final blue four blow. My sister’s shaky hand reached for the deck in hopes of finding salvation in the form of a wild card. Draw two. I laughed as we both conceded to a draw at the smell of our mom’s cooking slowly filling the air.

Everything changed that day.

The numbers soared every day. It seemed newscasters were having an inter-channel competition as to who could deliver the worst news. “Turn that crap off,” my grandmother would spit from her seat in the corner before returning to muttering the rosary again and again, shaking her prayer beads in earnest. I turned down the volume, but my eyes were glued. They told us what not to do. Stay indoors. Quarantine the infected. Call the authorities. But no one seemed to tell us what to do. Should we run? Were we safe?

One thing was for sure, though: We were staying together.

That was our first mistake.

My hometown of Lake Charles, just an hour’s drive away from Lafayette—a “Blue Zone,” as they called it now, was a crappy place to live. Lake Charles was at best a blip on any radar. A town you drove through, not to. But here we were, huddled inside my childhood home like some twisted scene from The Diary of Anne Frank. Only we weren’t afraid of Nazis. We were afraid of the “infected;” the zombies.

Zombies!

In the quiet moments when Momma would attend to our grandmother, my sister and I had lengthy conversations on the subject. “I can’t believe this is happening! It’s unbelievable. I can’t believe this. Who would believe this?” she ranted.

I shrugged.

Days ago, my biggest concern was an upcoming test or graded assignment. Now? Now I worried about whether or not I was going to live to see tomorrow. I worried about my feeble grandmother outrunning the monsters should they break in one night in an attempt to eat our brains, or whatever they were supposed to do. I worried about my mom who, up until this point, had maintained to keep a firm grip on the household after the loss of her husband and father in the same year. I worried about my sister. And once we had said our prayers for the night and vainly set the alarm, when the house was absolutely silent, I worried about myself.

Everyone was in a panic. A Great Panic.

The one thing seeming to keep us sane was my grandmother’s unwavering faith in God, although the rest of us had given up hope that anything existed in the sky other than smoke and debris. The church had been shut down as people weren’t “advised” to venture outdoors. At first, my sister and I were elated. No more dressing up in itchy, constricting dresses that were only worn to pacify our grandmother’s old-fashioned sense of style. As the days dragged on, though, we found that with the absence of church, our joy began to fade as well. There was no longer anything to look forward to after death. Should the inhuman creatures get us, there was no assured paradise waiting for us. We knew we would rot in the ground. Or have our bodies burned to eradicate the spread of germs.

But nothing could deter my grandmother. She prayed every day, multiple times a day. She thanked, begged God, and cursed God all in the same breath. I began to wonder if anyone else’s prayers were getting through. One days when she was particularly pious, my mother would pull my sister and I from our computers and televisions to pray with our grandmother. And we’d sit there, in the living room, the four us, and prayed. At first, my sister and I remained silent, keeping our heads respectfully bowed until our grandmother finished. But then, one night, after it had been discovered our neighbor was infected, an amazing thing happened… I began to pray.

Now that I realized how close the threat was, I thanked God that He passed us over. I exulted Him for protecting my family, for protecting me. Soon, I began to pray more often; twice a week, three times. It wasn’t long before my grandmother and I were reading from her old tattered Bible together. “She that, baby?” she’d ask after reading from Revelations, “God puts the world through these trials and tribulations as a test of faith. Stand strong and He will reward us for our faith in Him. You just watch.”

And I watched. I watched as the world around us wasted away. I watched as our friends and neighbors fled far from home and each other in attempt to save themselves. I watched as some unknown, unnamed force seemed to protect us from it all. It was as if the War were passing us over.

“What do you think they’ll write about us? You know, in the history books?” my sister asked me dreamily as she looked out her bedroom window at the ghost town that had become of our neighborhood.

I thought for a moment, and then I smiled. “They’ll say that we prayed. And that we survived.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Love is a Four-Letter Word

2009-11-06T02:19:00.003-06:00

Once again, I find myself listening to music to help me concentrate on one task but the melodies have bought me a one-way ticket onto a totally unrelated train of thought. And it's a train I'd really like to miss because I never discuss my emotions. But, I also never ignore good inspiration. So, I'm riding this train until we reach the end of the track... I just hope it's not off a metaphorical cliff.

Ever since I hijacked my cousin's music from her portable hard drive, I've been revisiting a few of my favorite artists from my adolescence and teenage years. My aptly named "Pop Oldies" playlist boasts songs from multiple albums featuring 98 degrees, Backstreet Boys, and N*Sync. A common theme I'm beginning to notice is love (and dancing--but mostly love). True love. Unrequited love. Everlasting love. Love, love, love.

And while I couldn't for the life of me imagine love existing outside of a realm created by Disney or in storybooks when I was "jammin'" these songs at 13, I certainly have a different view of it now.

Love is special. Love is pure. Love is patient. Love is blind... I believe all these things to be true along with a few other cliches that accompany love. But it's the latter that always makes me wonder. Why is love blind? How is love blind? What does it mean for love to be blind?

I think the core meaning of this phrase is that love makes us blind. You hear of women who refuse to leave their abusive men because they "love" them. You hear of men who are unfaithful to their wives but still claim to "love" them. And talk shows are full of mix-matched couples who the rest of the world wouldn't see sharing a cup of coffee together much less a ten-year marriage... but they're in "love".

We're blind to all fact and reason when we're in love. Because what is love but pure joy? And what is fact but reality? When given the choice, who would pick the latter?

But what do I know? (Absolutely nothing)

I broke the heart of the last man I loved. And while I hope and pray that he'll find love and happiness again in his life because he is an amazing person and a good man, I can't blame him for finding it hard to trust people again. Especially me.

I was blind, then. I was in love. So deeply and truly in love that I didn't see the problems I was facing in our relationship because I loved him and I knew he loved me--What else did we need? And had I lived outside of that fantasy for just one moment, I could have seen the cracks in our picture-perfect photo frame. Had I pulled the blindfold of love off just a moment sooner, I could have talked about what I was feeling and we could have fixed it. We could have worked. We could have made it work.

And it's that exact fact that guards my heart now. I'm so afraid to love again. I'm so afraid to break the heart of another good man. I'm just so afraid that I may be a heart-breaker underneath. I'm afraid that my "I love you" is the kiss of death to any romantic relationship I'm in.

Which is funny, because the current relationship I'm in seems like a fairytale (only without love) now: A handsome, charismatic, charming, blue-eyed prince swept in and rescued me when I was too proud to admit I needed saving. And I admire him for having the courage to do so.

And I thank him for it.

And I cherish what we have.

And I'm falling in love with him.

I'm falling, but I'm tightly grasping every foothold and grip I can find on the way down.

Love is a four-letter word. And like the other four-letter words, it should be used carefully. It should be used sparingly. It empowers some people. It angers others. It shocks. It shames. It... frightens.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

P.S. - And this is why I don't talk about my feelings. So I'll probably deny ever writing this if questioned.

NaN-Uh Oh

2009-11-01T19:06:00.013-06:00

[Warning: This is written in as a stream of conscience at multiple intervals until I reach a respectable word count.I'm curious.]

Nov. 1
7:09p

Well, after weeks of pep talks and planning, it's finally here! November first. The official start of NaNoWriMo. And while I didn't hack out thousands of words that had been building for weeks at the stroke of midnight (Haha. Very far from it, actually), I still feel the excitement boiling over.

Hot coffee? Check.
Slow music playlist on? Check. (Jason Mraz!)
Scribbled notes of the past few days? Check.

Let's go!!!

7:11p
The blank page of the Word window stares back at me, the blinking cursor seeming to be screaming: "WRITE!!!" It may as well be a flashing neon sign. It blinks like one anyway.

What should my first word be? What do I want it to be? How do I want to start what will eventually become a 50,000 novel by the end of a month?

Wildfire.

7:15p
Header? No header. Page numbers? No page numbers.

Page numbers.

No page numbers.

Novel title as a header?

Page numbers.

7:21p
The sweet sound of tapping keys is soothing. I'm accomplishing something. Something.

With the music, coffee, and laptop I feel a bit pretentious. Maybe I should be in a coffee shop... Wanna watch me write?!? Sure!

Well, maybe not so much pretentious as cliche. Yet somehow right. It's odd.

7:32p
Word count: 76.

Stupid AIM. "Stop IMing me!" No, that's mean.

Away message?

No away message.

Invisible.

No invisible.

7:36p
Note to self: PRESENT. TENSE.

That is all.

7:54p
How the fuck did Rachel write 2818 words in one day?

8:09p
No Doubling Back. How appropriate.

8:17p
217 words. This is depressing.

8:18p
As if on que, text from Chris Taylor: "Word count? :-)"

Response: "A dismal 217. :("

8:21p
PRESENT. TENSE.

8:28p
No music. Too distracting.

8:31p
Just took the biggest sip of cold coffee. Not pleasing.

As I write this, I'm reminded of Twitter for some reason...

8:43p
Begin concentrated writing hour.

Invisible.

No response to texts.

Playlist set.

Just writing. One hour...

8:58p
2 unread text messages.

It's so tempting.. But I am not removing my hands from this keyboard for another 50 minutes.

9:11p
I just realized I haven't been saving this document.

Wow.

To the desktop with you!

9:19p
TWO PAGES!

There's something oddly satisfying about writing a line of text and having it unexpectedly roll over to a second page. It's like a well-welcomed surprise.

545 words. This concentrated writing hour is working.

9:32p
Phone call... Hmm... Decisions, decisions.

It's Alexis. Oh, may as well.

9:46p
Mandatory power hour completed.

Word count: 845. Halfway!

9:56p
Heart attack. After four beautiful, instrumental songs on the "Disney" playlist, Timon and Pumba's "Hula" just scared me half to death.

10:12p
Page three!

Word count: 1073

10:18p
...I just coded text. I literally just enclosed text in html tags.

Shows how often I write in Word.

10:29p
Hmm.. my computer doesn't know the word "hardass".

Neither does Blogger.

I know I've heard the term... :/

10:58p
Apparently, "mic" is not the correct abbreviation for microphone.

Word is so strange.

11:02p
I'm going to cut Rachel.

11:32p
Thoughts drained.

Final word count for day 1: 2152

.:~o*Kaylyn*~o:.

The Lion and the Gazelle: Part 1-The Lion

2009-10-30T13:09:00.002-05:00

Every morning in Africa, the lion wakes up knowing he will have to outrun his pride if he wants to eat. The gazelle wakes up knowing he must outrun the lion if he wants to live. It doesn't matter if you are a lion or a gazelle, when the sun rises, are you ready to run?

Mr. Winston, the unlucky bastard, stood a full 6-feet tall when he was just fourteen years old. "You should play ball," everyone told him on account of his height. In high school, he was always picked first, no matter the sport, and it never failed to see him in the back row of every class picture.

Once, he was mistaken for a teacher on parent-faculty night and it took Robbie Johnston's mother a full 15 minutes before she realized she had addressing her concerns to "Little Nicky Winston from down the street." Apparently, Mrs. Johnston was confused about her son's D in chemistry as he spent hours locked up in his room "doing his assignments." He waved it off, knowing full well what Robbie did in his bedroom each night. It was the same thing every 14-year-old boy on Kernan Street had done at night in their bedroom with the door locked--and it was far from studying.

The glamour of being an athlete or the ability to buy beer for his friends (and, for a certain price, anyone else) in high school never much appealed to Mr. Winston. He longed for something more. Something would make a difference in the world. And while the lifestyle accompanied with dribbling a ball for a living had its promises, Mr. Winston's aspirations were just a bit higher. So, he went off to college.

There, he found it easy to be himself with no predetermined expectations holding him back. He was not the only tall kid on campus. He was not the only boy with facial hair. He wasn't even the only Nicholas Todd Winston. In three years' time, he graduated with all kinds of honors and awards so much so that he resembled a heavily-ordained Christmas tree in his deep green robe.

After all this, he still wanted more.

"I don't know," he sighed, placing his fourth shot glass on the bar at Mable's. "I just feel like something's missing--like I should be doing more."

Jason Reeves stared back at him with an incredulous look. Jason and Nicholas had been roommates in college and friends for years. While Nicholas had a double major in Business Management and Aacounting, Jason simply held a degree in Philosophy. The two often had hours-long converations before agreeing to disagree. Mr. Winston liked their contradicting opinions. Jason's views of the world were different than his, he thought for himself. He had always liked that about him.

"What do you mean? You want to own your own business or something?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

Jason knocked back his second shot of tequila. "But you work for Abshire & Grant! Do you know how many people in our class would kill for that job? Seriously, I thought Carrie Hill was going to strangle you when Dr. Lee announced you had won won the internship."

That made him smile. Carrie Hill, for all her outer beauty, was a cold, conniving bitch. It was no secret that she slept her way through school only using her brain in classes taught by morally conscience female professors. There was a time, a period of about 3 days, when Carrie was absent from all her classes whcih struck all with concern. Carrie always showed up to class. Her may have been wrinkled, inside-out, or the same as the day before; her make up may have been smeared or missing altogether; her hair may have been a jumbled mess atop her hair usually loosely held together by a single office-grade rubber band--but she was always present in class.

"Maybe Professor Cunningham's keeping her locked up somewhere," offered one of their classmates.

"Yeah, he's a bit of a psycho." chimed in another.

"Or maybe his wife found out." chirped a third, causing the class to erupt with whispers and other possible reasons for Carrie's absence.

In the end, it was Ade Owusu, a premed student who worked part-time at the campus health center, who silenced the rumors. Carrie had an infection in an unsavory and unmentionable place. It required a 5-day prescription of antibiotic cream.

Carrie Hill...

Carrie Hill... Carrie Hill...

The bar faded back into view along with Jason's hand passing over his face.

"Man, you were really gone there. You okay?"

Mr. Winston knocked back yet another shot, savoring the burnign sensation in his throat and expanding in his chest before settling in the pit of his stomach. Soon, the lightheadedness would arrive and he would be forced to call a cab to take him 6 and 3/4 blocks to his apartment. "I think I'll head home." he said finally, tumbling off his bar stool.

"Need a lift?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I'll just call a cab."

Jason looked confused, then hurt. "It's 6 blocks. That's less than a mile."

"Six and three-quarter. City blocks. Besides, you live in the opposite direction."

That made Jason laugh. "Leave it to you to rationalize when you're drunk. Come on," he said taking hold of Nick's arm. He threw a stack of bills on the bar and continued dragging his intoxicated friend out the door.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

My name is Kaylyn.. and I'm a skipper

2009-10-14T15:14:00.003-05:00

I'm beginning to think of chemistry like rehab for my laziness. If can push myself to go, I feel a little bit better about myself. And other people are beginning to take notice as well.

"I don't feel like going to chemistry today," I'll whine. "That's not good. You should try to go." is the usual response I'm met with. And, true, actually attending class has it's advantages. Especially when you take into account that nice safety net of an attendance grade he gives. (:

On the other hand, when I tell someone "I went to chemistry twice this week already," the reaction is quite different. "That's great! Gonna make it all week?" And I'll say I'll try but nothing's promised.. that I want to achieve my goal of going 3 times a week before the end of the semester--which, as it stands, I'm at 2/3 for this week and looking well for Friday--and they tend to encourage me further before I change the subject to something other than my carelessness.

Still, I wonder why I feel so apathetic about this class. It's been suggested to me that because I don't see myself using much chemistry as an English major with a hope to become a published author, I don't care. But is that really the reason? I mean, in high school, I still paid attention in chemistry (for the most part). And I knew then I wanted to be an author.

So is it the freedom of college that allows me to be so apathetic and lazy when it comes to chemistry? Or is it something completely different? I don't know.

But what I do know is that I am at least going to chemistry now. Paying attention... Well, that's another blog. :P

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[And, yes, I wrote this while in chemistry. Poor professor thinks I'm typing notes. Bwahaha!]

And I shall call it Wildfire

2009-10-12T13:21:00.004-05:00

Not that I've totally forgotten about NaNoWarMo.. But I have been thinking about my actual NaNo more and more. It's all about the planning. I know the title. Wildfire. And today, I started working on a synopsis (like what you'd find on the back of the book). Here's what I got so far:

(And, yes, I'm aware some of this may seem familiar)

Wildfire
n.

1. a raging, rapidly spreading fire
2. something that acts very quickly and intensely
3. any large fire that spreads rapidly and is hard to extinguish

Carly Jameson, still sunburned from her Christian youth group's camping trip, is thrown into another unfamiliar wilderness: high school.

Being knocked down to the bottom of the food chain is never easy, especially when your older sister has her 3-inch stiletto implanted firmly on your neck. Not to mention being hated by teachers who think you're just like her. The worst part being it's only 11am!

Carly is about to discover how one off-handed comment can be misinterpreted, repeated, interpreted again, repeated, and spread in the unending, vicious cycle known as gossip; the wildfire quickly consuming her school and life.

not enough / 20,000

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[another] Shameless Plug

2009-10-08T22:28:00.003-05:00

So... taking after Rachel, I'm going to promote my current writing aspiration here. Hopefully, my readers expand wider than my friends circle. Because I think they already know.

What I'd like you to do:

1:. Go to youchronicle.com

It's a place where you can post stories (fiction or non) for free. It's pretty cool. Very small (for now). But you can post, comment, and rate. So please take advantage of all. Especially the latter.

2:. Find me and Rachel.

Isianya and Miss A to Z, respectively.

3:. Rate and comment!

5 stars please! Haha. No, not really. But it'd really help us out. Like... A LOT. Thus far, we've both posted things you've already read so just rate and maybe leave a nice comment to bump us up to the first page.

That's about it. Thanks for your support!

201 / 20,000 (shush!)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

What happened to us

2009-10-06T20:20:00.003-05:00

I said I'd always love you
and, honestly, I tried.
I said I'd never leave you
but, obviously, I lied.

We had it all planned out,
just you and I.
We were going to take on the world
or at least give it a try.

Then the days grew longer
and the nights grew dim.
Then I met another
and I wanted only him.

Now we're truly happy
and every day's a blessing.
But you're always sad
and that's truly depressing.

We'll never be again
not even if we tried.
I couldn't say I love you
not even if I lied.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

What the hell is NaNoWarMo?

2009-10-01T23:51:00.003-05:00

Sooo... It's officially October. Yay. Which means two things: Halloween, which I'm especially excited for this year considering my costume, and something I like to call "NaNoWarMo." Yes. NaNoWarMo.

NaNoWarMo is my own personal training period before NaNoWriMo. Instead of trying to hit the ground running in November trying to flesh out 50,000 words in 30 days, I'm going to do 20,000 words for the month of October as a warm up. Get it? NaNoWar-Mo. Yeah, I'm clever. Haha.

I'll try to post my progress and selective chapters/excerpts here. I won't make y'all muddle through all 20,000 words.

So here we go!

0/20,000

.:~*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

The Storm

2009-09-24T20:47:00.002-05:00

The storm was approaching; fast and determined. Katherine sat at her window looking out at the dark clouds gathering outside her home. Inside, the storm that had been brewing downstairs finally exploded in a volley of screams and crashes louder than any thunder or lightning Mother Nature could beat out.

Dad was home from his "business trip" in Seattle. But not before Karen had called to inform him that he had forgot his tie in her hotel room.

"What the hell were you doing in her hotel room, Derrick?" Mom's voice rang out over the patter of raindrops now hitting Katherine's windowpane.

Dad's voice soon followed, low and steady. It crept up the stairs, gathering in a puddle in the hallway before just barely slipping under the crack in Katherine's door. "Would you stop screaming at me? Jesus! Calm down."

Something broke against the wall. Probably a wine glass. Or maybe one of their wedding dishes. Katherine had always hated that pattern. One less hideous dish to wash. She thought.

"I will not calm down until you tell me what the hell happened in Seattle. Did you sleep with her? Is that it?"

A long stroke of lighting flashed in the distance. Katherine studied it's crooked form. It looked as though there were too much energy within the bolt and it haphazardly fell to the ground, streaking the horizon with a brilliant white light.

"Answer the damn question!" Another broken glass.

I hope she doesn't think I'm cleaning that up.

"Watch where you're aiming, damn it!" Now Dad was yelling now too. He never yelled. At least not at Katherine. Like any man, he yelled at the tv during football games or in traffic. But never at her or her mother.

The rain was coming down in sheets now. It was hard to see the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

"Are you sleeping with her?"

"Anne, how could you ask--"

"Are you?!"

A loud clap of thunder shook the house to its very foundation. Katherine jumped back from her window, lunging for her stuffed turtle. She held Mr. Slowpokes close to her chest, squeezing the metaphorical life from him. How she hated storms. And the worse part was still the come.

"I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Like what? Like what, Derrick?! When I'm right?"

The rain was coming down harder than ever. And both her parents shouting over it-- over the rain, over the thunder, over their own insecurities.

"Arrgh!" Something vibrated downstairs. Dad had punched the wall. "You're my wife. We have a daughter--a family! You think I would throw that away?! We were working late. The restaurant in the hotel closed at nine and there were still forms due by morning. Karen's room was closest, so we worked there. I took off my shoes and tie. Nothing else!"

The rain began to subside. The violent storm was beginning to die away. The house was quiet long enough for Katherine to hear sirens in the distance. There were always accidents during storms. People drove recklessly, not taking the necessary precautions needed. She had heard her dad gripe about the people who insisted on speeding on the slick roads. "You see that car there? Mr. Gordon there will be wrapped around a telephone poll before long." he would say.

"Nothing else?"

The raindrops were slowly sliding down Katherine's window. She raced two of them, seeing which one would join its friends at the sill first. Her guess was wrong. But she took solace in that the storm was subsiding.

"Nothing else. I love you."

Sobs echoed from the kitchen. Her mother was crying. "I'm sorry. I just..."

"Shhh. It's alright. I should have called home more. I'll never give you a reason to worry again."

Outside, things were silent. Just like that, the storm was over. The calm was beginning to set in. Katherine lay on her back with her hands folded behind her head. Mr. Slowpokes' beady black eyes stared back at her from his perch on her stomach. She sighed, "I hate storms."

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Unwell

2009-09-15T14:35:00.003-05:00

I haven't been writing much lately. Before, I couldn't write because I didn't need the escape. Happiness. Bliss. And I'm still happy. It just takes a lot more to make me smile these days. Before, waking up made me smile. It meant a new day of opportunities, another day of living, and one more day closer to going home. But now I wake up and want to cry...

I'm crying a lot more these days. On average, I'd say a "good" day is one when I manage to only cry twice. I can't explain it--maybe I'm depressed. Or it could just be stress taking its toll on me. I'm sleeping more too. Hours pass in one sleeping spell. That's not good.

My hair is falling out as well. At first, I thought it was normal. Just shedding or something. But I'm starting to find clumps tangled in the bristles of my brush.

Maybe I'm just a silly, emotional girl afterall.

Things set me off a lot more easily now. The other night, I was listening to music to calm me. To make myself sleepy because it was late and I needed my body to get used to sleeping at night after sleeping most of the day. One song sent me bawling, realizing how much I missed him. So I change to another song, which sings the story of us. And I cry some more because I realize how much I need him.

School is hard as well. That sends me into more crying fits. And that I know is stress. Or something. I'm a wreck. A shaky ball of nerves surrounded by anxiety sprinkled with stress.

Have people around me helps. When I'm in the company of others, things seem better. There's laughter. Even if it's not my own. It's something. I don't like being alone these days.

For those actually reading this, I'm sorry. Not my usual stuff, I know. I'm not one to talk about my feelings. Ever. I keep quiet, never wanting to be an inconvenience. Never wanting to ruffle any feathers. Never wanting to make things difficult on those I care about. No worries, right? But I have all these emotions moving around in me and I feel if I don't have some sort of release, I'm going to explode. Metaphorically, of course. I think. I hope.

Escape

2009-08-28T13:39:00.007-05:00

I got really bored in the library today and found myself wanting an escape...

That Place

Let's return to that place
of innocence and immortality,
of candied clouds and frosted forests,
of delightful days and enchanting evenings,
of smiling suns and merry moons.

Oh, if we could return to that place
before the sorrow, before the pain,
without concern, without complain,
before corruption, before gain,
without darkness and without rain.

Can we return to that place?
Forget the lessons learned?
Run across the bridges burned?
Shall we reject wisdom?
Desire freedom?
Deny truth?
Accept youth?

Yes, let us return to that place
where all was well and good.
Let's return to that magical place
I think it's called childhood.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Alone

2009-08-23T22:30:00.006-05:00

Okay, so I'm trying to get better at writing by trying new things. This is my attempt at two things: writing in the present (fully) and writing about "real life" (as opposed to fantasy or period pieces). You know the drill: read and comment.

...

I never feel more alone than when I'm around other people. I'm not crazy. I know I'm not crazy. In fact, I'm quite brilliant at times. But no one knows that except my closest friends and family who've known me for years. I'm not too good at meeting new people.

I have what's called Social Anxiety Disorder--ironically becoming the acronym SAD, which is how I feel most of the time after being forced to meet new people.

Dr. Clark said my "condition" causes me to feel panicked in social situations with large groups of people, especially if those people are strangers. She continued by giving me a long speech littered with medical jargon and lawyer two-face talk but I stopped listening after a certain point (There was a bird hopping on her outer windowsill that held my attention). Our first session ended with her telling me because there isn't much known about my disorder, there's no clinical reason to medicate me.

I guess the problems started in college. I had always been a little shy in high school but I still managed to make some really good, life-long friends. So I never thought I had any trouble with new people. But once we graduated and dissipated to different cities, that all changed. I stayed close to home and went to the state college, thinking that maybe if I stayed close to my roots, I'd have more in common with the people I'd encounter. I was wrong.

Move in day was hell. As I tried to learn the campus on my own, I was constantly bombarded with tens of new, smiling faces asking me if I needed help. They wore bright red shirts with JUST ASK ME printed in bold white lettering. They may as well have been holding flashing neon signs reading STAY AWAY. I guess they were just trying to be friendly. But, to me, it just came off as creepy. Every time one of the red shirts approached me, I could feel my heart pounding harder. When one particularly overly-friendly girl came up to me, waving wildly and flipping her bleached blonde hair about, I literally thought I would faint. "Are you new?" she asked me. Before I could answer, a slew of new questions flew from her mouth. "Freshman? Do you stay on campus? Which residence hall are you looking for? Here, let me show you on that map you're clutching!" I politely shook my head, dropping my eyes back down to the ground and continued to my dorm.

It took me twenty minutes to find the right building. But I was glad to be free of the welcoming committee.

That was about six years ago now...

I share a nice, three-bedroom apartment that overlooks the park with some girls from work. The company owns the whole building and HR works very hard to place people together that share something in common. Connor, a guy I met junior year at college who also interned for the company and eventually got a job there like me, ended up sharing his apartment with guys who had a passion for football. And every Monday night, like clockwork, their apartment is a roar of laughter and cheer. Other than being female, I share nothing with these girls.

Angela (or "Angie" as she insists I call her), the girl whose room is just down the hall from me, is a very attractive and fun-loving woman. She has friends from all over the country who come to visit often, which makes me a bit nervous. But I never say anything because she lives there too, and I feel it's a bit selfish to deny her the joy of having friends over just because I have trouble making new friends. Meg, our other roommate, usually finds some excuse to leave the apartment for hours when Angie's friends are over to avoid the whole awkward situation of being introduced as a butch lesbian--which Angela let slip one very drunken night when Meg returned to get her wallet.

Tonight, Angela's friend Tony.. Tommy..? Todd... Ted... someone is coming in from Seattle and wants to "just swing by for an hour or two before catching his flight in the morning." I look over at Meg, who's already checking movie times on her iPhone.

"What about you, Jeannie?" Angela asks. I've told her thousands of times it's Jeanine. But she has this thing about nicknames.. I can't figure it out.

"Yeah, sure, it's fine." I say, wondering if Meg wants company for her movie.

"I swear it'll only be a couple of hours. Tim has an early flight out tomorrow morning. But we haven't seen each other in two years. Oh, he's going to be so excited!" She flutters off to her room, dialing Tim on her way down the hall. From the kitchen, Meg and I can hear her giggling like a schoolgirl as she invites him over.

Meg sighs. "In that case, I better make that a double feature."

I pray it won't be that bad.

When seven o'clock rolls around, I'm in my room with the door open (a simple thing Connor told me to do to "show the girls I was more open") reading a book. After knocking, Meg pokes her head in. "Angie's painting on her face," she inclines her head towards the bathroom. "Last chance. Sure you don't wanna join me? I was thinking of getting some dinner at that place you told me about last week. You know the one."

Poor thing, she's trying so hard. Since I've never brought any guys over other than Connor that one time, I guess she thinks she has a chance. "No, thank you. It's only a couple of hours. I'll be fine. Jodi and I can manage until then."

Meg frowns a bit. "Picoult again? Suit yourself." With that, she turns and leaves the doorway. I hear the door open and shut right after each other. I wait until I can hear the jingle of her keys lock the door back before returning to my novel.

Click click click click click. Angela flies down the hall wearing a black dress that leaves little to the imagination, a face full of make up, and bright red heels with a matching bracelet. Click click. She backtracks to my door. "Oh, you're still here. I thought I had the place to myself tonight. Is it alright if we use the living room and kitchen tonight? Tim wants to make me something he picked up in Italy. And then we'll probably watch a movie."

I nod, wondering how that would take "only a couple of hours." Damn, I should have went with Meg.

There's a knock at the door and Angela moves quickly--too quickly for someone in heels and a dress, if you ask me--to answer. "Shit. He's early." The door opens and I hear not one, but two male voices.

"I hope you don't mind, Angie, but I brought along my buddy, Robert. We met at a sports' bar downtown. Turns out he's in Chicago on business as well." says the first voice.

Angie clears her throat. And though I'm all the way in my room, I swear I can hear the fabric of her dress being pulled down as she realizes the night not going where she originally planned. "Oh, sure, the more the merrier! Robert, is it?"

"Anyone as pretty as you can call me Robbie." His voice is like silk. He's a smooth talker like so many of the men Angela parades through the apartment. Perhaps the night will go well for her after all. They all laugh hardily and the sound of three pairs of feet move across the living room floor. Angela offers the guys wine and they both accept.

Forty pages later, Robbie has become a regular Adam Sandler, sending both Angela and Tim into fits of laughter with sentences that just make me roll my eyes with their simplicity and vulgarity.

"Say, Angie, where's your bathroom?"

"Oh, just down the hall." I hear the sound of her bracelets chime as she extends her arm. There's the shift of a bar stool and I hear footsteps approach my door. "And don't you go poking your head in my room!" she calls after him.

"Got something to hide? Hm.. I think I may need to take a piss, too, now that I think about it." Another bar stool shift, followed by the click of Angela's heels.

"Don't you dare!" More laughter.

I intentionally bury my head further into my book, wanting to avoid contact with Tim at all costs. He's a stranger. And, worse off, he's been drinking. Heavily. He passes by my door without saying a word. Good. The toilet flushes. I wait for the sound of the faucet, but it doesn't come. The bathroom door swings open and he returns to the party.

Robbie and Angela stop whatever they were doing quickly because the living room becomes eerily still. "You got a roommate?"

Her voice is lowered but I can make out a "yeah" and something about shyness. Taking the cue, Tim lowers his voice too and says something about rudeness. Robbie, seeming to forget his manners at the bottom of his glass pipes in. "Well, hell, there are more women here! Oh, Angie, I'm offended."

My heart begins pounding. I start trying to calculate the speed of a 20-something year old male with an impaired sense of mobility against that of a 23 year old female. If I could just make it to my door before him... But before I could throw my book on my nightstand, there was Robbie at my door. He leaned against the door frame a bit for support as he examined me. "Evenin'," he says, his voice not as smooth when he's slurring words.

"Uh, hi."

"I'm so sorry," Tim appears in the doorway tugging on Robbie's arm. Now there are two strange men at my door. Lovely. "Please forgive my friend. He's drunk. I'm sorry. He won't bother you anymore. Come on, let's go."

"Wait just a minute," he says taking his arm back, "Now, I believe you owe us any apology, missy."

I don't like this. Where the hell is Angela? Can't she control her guests for God's sake? My hands are shaking, I can hear the pages of my book rattling in the wake of all the motion.

"And why is that?" I ask, trying my best to sound confident even though I'm quite sure I'm suffering from a minor heart attack at the moment.

"Well," he says trying to take a step forward into my bedroom but is thankfully held back by Tim. "Here you are, keeping all that cuteness to yourself while we suffer in agony up there."

"I heard that!" Angela calls back. "Leave my poor roommate alone, you two. She obviously doesn't want to come out and play." Oh God, she's drunk. Either that or she's doing that giddy-girl thing that she often does. It's hard to tell with Angela.

After some coaxing from Tim, Robbie sighs and begins backing away from my door. "Alright, alright, I'll go. But the offer still stands, little lady." He winks at me.

I shake the dirty feeling from my body and quickly shut my door, turning the lock. Their voices are muffled now. Ten pages from now, they will cease to exist in my mind. Dr. Clark tells me it's good to escape, to try to imagine myself in a far away place when I become panicked like this. It's worked so far. I return to my book, gladly welcoming the soothing sound of Jodi's voice in my head as I scan the words on the page. Goodbye Angela. Goodbye Tim. Goodbye Robbie. Goodbye Chicago. Goodbye fear.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Wait, what?

2009-08-15T14:18:00.006-05:00

I've been told that I "talk funny." Or differently. Or, if you're my sister, I talk "like a book." Which, I find funny because I always talk when I write. That is, I say things as I'm typing them, so my writing often reflects my speech. I just never thought it could work the other way around as well.

Anyway, it has come to my attention that, yes, I do use words differently. Or use words as I have come to understand them (which is often wrong). But there are some words and phrases that I fully understand and irk me when I hear people say them.

So here's my placeholder blog/rant about things that I have actually witnessed people say that make me stop and go, "Wait, what?":

1. came out of nowhere

This is usually used by some new-licensed teenager describing the events leading to cause of the dent in their parents' car. I swear, I was being careful but this truck came out of nowhere and just BAM! Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but the truck (or whatever) did, in fact, come from somewhere. It had to. Everything comes from somewhere. Nothing comes from nowhere. You just didn't see it.

For it to "come out of nowhere" or "come from nowhere," the truck would have literally had to materialize before your eyes seconds before impact. And even in that case, it existed somewhere before being hurled through the space-time continuum and hitting you. And even then, it still came from somewhere. Some place. Some time. Some date. You just don't know where/when that is.

Or is it because you didn't see it, it didn't exist in your mind until it was damaging the paint job on your daddy's new toy and forever crushing your chances of extending your curfew? And if that's so, that's quite... interesting, actually. Things we don't see, don't hear, don't experience can't exist to us. Right?

Whoah, I'm getting off subject here. I talk with many tangents and, like I said, it's reflected in my writing. Right then, back on target:

2. alone together

I heard this on some trashy teenage drama one night in my dorm. Alone. Together. Textbook definition of oxymoron. Yet, it's still used. Usually, by some seductive female lead trying not to break her newly-botoxed face(less she expose the fact she's really 26 still portraying an 18 year old) as she strategically strokes the arm of the overly muscular male lead who seems to have a problem keeping his shirt on. Which begs the question: Shouldn't you know better than to use phrases like that?

3. you know

You know how people overly use a certain word or phrase? Like.. uhm.. kinda how.. you know? Or use said word or words as a period and you're left wondering if they're actually finished or have just misplaced their train of thought, you know. So, there you are, trying to remain cordial and not cut them off but you're just staring at each other, you know. My usual response is, "No, I don't know," you know? Hence the reason we're discussing, you know?

---

There are more. But I would have to hear them and be reminded. And I know I'm guilty of saying things that are incorrect as well. Very often, in fact. But I try to correct myself. Try. Sometimes.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Wildfire

2009-08-05T17:57:00.005-05:00

I'm beginning to lose faith in people. Quickly. Why should I continue to give people the best of me when all I get in return in the worst of them? Isn't it possible for me to just live my life without commentary from those who should just mind their own business? I mean, is your life so pathetically empty that you need to discuss someone else's? Mine. What pleasure will come to you by destroying my reputation? What reward? What... point?

So, yeah, Hawkins is dealing with some drama. But I won't let it get me down (more than it already has). Shouldn't complain about inspiration, I guess.

Wildfire
n

1. a raging, rapidly spreading fire
2. something that acts very quickly and intensely
3. any large fire that spreads rapidly and is hard to extinguish
___________

"Wildfire"
(This was originally meant to be a poem. Now it's... an extended metaphor. My feelings are too jumbled to fit into a nice, pretty poem.)

It only takes a spark to light a fire; one moment of carelessness and disregard to start the heated flames. And once they catch light, there is no stopping the birth of a wildfire-- Flames are teeming with hatred and pettiness, devouring everything in its path. Honesty falls victim to the destruction; Truth lost in the chaos and dismay. The once hopeful and innocent skies are now darkened with the thick, black clouds swirling above the smoldering ashes of once happy lives. There is nothing that can quell a wildfire's hunger for more. More destruction. More chaos. More anger. Burn, wildfire, burn.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Dear John

2009-08-01T16:29:00.003-05:00

Haha. This made me lol. And it was fun.

Dear Glenn,

I don’t really know how to tell you this, but our romance is over. I think I realized it last year when you peed your pants in your car and I saw you hit on my salt-beef bucket. I’m sure you’re middle class enough to understand that Santa doesn’t exist. I’m returning the couch cushions to you, but I’ll keep the results of that blood-sample as a memory. You should also know that I always wanted to break your legs and I haunt you when I’m reincarnated as an Eskimo.

Go drown,
Kaylyn.
_____________

Want your own?

1) What's the color of your shirt?
Blue - I'm in love with your cat
Red - Our affair is over
White - I’m joining the Convent
Black -Our romance is over
Green- Our socks don't match
Grey - You're a leprechaun
Yellow - I'm selling myself for candy
Pink - Your nostrils are insulting
Brown - The mafia wants you
No color - Purple hedgehogs want to destroy you
Other -I dislike your eyelashes

2) Which is your birth month?
January - That night you picked your nose
February -When I quoted Forest Gump
March - When your dwarf bit me
April - When I tripped on peanut butter
May - When I finally changed my underwear
June - When you put cuffs on me
July – When I saw the purple monkey
August - When you smacked my butt
September - Last year when you peed your pants
October - When we skinny dipped in the bathtub
November - When your dog humped my leg
December - When I threw up in your sock drawer

3) Which food do you prefer?
Tacos - In your apartment
Chicken- In your car
Pasta -Outside of your office
Hamburgers - Under the bus
Salad – As you were eating Kraft Dinner
Lasagna - Outside the mental hospital
Kebab - With Jean Chrétien
Seafood - In your closet
Sandwiches - At the Elton John concert
Pizza - At the mental hospital
Hot dog - Under a street light
Annat- With George Bush and Stephen Harper

4) What's the color of your socks?
Yellow - Ignore
Red - Put whipped cream on
Black - Hit on
Blue - Knock out
Purple - Pour syrup on
White - Carve your initials into
Grey - Pull the clothes off
Brown - bite off
Orange - Castrate
Pink - Pull the pants off of
Barefoot - Sit on
Other - Drive over

5) What's the color of your underwear?
Black - My boyfriend
White - My father
Grey – The Catholic Priest
Brown – The Montreal Canadian’s goalie
Purple - My corned beef hash
Red – My knee caps
Blue - My salt-beef bucket
Yellow - My illegitimate child in Ghana
Orange - My Blink 182 cd
Pink – Your ‘My Little Pony’ collection
Other --The elephant in the corner

6) What do you prefer to watch on TV?
One Tree Hill - Senile
Heroes- Frostbitten
Lost - High
Simpsons- Cowardly
The news - Scarred
American Idol - Masochistic
Family Guy - Open
Top Model - Middle-class
Annat -shamed

7) Your mood right now?
Happy - How awful you are
Sad - How boring you are
Bored - That I get turned on only by garbage men
Angry - That your smell makes me vomit
Depressed – That we’re related
Excited - That I may pee my pants
Nervous - The middle-east is planning their revenge on you
Worried - That your Ford sucks
Apathetic - That you need a sex-change
Silly - That I'm allergic to your earlobes
Sleepy - That Santa doesn't exist
Ashamed - That there is no solution to you being a dumb kid
Other - That your driving sucks

8) What's the color of your walls in your bedroom?
Grey - Your toe ring
Yellow - Your love letters to me
Red - The pictures from Vegas
Black - Your pet rock
Blue - The couch cushions
Green - Your car
Orange - Your false teeth
Brown - Your nose hair clippers
White - Our matching snoopy underwear
Purple - Your old New Kids on the Block blanket
Pink - The cut toenails
Other - Your Hannah Montana underwear

9) The first letter of your first name?
A/B - Your neighbours dog
C/D - Your photo with the mustache drawn on it
E/F - My virginity
G/H - The oil tank from your car
I/J - Your left ear
K/L - The results of that blood-sample
M/N - Your glass eye
O/P - My common sense
Q/R - Your mom
S/T - Your collection of butterflies
U/V - Your criminal record
W/X – Your sucide note
Y/Z - Your credit cards

10) The last letter in your last name?
A/B - Love your sweet, sweet butt
C/D - Always will remember the pep talks
E/F -Never will forget that night
G/H – Will not tell the authorities that you stole the whale from the backyard.
I/J – Mocked you behind your back constantly
K/L - Hate your cooking
M/N - Told in my confession today about the moose poaching
O/P - Told my psychiatrist about the bruises
Q/R - Get sick when I think of your feet
S/T - Always wanted to break your legs
U/V - Will try to forget that you broke my heart
W/X - Am better off without you
Y/Z – haven't showered in a month

11) What do you prefer to drink?
Wine- Our friendship is ruined
Soft drink – I’m off to lead a new life as a lemon
Soda – I will haunt you when I’m reincarnated as an Eskimo
Milk - The apartment building is on fire
Water – I'm scratching my butt as you read this
Cider– I have a passionate interest for mice
Juice – You ruined my attempts at another world war.
Snapple/Vitamin water – You should get that embarrassing rash checked out
Hot chocolate – Your Cucumber-fetishism is weird
Whiskey - I love Oprah Winfrey
Beer – I threw up yesterday
Other – you should stop picking your nose

12) To which country would you prefer to go on a vacation?
Thailand – Greetings to your frog, Leonard
Australia - best of luck on the sex change
France - Love always
Spain - With tears of sadness
China – You make me sick
Germany – Please don’t hurt me
Japan - Go milk a cow
Greece - Your everlasting enemy
USA - Warm tingly sensations
Egypt – Kiss my butt
England - Go drown

Dear(someone you recently talked to),
I don't really know how to tell you this, but (1). I think I realized it (2)(3) and I saw you(4)(5) I'm sure you're (6) enough to understand (7). I'm returning (8) to you, but I'll keep (9) as a memory. You should also know that I (10) and (11)
(12),
(Your name)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Just look up, baby, it's in the stars..

2009-07-24T18:45:00.003-05:00

So... There's really nothing to "report." No story to tell. No poem to post. I'm still happy; smiling and laughing everyday because of him. It's bliss. But I refuse to neglect this and let it die. Besides, if I don't train myself to write frequently I am going to become one poor author in the future.. or one rich stripper.. Hmmmm....

ANYWAYZ... A friend led me to this link. And I think it's pretty accurate. Scarily accurate. It's a little long, so I'll spare you and bold the parts I found interesting that pertain to me. I just find it intriguing that my entire personality is influenced by what sign I was born under. It makes me wonder how much different I would have been if I had been born just 3 days later...

[from mysticalblaze.com/Astrology.htm]

Virgo is a Mutable Earth sign, ruled by Mercury. As the sixth sign of the zodiac, and the only sign represented by a woman, the Virgo individual is reliable, industrious, intelligent, and practical, adhering to standards that are quite high in virtually all aspects of their lives. Famous and historical figures sharing Virgo traits are Mother Teresa (August 27), Michael Jackson (August 29), Ivan the Terrible (September 4), and President William H. Taft (September 15).

The Virgo personality is a complex mix of intelligence, common sense, attention to detail, and commitment. This is a down-to-earth sign with a strong sense of responsibility, especially with regard to family and close friends. Although they are described as orderly and neat in most personality profiles, the modern day Virgo may not always stand out from the crowd in the neatness department. However, even if the Virgo's house or office is not always in perfect order, you can be sure that they still know where to instantly find whatever they need, despite it being hidden in a pile somewhere. The real stand-out feature of the Virgo personality is their commitment to excellence in everything they do. This is a person who once committed to a given task, will complete it to the very best of his ability. If something goes wrong, and the task is incomplete or not perfectly done, it will be on Virgo's mind for some time to come. Virgos can be quite critical of perceived flaws in others, but do not take kindly to criticism themselves. They are very aware of body and health, and will take a dim view of comments related to the physical, such as weight gain or acne, of which they are already painfully aware. If life becomes too complicated or their already fragile ego is damaged, Virgo may become depressed to the point of immobilization at home, but will probably still function perfectly in the workplace. Virgo tends to be fairly careful with money and usually won't be caught without at least a small nest egg tucked away somewhere.

For those with a Virgo child, you have an energetic, talkative, analytic kid who may show maturity beyond his years starting at an early age. These kids are constantly seeking out new activities, and require a constant stream of books and projects to keep them from becoming bored. Your Virgo child will actually appreciate it when you give him household tasks to complete, and will generally do a good job with them, asking many questions along the way so he can do the best job possible. Be sure not to criticize if his job does not turn out just right, however, as this will deflate his ego and he will not likely want to try again any time soon. It's better with a Virgo to just talk about the nuts and bolts of how you accomplish the same task. Virgo children are somewhat shy when confronted with new situations, so providing them with opportunities to socialize with other kids is an important part of their upbringing. Virgos will do well in school due to their industrious nature and determination. This is a willing little worker who should be supported fully in any direction in which he shows interest, such as music or science. The Virgo child should do well as far as relationships within the family, unless there is a sibling with traits that he just cannot abide, such as a critical, pushy, or messy brother or sister. In cases like this, giving the Virgo child a place of his own that he can retreat to is always a good idea.

Virgo in the workplace is generally a dream come true. These are intelligent, industrious, detail-oriented people who don't mind having superiors and who will be active team members as long as they are provided with the tools needed to do the job correctly. In general, they are routine-oriented, doing their jobs the same way and in the same order day after day, and this shouldn't be interfered with or they will be thrown off balance. Virgo may seem bossy and controlling at work at times, but this is not about ego - they are not striving to be the top dog. Rather, they have an inner clock by which they work, and anyone that interferes is dealt with appropriately according to their Virgo standards. Virgo is a star in the workplace when all their elements are intact - workspace that is organized and tidy, head organized and tidy, and body organized and tidy. If anything becomes out of kilter, their performance could vary somewhat, but not so much in the workplace as in their personal lives, which can often become a chaotic mess because of their strong inborn sense of orderliness and the world in general not falling into line.

If you have found a romantic partner in Virgo, you have found a classy, intelligent, and witty partner indeed. You may have some trouble landing that Virgo, as they do tend to look before they leap, but when they do take the plunge, they do it with gusto. Once you are in a committed relationship with Virgo, you will have a partner that is willing to work to please you as long as you remember not to step on their sense of routine and order. Virgo doesn't mind you taking the lead, but will buck if you disturb their sense of how things should be around the household. A simple rule of thumb is take care of your Virgo, and your Virgo will take care of you!

The best matches for Virgo are Taurus, Capricorn, and another Virgo (Virgos tend to understand each other). Cancer, Leo, Libra, and Scorpio might work well for some individuals. It will likely be tough going with Gemini, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

Virgo in any relationship will be a diligent, hard worker who once imbedded in the friendship will go the extra mile when needed. Virgos are fairly critical and can tend to be nit-picky, but if you understand and accept this, they will be good friends who will amaze you with their wit and creativity. Be careful not to step on your Virgo friend's ego, as they may go into a tailspin. Many a Virgo has retreated to alcohol and drugs to lick open wounds. All in all, however, your Virgo friend will be an asset and an ally who will allow you to take the lead if you have proven to be a trusted entity in their lives.

_______

Weird, huh?

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

The Journey

2009-07-08T01:48:00.002-05:00

For best results, read aloud. Enjoy!

The Journey

I take the road less travelled
not knowing where it will end
rejecting the guided path
and hoping to find a friend.
A companion to share this journey
and one to hold my hand.
One who will lead me
when my own certainty fails to command.
But the road has room for only one
to travel aimlessly into the rising sun.
I cry out to the sky
and reach out for the wind
regretting the good-byes
and praying this journey will soon end.
And when the journey is done
when all the steps have been taken
I will emerge
reborn
refreshed
and awakened.
I will look back upon the bridges
now ablaze with change
their smoldering ashes
whispering my name
calling me back to the past
and beckoning my presence
and refuse
for I have learned my lesson.
The road less travelled now lies beneath my feet
but the journey is now
ever-changing
ever-growing
and incomplete.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Great Scott!

2009-06-13T10:59:00.003-05:00

I think I've got it!

I think I've finally figured out why I'm having so much trouble writing. This may sound dumb, but it's happiness. I'm so happy now. The reason I write (and read) so much is because it's always been my escape. My reading/ writing was the one place I controlled, my safe place. But now, I've become so blissfully happy that I don't want to escape. I like my life as is.

And it's going to stay like this for a while...

So I'm sorry for those of you who have enjoyed my shorts and poems usually found here. Though, I'll probably have some poems in the future. :)

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

[Still] Too lazy to type

2009-05-06T17:01:00.003-05:00

Yes, it's two videos. The first take started doing some weird time skip stuff towards the end.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*O~:.

2009-04-23T17:36:00.002-05:00

You know when you're sitting in class, distracted by something else? Not really wanting to be there? So you let your mind wander, imaging yourself someplace else? Creating another, parallel world similar to your own only more.. entertaining? Yeah. This is that:

With every word, I feel the teacher degrading me, judging me. She's eying me, glaring at me. She knows I didn't do my work and whatever flimsy excuse I conjured in the hallway, she's ready to shoot down. Even her hand gestures are intimidating She's pointing, accusing. Why didn't you do your work? What's with you? Shape up!

Her eyes are ablaze with accusation, boring into my very core; reducing me to a pathetic mass, huddled in a dark corner of unworthiness. That's what she wants, to throw me out of her class, casting me off as a sorry excuse for a student. She can't bear to look at me and I'm too ashamed to raise my head to face her.

Her words keep coming. The class is participating. They know as well. They hate me for showing up. They hate me for the hours they spent slaving over their desks and notes while I did God knows what all evening. They won't look at me. They're too good, too studious, to waste their time sending me a chastising word or even a glare. Dear God, I wish they would glare! Just one, sinister, cold-hearted glare. But, no, they're too focused on the work before them, too engaged with the teacher. They're saying, "See this is how it is done. This is how a student behaves." Their chants grow louder and louder in my head until it's one deafening ringing noise.

Damnit, where is that bell? Where is the shining beacon of hope that will save me from this torture? 2:57. Three more minutes. 180 agonizing seconds before I'm freed.

Outside, people are in the hall. They're talking, laughing, communicating with one another. How I yearn to join them! To be free...

I'm staring at the door now, longing apparent on my face. I'm wondering if I can master the art of astral projection in less than 3 minutes. I think I can, I think I can. There's no place like... anywhere but here.

BRRRINGG!

Hallelujah! I leap to my feet, bag in hand, bounding for the door.

"Uh... Miss Johnson?"

Shit.

"Would you mind coming here for a moment?"

Yes, actually, I mind very much. "Yes ma'am?"

"Were you absent yesterday? I don't have you marked... but I'm missing your assignment."

Relief washed over my being. I smiled inwardly. "Why, yes, yes ma'am, I was."

"Can you turn in your assignment tomorrow, then?"

I could have kissed her! "I'll have it on your desk by 8am, if you like."

She smiled. "That won't be necessary. Just turn it in when you can."

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

About the Author

2009-04-12T12:06:00.005-05:00

A good friend of mine once said (something to the effect of), “Everything I can’t say, I put quotes around.”

Which, after recognizing and deeply appreciating the irony, I found myself agreeing with fully.

Everything I can’t say, I (too) put quotes around. I make it rhyme. I put it in verse. Situations I don’t want to face, I place in a distant world of my own creation. True stories and instances I don’t want to be questioned about because I’m just not ready, I label Shorts. It’s not so much sweeping under the rug as it is… giving welfare to corporations and calling it a bailout. A rose by any other name would still… suck as much.

I’ve been avoiding writing, I’ve noticed. Which is funny because it’s what I do, right? It’s what I love. It’s on the top of the very short list of things I’m actually good at. It’s… God, it’s writing! And, as I’ve said before and still stick by, writing makes it real. Really, really real. Writing makes it possible for your deepest fears to stare you back in the face with every bit of brutal honesty 26 letters can carry. And that scares me.

But if I won’t face it, and I can’t write about it… I’m at a loss. A loss for words. A loss for action. I’m lost.

I pride myself on being able to blur the line between fact and fiction. And now, it is that very talent which is becoming my downfall. I can’t hide my thoughts and feelings behind my words, rhymes, verses, stanzas, or stories anymore.

It’s funny. When I was growing up, my grandmother and some of my older aunts had a saying for when someone was lying: “You’re storyin’.” Ah, the mystical wisdom of elders…

.:~o*’Kaylyn’*o~:.

That Girl

2009-03-25T02:06:00.002-05:00

That Girl

All alone, night calls
Warm embrace, silence falls
Hearts freeze, then reclaim their beat
Won’t let those feelings unfurl
because I’m not that girl

Hands shaking, knees weak
Can’t move, won’t speak
Butterflies dancing wildly inside
Trying my best to hide and remain shy
You are that guy
But I’m not that girl

Spoken words send the face burning
Unspoken and the soul is a-yearning
For you
For me
Together
As it should be
Lost in Cupid’s world:
That boy
and that girl

Hands grip, biting lip
Too afraid to kiss
Too afraid to slip

I’m not that girl
I never will be
My future’s only filled with closed doors
My hands are tied and my heart is not free
To be the girl I want to be:
Yours.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Family Ties

2009-03-16T16:34:00.001-05:00

“Joanne? Joanne, pick up, it’s Mom. Joanne? Hello? …Listen, we’re all at the hospital right now. Your sister just gave birth. A perfectly healthy boy. Joshua Tyler Warrington; 7 pounds, 5 ounces. Where are you? Joanne? Call me when you get this. We’ll be at the hospital all night. Please come by. Your sister really wants to see you.” Beep.

Your sister really wants to see you. Now there was a laugh. My sister, Joyce, never wanted to see me. Ever since I was born three years after her glorious arrival, it’s been a constant tug-of-war between the two of us. And when I say tug-of-war, I mean I’m left with my face in the mud while Joyce twirls the rope in her hands before tying a Girl Scout knot and rescuing a kitty from a tree. True story. Family reunion of ’93. I was 7.

Things got worse when she off to college. She’d call home every week to tell Mom and Dad how great her classes were going and how exciting Boston was. I swear they would wait by the phone for those calls. I guess I should thank Joyce for occupying our parents’ time so that they didn’t seem to notice when my grades starting slipping, when I got my first hickey, or when that boy ran past them in the kitchen that one time from upstairs. Especially that last one. He was a babe.

It came as no surprise to me when Joyce graduated in three years instead of four and was instantly snatched up by some prestigious law firm on the East Coast. She was always so damn perfect. That’s where she met Jonathon Warrington III. He was some rising star in the firm who “just swept Joyce off her feet in one glance.” A few years later, they were married. The whole idea made me gag.

When Joyce got married, I wasn’t the maid of honor—not that I wanted to be. No, that was her roommate from college, Chrissy, the beauty queen. If you ask me, the title seems a little crazy for a 28-year-old. But don’t tell her that or she’ll freak. Believe me. I wasn’t a bridesmaid either. Jonathon had four sisters: Layce, Chasity, Bambi, and Barbie. Or as I liked to call them: Legs, Chest, Blonde, and—well, Barbie actually worked for that one. Apparently, Joyce thought I was “gallivanting about the country with my rock star boyfriend” that weekend. I didn’t bother telling her I only dated Tommy, the bass player of a local band, for about a month and a half before I found him in my apartment with the lead singer, Amy. And we never traveled anywhere together in that time. He was always rehearsing. With Amy. I really should have seen that one coming.

I figured my parents wanted just one weekend where they didn’t have to explain to everyone why I didn’t have a decent job because I didn’t graduate from college since I completed high school at an alternative school due to that mix-up at that gas station with Rick and his buddies. Joyce was quick to remind me accessory was just as bad as a robbery itself—something she learned in her law class. Of course, my parents jumped on her side before I could plead my case. If I had to hear about how much trouble I could have been in if the owner of the gas station had gotten hurt one more time, I was going to scream.

And now they were procreating. Joy. I sighed, staring down at the stack of bills piled high on the kitchen counter.

“You’re really not going, are you?”

“Hm?”

I had almost forgotten Davis was sleeping on my couch this week. I was too busy avoiding my family. There were twelve messages on the machine. “Joyce is going into labor, Joanne!” “Joanne? Visiting hours are about to be over. Are you coming?” “Joanne, answer me! I know you’re home…”

“Your sister’s kid,” he said, making his way towards the fridge. “You’re really not going to see it, are you? Wow, you’re cold.”

“You don’t know my sister.”

“You’re right,” he pulled a beer from the bottom shelf and opened it. “But I do know she is your sister. And like it or not, she’s still the only one you’ve got.” He took a big sip, waiting for me to thank him for his bit of wisdom. I hated when he did that.

“Right. And now you’re going to tell me how she was the only one to write me when we were in that alternate school together. How my parents refused to come and see me on visitation days because they always said the commute was too much for them and Joyce’s letters were the only thing from home I had…”

He raised his eyebrows and twisted his mouth into that sly smile.

“Shut up and get your keys.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Qu'est-ce que vous avez fait heir?

2009-03-06T11:36:00.003-06:00

Qu'est-ce que vous avez fait heir? This was all my French teacher wrote on the board today before we started to "play a little game." The object of this game was to help us practice and recognize the passe composse. Little did I know, this would turn out to be one of the most exciting and creative classes so far in the semester.

The question means (more or less) "What did you do yesterday?" My professor proceeded in telling us that we, as a class, could make up a story using the past tense about two characters. All we had to do was tell what happened (in English) and she'd write it on the board for us to see (in French).

This "game" started out innocently enough: Our two characters being Jacques Cousteau and Isabelle Clouseau. Soon, after the initial shyness and fear of saying something wrong wore off--all of five minutes--we discovered that Jacques was a superhero. And here is where it got interesting. This is the story that Dr. Carter's French 101, section 02 class wrote (skip down to the bottom for the English translation):

Je me suis lévé à 18h00 après une nuit de lutter contre la crime. J'ai mis mon cape (de violet et du vert). J'ai mis mon costume de superhéro. J'ai bu du nitrogen avant de sortir manger au restaurant avec mon meilleur ami Hancock.

Ils étaient des comarades de chambre à l'université des supérhéros. Ils étaient tout deux amoureux avec Isabelle à l'université mais elle est devenue une villaine, donc ils ont du travailler ensemble pour la battre.

...

Isabelle est entreé dans le restaurant pendant leur repas. Elle avait en rendezvous avec le Joker. Ils ont discuté leur plan de conquérir la Terre.

"Dis, mon frére: Il faut les arreter!"

Jacques est d'accord, donc Hancock a arraché le bar, et il l'a jeté aux villains. Jacques a utilisé sa vision de lasers de fondre le métal dans les portes pour empêcher que les gens sortent. Le Joker a jété une de ses bomboes de fumée et ils se sont echappés par la cuisine.

Quand Jacques et Hancock sont arrivés dans la cuisine, ils ont trouvé une note. La note disait:

Pourquoi si serieux? Tu es faché parce que j'ai volé ta femme?

signé: le Joker

...À continuer dans les adventures fantastiques de Jacques et Hancock!

___________

English version:

I get up at 6p after a night of fighting crime. I put on my cape (purple and green). I put on my superhero costume. I drink liquid nitrogen before going out to eat with my best friend, Hancock.

They were college roommates at Superhero College. They both were in love with Isabelle at college but she turned into a villain, so they now work together to defeat her.

...

Isabelle entered the restaurant during the meal. She has a date with the Joker. They are discussing their plan to take over the world.

"Say, my brother: We have to stop them!"

Jacques agreed, then Hancock took the bar and threw it at the villains. Jacques used his laser vision to melt the metal over the door so they (the villains) couldn't leave. The Joker threw one of his smoke bombs and they (him and Isabelle) escaped threw the kitchen.

When Jacques and Hancock arrived in the kitchen, they found a note. The note read:

Why so serious? You mad because I stole your girl?

signed, The Joker

To be continued.... in the fantastic adventures of Jacques and Hancock!

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Because you're someone alive today, I can live to see tomorrow

2009-03-02T02:10:00.002-06:00

[Two things: First, you need to read this for the following to make sense. Second, apparently, this looks better if you use IE over Firefox.]

There it went. The tiny slip of paper that held my destiny. I watched as the wind swept it away. The symbols meant nothing to me. A name. A location. A time perhaps? I didn’t know. And now I would never know. I watched with tears in my eyes as we sped away from the floating paper. I watched as that tiny white slip danced in the arms of the wind, teasing me with each dip and swirl. And, then, it was gone. I sighed.

I guess you’re goin’ with me now.

I barely knew who he was. Only a kind stranger who took pity on me, the girl with the slip of paper and no clue. And I, the foolish girl, followed him. He could kill me, I thought. Right here. And who would look for me? Who would know I ran off with him? Who would know to ask for a girl seen riding a—what did he call it—motor bike? But something felt right with him. There was something genuine in his smile. There was an honesty in his eyes. I trusted him. I trusted him and I didn’t even know him.

Everything sped past us so quickly. This entire world was far too quick for me. Nothing stayed here. Everything seemed to be a blur of color and light. With sound. Oh, there were such sounds! Horns and motors, bells and whistles, and so many other things I didn’t even know the names for. I was used to the slow, tranquility of things. Where one could stare at an image until it was engrained in your mind for eternity. Where a scent stayed with you long after you had gone from the location. Here, I could barely see what we were passing, much less savor its image.

We slowed to stop. Gas, he had said. We needed gas. I wanted to ask him how air would be useful in this situation, but decided against it. I knew nothing about these contraptions. Once we stopped, he dismounted and turned to me. I stood there, frozen.

He was staring. I felt my cheeks heat up suddenly and darted my eyes to the ground. It was smooth and grey with many spots about it. Some were large spots. Some small. Whatever liquid they were comprised of was thicker than water. And it smelled very badly. He was talking again. Something about a drink. My throat was quite dry, now that he mentioned it. I nodded.

He handed me colored slips of paper with faces on it. I held on tight to these, should the wind be looking for another partner.

It was so bright inside the building. I winced, looking around for some sign of familiarity. Nothing. I was instantly reminded of a wizard’s lair. There were brightly colored bottles and vials filled with liquids lining shelves that seemed to stretch on for miles. Their labels may as well have been blank, for I couldn’t read them. There were hardly any pictures on these labels either. This saddened me. I would have known to stray away from skulls, coffins, or black roses. But there were none. Only letters. Letters and words that meant nothing to me.

A voice sounded behind me. I jumped. I whirled around to face a man much older than the one I was traveling with. Perhaps old enough to be his father. His smile, however, was not genuine. I saw no honesty in his eyes. When he stared at me, I felt a cold sensation. So I dropped my eyes to the ground to avoid contact.
He reached over my shoulder, pointing out a particular beverage. Get him this, he said. And then he was gone. I thought about this for a moment. Could I trust him? Did he direct me to poison? Why would he wish to kill the man I rode in with? After shaking such thoughts from my head, I decided to get the drinks. I had spent too long in this potions’ closet and was ready to leave.

I had seen one before me hand similar colored slips of paper with faces on it to the boy behind the counter. I followed in the same suit. The attendant was calling to me as I walked out with the drinks. Something about change. I didn’t want to change drinks. I wouldn’t know what to change to.

I wish I had changed. The drink stung my chest and burned my throat. At first it was cold and soothing to my mouth, but then it turned on me. I choked while trying to swallow. He watched me as I struggled with this. I simply nodded to his question, not wanting to insult the drink.

We were on the road again. Pictures fading as quickly as they came. Blurs of lights, colors, and sound. I closed my eyes, trying not to focus on the twists and turns we took at such an alarming rate. But I could still feel my stomach churning. Thinking it would help, I tightened my grip on him. This seemed to prompt him.

We exchanged names in a casual banter. My heart skipped a beat when he repeated mine. It sounds so strange with his accent. It barely resembled my name at all. Then, it was his turn. August, he’d said. The rest seemed to fade away with the passing trees and street lamps. August. I savored the taste of his name on my lips. August.

August, who would show me this strange place. August, who would explain the strange sounds. August who would take care of me.

I liked the sound of that.

So, I rested my head against his back and simply said, “Yes. I’d like that.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Fill 'er Up!

2009-02-22T21:15:00.003-06:00

So I was supposed to post something on here but it seems my computer ate it. Or, rather, I can't remember where I saved it. Or if I saved it... Darn. Maybe I'll rewrite it. Possibly. Eh, I dunno. Buuuuut, until I decide on what to post here, you get one of these surveys that have popped up all over Facebook. I liked this one so, I decided to do it. [And, yes, I'm filling in the answers as I post this]

Rules [copied directly from Facebook]: It's harder than it looks! Copy to your own note, erase my answers, enter yours, and tag 10 people. Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real . . . nothing made up! If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers. You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name for the boy/girl name question.

1. What is your name: Kaylyn

2. A four Letter Word: ...kite

3. A boy's Name: Ken

4. A girl's Name: Kathryn

5. An occupation: k.. k.. kinetic engineer? [That's a job, right? It is now...]

6. A color: k.... Kermit the Frog green! [oh, yeah, I'm a beast]

7. Something you wear: k..k.. K Swiss

9. A food: k...k.. [I'm starting to regret doing this] Kellogg's cereal

10. Something found in the bathroom: Kleenex

11. A place: [I cheated. WikiAnswers. Great stuff!] Kyle, Texas

12. A reason for being late: ...k.. -pass-

13. Something you shout: Kaylyn Marie Hawkins! [At least, my mom shouts it... And then I'm in trou-ble.]

14. A movie title: King Kong

15. Something you drink: KOOL-AID!!!

16. A musical group: Killers

17. An animal: Kangaroo

18. A street name: k.. k.. [back to WikiAnswers] Kitch Street, Liverpool

19. A type of car: ...Kia?

20. The title of a song: Kiss Kiss, Chris Brown

God, I gotta find something to write here. My life just isn't interesting enough. Suggestions? :P

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Dance With Me

2009-02-11T12:26:00.005-06:00

Okay, so I'm really itching to go to New Orleans. Like, seriously. I'm really considering looking at a summer roadtrip. And after recent conversation(s), I've found myself inspired by the city, the atmosphere, the... possibilities. So, here's my NOLA inspired poem--I know, right? I haven't written poetry in forEVER! Disclaimer: I'm not from New Orleeeeeeans (just for you, Harrison :P), so it's not going to be 100% accurate or authentic. But, hey, you try to rhyme something like beignet!

Dance With Me

Dance with me
under a rhythm and blues moon,
beneath a bourbon-blanketed sky.
We’ll sway in the heat of June
to the sounds of a familiar zydeco tune.
Just you and I,
me and you,
not a care.
Nothing to do.
But to dance.
Together.
Tonight.
In our beloved New Orleans
What a sight!

Hold me close.
Dance to the beat;
the sounds of jazz swelling beneath our feet.
We’ll dance ‘til the Saints Come Marchin’ In,
‘til the crickets stop singin’
‘til they call us home
'til there’s nowhere left to roam.
Just you and I,
me and you,
not a care.
Nothing to do.
But to dance.
Together.
Tonight.
In our beloved New Orleans
What a sight!

Never let me go.
We'll circle Jackson Square.
With the scent of jambalaya thinning the air,
we'll watch the sun rise over the Mississippi.
See the sparkling water so pretty,
hear the saxes fade
as we wished we had stayed,
uninhibited and unafraid.
Here.
Together.
Tonight.
Dancing.
Beneath a New Orleans street light.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Searching for Serenity

2009-02-07T23:30:00.006-06:00

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

He's here now. There's no denying it anymore. I saw him. I saw his face--so much like my father's. I heard his voice. I heard him say my name...

Carey. That's his name. My brother. Half-brother. God, it looks so strange in print. The word's so alien to me: brother. I could type it a hundred times and still be in disbelief. I've never had a brother. And this is certainly not the circumstances I wished to gain one from.

I've been told I'm acting selfishly. Bratty. Bitchy. Wrong. And I always ask Why? The answers always the same: Think about Carey. He didn't ask for this. He's been without a father. He just wanted to know you. And while I agree with that, I also realize that was a choice. He chose to seek us out after finding out about us. He was free to choose something else. So why can't I be free to choose to not automatically accept him? Not to feel awkward? To not want this? Don't I get a choice? Or am I just to follow his decision, even though it affects me? That doesn't seem fair to me.

If anything, he needs a relationship with my father. His father. Not me. There's nothing I can do for him.

I keep holding on to some small glimmer of hope that this could possibly not be real. That I'll wake up and realize it was all a dream. Or Ashton will jump out. Maybe if I click my heels... I'd settle for either at the moment.

Now that it's here--he's here, I should try to accept it. But I don't want to. I feel like I wasn't given a choice. I just needed time. I need time. I want time.

I can't change this, may as well accept it.
Or the courage to find a way change it....

Bound

2009-02-06T09:46:00.007-06:00

We're all bound by something--to someone. Every one of us. Bound by friendship, bound by blood, bound by honor, bound by duty. Some of us, bound by secret. But what do we do when those bonds are broken and we're left standing alone? Do we dance a celebratory dance of freedom, waving our arms wildly in the golden streets as the trumpets sound and the angelic chorus chants? Or do we remain there, lost, broken, confused with the lacerations of our chains still burning brightly on our skin? Who do we reach out to in the darkness? Who is there to hold your hand when you're left alone? -Me

I've been recently thinking about why people do the things they do. Why governments lie to their people. Why friends betray each other. Why lovers go their separate ways. Why parents hold secrets....

The conclusion I've come to is this: Security.

Whether we'd like to admit it or not, the human race is a very fragile state of being. We act, think, and feel according to a preset set of emotions or behavior we have learned throughout the years. And while we may boast these attributes as superiority over the rest of the animal kingdom, it seems to me our greatest adversary. Why do we worry about what other people think of us? Why do we feel pain in our hearts when we are betrayed? Why does it all matter?

Security. We bind ourselves to others because we want to be bound. We desperately hunger for the attention of another because somewhere deep inside us, that means we're worth a damn. Someone cares. Someone has taken an interest. Someone listens. Someone thinks you're worth their time. And time is the one thing we all hold near and dear to our hearts because it is the one disease we cannot treat nor cure. With all our technologies, we cannot manufacture time.

It has been said that I pay way more attention to my friends than my family. In the words of my sister, "I live for my friends." I hate when she says that because it's simply not true. Yes, I do enjoy spending time with my friends and will try to help them in any way I can should they ask. But that isn't to say I wouldn't do the same for my family.

But perhaps she has a point... Why would I "live for my friends" over my family? I think it's because they chose me. My family is there no matter what, I know that. My family has been there since my birth (some even before then)and will be there throughout my life. But my friends... They have their own families. Other responsibilities. Other things their bond to. Why bind themselves to me? How can I bind myself to them? What's keeping us together?

We're all bound by something--to someone. Every one of us. Bound by friendship, bound by blood, bound by honor, bound by duty. Some of us, bound by secret. But what do we do when those bonds are broken and we're left standing alone? Do we dance a celebratory dance of freedom, waving our arms wildly in the golden streets as the trumpets sound and the angelic chorus chants? Or do we remain there, lost, broken, confused with the lacerations of our chains still burning brightly on our skin? Who do we reach out to in the darkness? Who is there to hold your hand when you're left alone?

Math class + boredom =

2009-02-02T10:29:00.003-06:00

As a result of the mind-numbingly boring hour that is my math class, I have taken to writing in my notebook. It started innocently enough... Small notes from the board just to keep me awake. Then, before I knew it, the margins and every bit of free space was filled with small paragraphs and bits of dialogue, twisting and winding about the paper, forming as intricate pattern of plot and detail. It looks kinda cool, actually.... Anyway, here's the transcribed version (Of course, /all/ of this isn't my notebook. I'm continuing here after I type up what I had written):

Tick tick tick

I swear the clock in my math class moves slower than any other clock in this entire school. The teacher must have cast a spell on it. She a bit of a witch anyway--a crazy witch at that. I keep waiting for someone to drop a house on her but the storm never comes. Bummer.

Jimmy's tapping me on my shoulder. I should throw something at him. He convinced me to take this class. Come on, it'll be cake! I told him I was bad at math. I told him I wanted to take the basic course, that he was more suited for advanced math. But my brother had Mrs. Briggs two years ago and he said she's a huge pushover. The old bat can't hear to save her life and she's practically legally blind. Come on! She retired last year; just before we returned in September. It was too late to change schedules.

"Ouch!" hissed Jimmy. "What the heck was that for?"

I picked my eraser up from the side of his desk where it had landed after ricocheting off his face. "For sticking me in this class." With the witch, I wanted to say but decided against it. Dogs have excellent hearing, after all; especially the female variety.

"Oh, it's not that bad. Stop being such a baby, man. Hey--did you get that last problem? She erases too fast."

So that's what he wanted. "Yeah. Here." I passed my notebook over to him while the witch was writing the next problem on the board. Big mistake. Without my notebook, my mind was free to wander. That was never good. Last time I handed over my notebook, I told Jimmy that there were exactly 167 tiles on the ceiling in our history class. I looked up at the ceiling. One.. two... No, no. Not again. I kept hearing something. What was that? Was something about to fall from the ceiling? What the...

Click click I looked over to the seat behind Jimmy. Click click click Theresa was texting away, expertly crouching behind Jimmy to avoid the prying eyes of the witch. I don't think she had a single note on her paper. Click click click It was like listening to machine gun rapid fire. In just two seconds, Theresa had unloaded about four rounds onto her phone. I wonder who she was texting at 10 o'clock in the morning. On a Tuesday, at that. Theresa Smith. Theresa the Texter. Smith the Swift, ever-electronic. God, where the hell was Jimmy with my notebook?

"Thanks, man." Jimmy tossed my notebook onto my desk. "Hey, you forgot to change the sign. Took me forever to figure out what the hell you did to get that answer."

I looked down at my eraser again. No, it wasn't worth it. Besides, I had a problem to fix now. I furiously began scratching into my paper, correcting the mistake Jimmy was so kind as to catch for me. "Five-eighths? Is that what you got? Dude,what?" Jimmy turned to me, his mouth twisted into the usual sly smirk he had on his face before he made some smart-ass comment. But his eyes suddenly widened and he fell silent. "No? But I worked it just like you said. Changed the sign and everything. What the hell--,"

Jimmy quickly tilted his head back.

I knew all too well who was standing beside my desk at that point. I turned and was staring directly into the witch's face. Shit.

"Mr. Johnson..." she said, her icy voice chilling the very air around me. The room had fell silent. Theresa had even stopped texting. I don't know where she had hidden her phone so quickly. I suspected it was tucked under her leg somewhere. She was seated a bit too uncomfortably now. Then again, the witch made me cringe as well.

"Uh... yes ma'am?"

"Is there a problem here? Or is my lesson interrupting you and Mr. Myer's conversation? Terribly sorry. Please, continue." Her eyes narrowed on me.

I gulped, wanting so badly to look at Jimmy for help. But I bet he was just as terrified as I was at the moment. What to do? What to do? "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." The words seemed to fall out my mouth involuntarily. Did I just seriously apologize to the witch? I waited for her to walk away but she continued standing there. I shot a quick glance towards the clock. Of course there was more time left in class! In fact, the minute hand had only managed to move a few degrees since the last time I looked at it. This witch was good.

"James? Are you quite finished? May I continue my lesson now?" There was an audible snicker from the class. No one called Jimmy that. He had convinced all his other teachers to refer to him as Jimmy when calling role and such. Pretty much everyone called Jimmy that. Except the witch. She had her eyes set on him now. I looked over to him, then my eyes shifted toward Theresa again. Her face contorted for half a second before she wiped her face emotionless. Had her phone just vibrated? That made me smirk.

"Oh, please, continue. In fact, could you put number seventy-four on the board? I had trouble with it last night while doing the assignment." Jimmy said.

That cheeky bastard!

The witch raised an eyebrow, waiting for Jimmy to crack under pressure. "Number seventy-four? But, Mr. Myer, the assignment was only to number fifty."

I felt as though I were watching a championship chess match. While I could tell the old witch was reaching for anything that would bring Jimmy down, he looked as though he were just getting started. He hadn't broken a sweat. If I knew my best friend, he had a few more tricks waiting under his sleeves in case this didn't work. Your move, Jimmy.

"Yes ma'am. I know. But I wanted the extra practice, so I went to the end of the lesson." I heard a few gasps from across the room. I don't know which was more astounding, the fact that Jimmy was directly challenging the witch or that he had actually done his homework. Jimmy never did the homework. Math just came to him naturally, he said. Lucky him.

Even the the witch's eyes had widened. "I see... Number seventy-four, then." She turned on her heel and went back to the front of the room. Once she got to her desk, she began flipping through her teacher's manual with such speed I thought she would snatch a page right out of the binding. Once she found the problem, she grabbed her dry erase marker and began writing on the board. Game, set, match.

"Dude, where the hell did that come from? When did you start doing homework?" I said, keeping my voice low as low as I could.

Jimmy had that smirk about his face again. "Psht, I didn't. But someone had to save your ass from detention. Besides, any idiot can pick a problem from the book. I just said the first number that came to mind. You know--Ow! What the hell, man?"

I picked up my eraser again. "Nothing."

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~;.

Because Lauren Asked Me To...

2009-01-29T22:05:00.003-06:00

So, apparently, this tagging people in notes and then sharing 10, 15, or 25 or whatever things about yourself is infectiously spreading around Facebook like bad fashion. And I have found myself tagged. Luckily, the person who tagged me is someone I consider to be cool, someone who gets my time, someone who can make me post a blog. Lucky her. Haha. However, I have not nor will I ever use the Notes feature on Facebook.

25 Things About Me:

1. I'm a self-proclaimed bibliophile, which is affirmed by anyone who has come into contact with me since... ever.

2. I am addicted to texting. Like, seriously.

3. I absolute hate the notion of "womanhood" and will probably burp in the face of anyone who tells me to act like a "young lady."

4. I sing in the shower. Seriously, there's a radio in my bathroom at home.

5. I eat when I'm bored.

6. I sleep when I'm bored.

[no wonder I'm overweight, hm?]

7. I believe I have a small case of OCD. But only slightly.

8. I absolutely love my best friend. [No homo]

9. Bad grammar and/or "text talk" makes my soul die a little on the inside.

10. I don't know if I'm truly allergic to crawfish, shrimp, and nuts but I tell everyone I am anyway.

11. I'm terrified of energy drinks and will never knowingly drink one.

12. I hate chick flicks.

13. I cry in movies. All. The. Time.

14. Bookshelves stacked to the ceiling with books make my eyes glaze over and my mouth water.

15. I hate being in a fight with my friends.

16. I am 100% a 90s kid, through and through.

17. The smell of pickles makes me nauseous. Along with coca butter.

18. I believe KDs is a magical place where space and time are suspended. Parking lots, too. ;)

19. I sometimes wonder if I could have made it at the Louisiana School and how my life would be different if I did decide to accept their offer.

20. I believe everyone has a twin somewhere in the world. (Escape to Witch Mountain-style)

22. I don't agree with the notion of "acting black" or "talking white" and will probably challenge anyone who says something that ill-informed to me.

23. Needles freak me out. Seriously. Which is why my ears remain un-pierced.

24. If I could go back to any moment in my life and redo something different, I'd go to my dance recital because I truly adore dance.

25. I knowingly use what little intellect I have in anger or as a defense mechanism.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

P.S. - I just realized this is my 100th post! Ow! Don't you feel special, Lauren? :P

Chaotivity

2009-01-19T22:17:00.002-06:00

I came up with a new word a few moments ago. Chaotivity. Chaotivity is the creativity that is often manifested from chaos. Like, how people say the most creative (or ingenious) people keep a messy desk or room or work area. Or when you write the best paper you've ever written at about 3a the morning it's due, music's playing, tv's on, and you're surfing the net. Something like that. I think if I wrote a contemporary book, like one of those books about writing by people who have written books that Christa used to always read from, it'd be called Chaotivity. And it wouldn't demean randomness, clutter, or mess because sometimes the best things are created from chaos. At least, for me.

With that said, here's my "chaotive" (I dunno.. still working on it) post. Which is basically a bunch of random, un-related, unfinished creative bursts that I've thought about while watching tv, or hearing a song on the radio, or while I was supposed to be doing something else:

Could be Sleeping, Should be Writing

Could be sleeping,
should be writing
Lay your head down,
there’s no more fighting
Dance with the sugar plum faeries
You’ll find them quite inviting
Forget your need for literature
It’s all too exciting
Just sit back, relax,
Feel your body unwinding
Follow the second star,
now's the perfect timing

Small Talk

I had a chat with God one day
on my roof after church on Sunday
The sun was high and wind was cool
...
We talked for hours,
me and Him,
catching up like old friends

Untitled

"Who am I? A question I've asked myself many times, each time getting a different answer. I'm a daughter, a sister, a friend, a bitch, an idiot, a wreck, a believer, a dreamer, a writer, a giver, a taker, and a trouble-maker.

"What do I want to become? Now, that's a bit harder. There's so much I want to see, so much in this world to do and feel. I want to experience things from other cultures, learn from other people, appreciate it all.

"Excuse me? You wanna repeat that? What don't I want to be?"

She thought for a moment, wanting a truly honest answer in order to get her $80 an hour worth of session from this. Besides, the man with the notepad wasn't too pretentious or invasive with his questions. He was only doing his job. After all, she had come on her free will. She looked down, still thinking. There was a watch covering the scar on her right wrist, a thick plastic bracelet on her left arm for the same purpose. That, she wasn't ready to discuss. Though, somehow, she felt as if the "good doctor" already knew about her failed attempts.

"I-I... I don't know. I've never thought about it. I don't want to be.. here. I don't want to be the same. I don't want to be a... nother. Just another nameless face in the crowd, just another worker punching the clock, another dreamer who has never achieved anything, another wanna-be, another would-be, another could-be. Does that make any sense?"

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Chi Made Me Do It

2009-01-14T22:31:00.002-06:00

Well, I was wondering what I'd post here while I'm waiting for my second official day of classes to write my "first day" post. And what do you know? Chi tags me in a note on Facebook. So here goes. 16 random things about me (I'm guessing that's what it is):

1. I read. A lot.

2. I can't start a car without putting on my seatbelt.

3. I can't put the car in drive until I've found a radio station or put on a CD.

4. I channel out when most people are talking to me.

5. I like pretty teeth.

6. I want to lose weight.

7. I sleep when I'm bored.

8. I dance in the mirror.

9. I cry at funerals.

10. I cut my hair for the first time in 18 years and was happy with the result.

11. Without my friends, I'd go insane.

12. I believe in soul mates. And I'm glad to have found mine.

13. Most of my all-time favorite movies I don't own.

14. I learned how to fake a British accent from movies.

15. I can't sleep in pants. I have to be in shorts.

16. I don't to have kids of my own. I want to adopt.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Once Upon a Time...

2009-01-10T18:29:00.004-06:00

"Tell me a story, father."

"Alright, but you must promise to go to sleep afterwards. It's very late."

He nodded, eagerly awaiting whatever story his father had to tell him. He had always enjoyed the sound of his father's voice. It was a voice like no other, one he could recognize from a thousand other voices; deep and soothing. He enjoyed the way his father could paint the most magnificent picture using only the words of his stories. He settled in beneath the warm blankets as his father pulled the chair from the corner of the room and placed it beside the bed. "What will it be? Faeries? Dragons? Or perhaps you'd like to hear the one about the dashing young prince who comes to save the fair maiden, aye?"

He thought of this, each character appearing before him as his father introduced them. But none of them seemed to fit. He didn't want a story for its adventure, nor its intrigue or terror. He simply wanted his father's voice to be the last thing he heard before he shut his eyes as he had so many nights before. "What about the one about the boy and his father?"

The old man paused, leaned back in the chair, and stared at his son. How his eyes glowed with anticipation before he had uttered a single word. It was as if he were going to give the boy the recipe for life's elixir. He was hungry for them, these nightly stories. Some times, it seemed as though these fables and tales were the reason the boy ever went to bed on time. He smiled, "Ah, I think I remember that one. There was once a young boy..."

"Who loved his father very much, right? Don't forget that. That's very important. You can't forget that. There was once a young boy who loved his father very much."

He chuckled. "Yes. He loved his father very much. And he didn't interrupt his father, either." The boy's cheeks reddened and he bit down on his lower lip. "Thank you. Now, this boy and his father lived alone--that is to say his mother died in child birth. Truly tragic. The woman was beautiful... Kind and loving, she was, too. And so beautiful. So very, very beautiful..."

"But it was alright, wasn't it, Father? The boy and his father grew very close. And loved each other. And one day they were out in the yard..."

His father blinked a few times as if waking from a distant dream. "Uh, ah, yes. Right you are. So, the boy and his father were out in the yard one morning when the boy noticed an old tree stump remaining after someone had cut down the tree down. He asked his father why the person had left the roots to remain. He sat down on the stump and took the young boy on his knee. 'Well, you see my son,' he said, 'whomever planted this tree had a home here. They obviously had no intentions of moving. But I suppose the war changed all that. In fact, I bet they cut this tree in order to sale the timber to feed their family.'

"'Then why leave the roots?' asked the boy, still not grasping the concept with his immature mind. His father thought for a moment. Then he explained to him that even though the trunk, limbs, and branches of the tree had been removed, the roots would still remain as evidence that a tree had once been planted there. 'And, in turn, a family was here as well. Do you understand?' The boy nodded and asked his father if they could plant a tree like the person before them to prove they had lived in the house. His father smiled and agreed.

"In time, the tree grew very tall and strong. And the boy who loved his father very much had grown to be a man who admired the man who raised him to be that way. It was time for him to venture out into the world and find a wife and home for himself. As he stared out at the yard of his childhood home one last time before leaving, he--perhaps for the first time in all those years--noticed how large the tree had grown and how deep the roots must have ran. Knowing he couldn't move the tree itself, he turned to his father once more. 'When I was a young boy,' he said, 'you explained to me how people set down roots of their own. Well, now I am a man and I must venture out into the world, find me a wife and begin my own family... Plant my own tree.'

"'Yes, my son,' his father replied.

'But how can I do that when this tree remains here? This is my home. I was born here, raised here, and learned everything I know under this roof from you. Just as this tree only has one set of roots, I, too, have only one and cannot make a home for myself without denying this place. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I know that I only have one home. A man cannot make a new home for himself.'

"Without a word, his father went out into the yard near the tree. He knelt down and picked up a very small object from the ground. His son had followed him out and stood beside his father, wondering what the old man was doing. 'Do you see this?' He nodded. 'And do you know what it is?'

"'It's an acorn, Father.' He admitted lowly.

"'Wrong. It's a seed. A seed that came from this tree here. But when planted, it will become a tree of its own, with roots of its own. Here,' He handed his son the acorn. 'I want you to have this.' He said. 'Take it with you wherever your travels may lead. And when you do find a woman you love and a place of your own, I want you to plant it. When it grows, sets downs roots, and produces seeds of its own, I want you to give them to your children.'

"He stared at the acorn in his hand, thinking about what his father had just told him. 'And what will I tell my children, Father? What will I tell them when they're standing in their yard looking at their father with an acorn.. or seed in their hand, wondering what I could possibly mean by this gesture?'

"'You will tell them to plant it. Tell them a tree has one set of roots that keeps it held to one location. But it produces many seeds of its own that can travel. That are not held down by such roots. Seeds that can be planted anywhere one chooses for them. All over the world, should the soil be willing. And, yet, they all have one origin...'"

He had fallen asleep. He stood and placed the chair back in the corner. After kissing his boy on the forehead and making sure he was nestled safely under his blankets, he took something out of his pocket. It was an acorn. He set it on his son's bedside table. "See the world, my son," he whispered. "Plant this. Grow your tree. Never forget your home. Never forget me." With that, he blew out the candle and left.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

2 (double oh) 9

2009-01-04T14:47:00.003-06:00

Wow... First post of the new year. Yeah, yeah, so it's the 4th. But,hey, when have I ever been one to do things on time? Or remember what day it is...

So I'm guessing I should have something about the year that's passed and my hopes for the future. Something profound. Something thoughtful. Something... good. Yeah, right.

I want to go for walk. My mom says it's supposed to rain today, though. But, still, I want to go outside. Just to walk. See where my feet take me, feel the wind against my face, maybe play some music... I dunno. I've been stuck in the house all day. I don't like that. I like being outside. Especially on a nice sunny day. Even if it's just walking to the end of the driveway. I have to be outside at least once.

Hmm... a walk sounds nice now.... Maybe I'll have a new post about what I saw.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.