Exhaustion has set in. I feel as though it’s a Monday tradition.
I really do love to pack up and go, I’m learning. I love the feeling of being somewhere new. I’ve realized that I don’t get stressed when I’m lost (which I’m also realizing doesn’t happen often when I’m trying to get somewhere new) or when I’m somewhere I’ve never been before.
I’m quick to pick up on directions and to orient myself within a space.
I enjoy new places and changes of pace. I find it exhilarating and calming.
I am my own person and I am in my own space. I have no future and no past, only present. Only conversation and today.
I would like to explore that feeling more.

This is, of course, the complete opposite of the segment of my personality that cannot handle change. I think that it’s only the future and permanent change that throws me. Perhaps I’m not as much of a homebody as I had once thought. As long as it’s not something I’ll have to do often, I’m fine. I like being transient and anonymous, unnoticed.
The first day of school still terrifies me, as does getting a job. But that’s what’s in store for me. The settling, to a certain degree.
But passing through seems just fine to me.

I’ll go anywhere, just to be.
I’ve been through you
Worked and worked so hard to maintain,
create a life,
build one,
then to run away.
Nothing left behind,
a whisper, maybe,
but certainly no other trail in my wake.
Time, the imprint of what once was
Remains.
Sustained solely by thoughts and feelings.
Those fade too, replaced
by thoughts and feelings.
Emotions that beget emotions
that upset, then force regret,
then, finally, if only to forget.
It’s the forgotten ones you’ve got to be careful of.
Mind them, just like the gap,
until you’re just as lost and
nothing’s left.
Are you safer than you were before?
Running from the sea
to the middle of the nowhere,
the dead center of that
folded, crumpled map.
Not even sand, the sand that made the shore
left in the indents at the bottom of your shoes.
Gone like those little grains
that held and clung,
transported as if my magic
somewhere else.
New home, to them, is where you left them be.
Days pass.
Shattered glass picked up to go a thousand different ways.
Sweep, sweep, swept.

You’re lost, I’m gone and nothing’s left.
Again, again, repeat, regress.

Forgive me for that ill-fated attempt. I’ve not written poetry in awhile, but it slipped out and I let it go.

Hoppy Easter!

In a world full of women, it’s interesting to think how many of us are completely controlled by our synthetic hormones.
I know I am.
I can predict what days I’m going to cry. Today is that day. Although I have not cried, I’ve noticed an incredible drop in mood. It’s interesting, probably, to watch the way we react.
I personally dislike it and can’t wait for the day that I am not ruled by medical creations, but for the time being, it serves some necessarily normalizing purpose.

I’m upset tonight. I’m hurt. I’m tired. I’m scared.
I’m a million different emotions that I can’t quite put a finger on.

I’ve been feeling invalid lately, which is to say that I’m not feeling validation from any aspect of my life. Not romantically, not career-wise, not motivationally, with friends, etc. I’m stagnant and terrified about it. Of course, when I get scared, I shut down.

There are times like this, obviously. This is what makes life life. These are the learning periods, the times when things are ironed out, when one becomes self-sustaining. Learn, I keep telling myself. Grow and blossom out of this shit. But growing and blossoming are hard, even though I have enough manure around me to seemingly sustain myself for life.

But it’s all rough and disheartening.

I’m embarrassed by my inability to move past certain things. It’s time. Everything is time but I wish I could fast forward. But then I’d miss so much. So here I am, embracing the roller coaster I’ve put myself on. Allowing it to creep up, slowly, cresting and then falling. Let’s free fall into the next solid up of life, and then let’s watch this all begin again.

You’re never exactly where you think you are.

I tried on my cap and gown tonight. I look absurd.

I went to the bookstore. I love books. I will never own enough books. I can’t even be mad at myself when I spend money on literature. There’s no reason that one should chide oneself for wanting to invest in words. Knowledge. Art in the best form. I’m excited. I’m glad for tonight’s solitude, it’s given me the long awaited opportunity to curl up and read.

Before I begin, I need to impart some important information: 55 whole grain Goldfish crackers only have 150 calories.
Secondly, I love my cat. Even if he only loves me because I feed him, I feel as though the feeling is mutual. We’ve become fast friends. He’s having a biting issue at the moment though. When we snuggle, which he seems to enjoy, he likes to playfully bite me. The problem is that being bitten isn’t quite so fun as you might think.
I had this whole post typed out at the library yesterday morning and then I logged into Gmail to check an email and the entry got deleted. This is round two. Not pleased, I’m not pleased. But nonetheless:

This is the post I’ve meaning to get around to since February, if not before.
At last, we’ve arrived at the intersection of race and gender in class and I find that it’s pertinent now more than ever to discuss the issues that rise out of our cultural consciousness to permeate through our sense of being and direct each and every one of us in our outward behavior.
It’s something that I’ve noticed lately, being as inundated with theory as I am. Women’s struggles are often related to the struggle of the Black American. True, there are struggles there, but I’m always fundamentally annoyed by the comparison.
Anyway. Yesterday we watched a film about the portrayal of black men in hip hop. The portrayal of masculinity seen through the music videos shows that power comes through money, intimidation, violence and women.
The artists themselves agree that it’s all a front, that the posturing that they’re doing has more to do with their image and sales than it does with their actual experiences.
At a hip hop convention in Florida, young women walk around in short shorts and bikini tops, upset that the young men are aggressively harassing them; touching them and grabbing at them. The police do very little. Talking about the lyrics that refer to women as “bitches” or “hos,” one woman says that she knows those lyrics aren’t about her.
So who are they about?
White suburban kids who listen to rap music are interviewed. One of them says “colored people.” The interviewer, shocked, asks him, “Did you seriously just say ‘colored people’?”
Another group of white students say that rap music gives them a chance to get into another culture, to understand the ways that other people live. They also say that rap music upholds stereotypes.
Wait. That doesn’t even make sense. Those two statements don’t belong together.
This is where the racism begins to filter in. Race consciousness is all too obvious in our society, especially in Chicago.
But let’s start with an example.
On the train one day, a group of young black teenagers are causing a disturbance. Generally being loud and obnoxious. Passengers glare at them. I’m glaring at them. They assume that it’s because they’re black and say so. I disagree. It’s not because you’re black; it’s because you’re annoying. I would have been equally annoyed by any group of people, age, race, gender, whatever being obnoxious on the train.
I understand that certain groups of people have disadvantages, but I think it has more to do with access to education and socio-economic status than it does skin color.
I hate Black History month. By continuing to highlight difference, we are making it impossible to live as people of all colors. Instead, we are segregating subtly as we attempt to counteract years of racism in the country. I understand why things such as that were a good idea at one time. But they are no longer relevant in our society.
To move forward, we must embrace each other as people not as skin colors. Instead, we’re in a holding pattern. We’ve got segregation in the schools (Chicago is one of the worst cities for diversity among schools) that leads to the inability of groups of people to interact with each other. We’ve got segregation in our cities. We’ve got misinformation being spread around. We’ve got stereotypes. We’ve got a whole mess on our hands and the only way to fix it is to move past it.
Seems impossible.
Quite right, but it might not be.
I’m sick of race being used as a crutch. I wasn’t born white on purpose. I just was. You weren’t born Asian on purpose. You just were. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. Don’t hate people for being a skin color or a race that they had no part in choosing. I’m sick of hearing that your skin color prevents you from doing something. You’re letting yourself be put into a box.
True, as white woman I cannot claim to fully understand certain aspects of the race issues in our country since I am part of the hegemonic description. But I have been a victim of both sexism and ageism, as well as countless other isms. So when I speak of the problems, I’m speaking of moving toward acceptance of all people.  Don’t blame your actions on your race.
Grandpa Joe always says that you are who you associate with. You absolutely are. Chances are, people aren’t afraid of you based on your skin color, they’re afraid of you based on the way you look. Trust me, I know this. Now that I’m no longer black haired and outwardly angst-ridden, I get treated much differently than I did before.
It might be because you’re sketchy in your baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirt. It might be because you won’t make eye contact. It might be because you’re lurking in an alley at night. It’s probably not your skin. It’s probably your generally creepy self.
Ghetto is not the only option of outward appearance, just as rap music does not define an entire culture.
This month’s Esquire magazine had comments from a story that appeared last month. “Blagojevich thinks because he grew up poor, cleaning shoes, he is blacker than Obama, and then Taddeo describes Jay-Z as ‘black black’? Statements like these do nothing but perpetuate stereotypes. Let’s not forget that black people have varying interests, personalities, cultures, and yes, socioeconomic classes.” -Mel McKenzie.
Also, “I’m black, and I grew up in an inner city in the Midwest. I never sold drugs, didn’t curse, and I never followed urban fashion. I listen to alternative, grunge, rock, reggae and R&B. I eat quinoa more frequently than fried chicken. But I guess that means I’m not ‘black black.’ Jay-Z’s story is interesting enough without stereotyping an entire diverse community.” -B. Doutherd. 
Anyway, it’s not just a black-white thing. It’s an everything thing.
We can never ignore our races. They’re what make us unique. They’re what define us as human beings. But let’s stop letting race get in the way of progress as people. Let’s be black. And white. And all the colors in between.
But realistically, that can’t happen unless we start to change the way we think.

I hope I got it all. Probably not.

I hate metaphors. I’m filling this post with them unintentionally.
I feel as though my life is reminiscent of the Colorado weather: give me 20 minutes, and I’ve completely changed my mind.
This time, it’s nothing that drastic. You might even call it rational.
But I’ve never made a rational decision in my life, so perhaps not.
Business school is not off the table. It’s actually very much on the table, so much so that it might be the table. (I hate metaphors that can’t or won’t end.)
I just need more time. I want to make sure that my math skills are on par with the rest of the world so that I might have a fighting chance. (For some reason, I always type “change” instead of “chance” and vice versa.)
So, the GMAT book is still being pored through, yet I am not preparing to take the test until at least the fall. I’ve even considered the possbility of getting an outside tutor.
I’ve come to see myself as headstrong lately; had I made this realization earlier, my life could have been made very much easier. I never want to ask for help or advice. And if I do, I’m not actually listening to what you’re saying, I’ve already made up my mind.
At least now I understand that.
I’m going to buiness school, I would just like to have some time to make some flashcards and get some more math in me before I do so.
I am terrible at math. Learned helplessness, but actually maybe not. Long division was the first sign of trouble. I never told anyone that. You shouldn’t either, fifth grade Katie will be very hurt. Pre-algebra. Geometry. It’s geometry that gets me. I don’t get it.
But. To succeed at getting into business school without really trying, you at least have to understand your math. And alas, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. I’d like to get a paddle, so I’m going to take some classes at Metro (maybe) or get a private tutor (definitely, but with reservations. We can’t forget the effects of private direction on a young mind. Vern and his mole, anyone?) in order to be prepared to take the test and improve my score in the fall.
I can do a lot with business school and I’ve long been seduced by the lure of the corporate world. (Men in suits, anyone? If that’s not enough, I have a strange love of office supplies – I’ll blame my mother for that one – and a strong desire to lead a life of structure – something that the 9-5 could help with.) None of those answers will be going into my “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” or “Why do you think business school is a good fit for you?” essays.

For now, I’m settling myself to the idea of being back in Denver. I’m terrified. Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago, but I’ve lived here for four years knowing that I won’t stay here, so I’ve not established any realistically permanent roots. Going home will be nice because I have my family, but other than that, I’ve not got much. Making friends will come in time, I’m sure. (Unless it doesn’t and then I die a cat lady at the age of 23, but that’s realistically not going to happen, probably.) 
Anyway, the logistics of the move have yet to be ironed out and I’m getting a little bit antsy about it. But time will tell. In all honesty, I’m just going to end up selling stuff (hopefully) or breaking down all my shelves, etc and throwing them in the back of a hastily acquired moving van. 
Excitement, fear, dread, anxiety, relief, hope….my god, it’s an emotional stew over here. 


The melancholy waxes and wanes like a tide. Last night, news came to me from the lips of the person who had set it in motion, and I felt my heart collapse a tiny bit. I don’t regret my decision, not for a moment. Child bride, indeed. But I feel sometimes that I’ve lost the ability to find someone suitable. I find myself not projecting outwardly my inner being. I’m more than what I look like. I’m not sure if it’s  confidence issue caused by the transitory period I’m in or if it’s more than that. Perhaps I am plain (both in outward appearance and in personality) and unsuitable to date, lacking in grace and charm, not to mention social fluidity, but I’d prefer to blame my current situation. Stress and the post-graduate, it will be called. It will be a memoir for posterity. 


Ugh, and onward with the ever-upping stack of assignments and duties. My room has lost any hope of resembling that of a sane woman, and instead speaks of post-hurricane destruction (without the mold and rotting things, of course). Focus. Focus. Focus. These are the words I wish I could hear. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Life is funny; there’s always a reason for everything. Of course, the conference in Boston reaffirmed everything I couldn’t quite figure out. Curiosity about the professional world, the realization that a degree in Communications won’t do much for me and a romance novel that can’t seem to get past twenty pages because I’m constantly distracted have led me to a simple answer:
Business school.
Terrified about my future, I have realized that there’s nothing I’d like more than to be in school longer. But legitimate school. Purposeful and focused. Who cares about gender studies?
I’m dropping my third minor unless I can figure something out, but other than that, all should be well. I’ve emailed the department, hoping for a resolution of some sort.
The possibility of getting a dual MBA/MS in Marketing for under $25,000 exists.  (How sweet would that be?)
I’ve been afraid because I thought it was all math. It can’t be all math. And I can emphasize philanthropic marketing so I’ll still be able to do some of the social work aspects (sort of, but not really) in my future life.
More details to come as I figure out what the hell I’m doing.  (The application deadline is June 1. Let’s get this one in way before, so I’ll know.)
Ha, I bet I’m the only person preparing to take the GMAT at the end of March/early April.
This time I’m not going to tell anybody, except you dear readers, for fear of being rejected again. (I really don’t get rejected often. It hurts. I’m not a fan.) But CU Denver, where I’ve decided to apply, shouldn’t reject me unless I screw up on the GMAT, which I won’t. Hopefully. I’ve never gotten a bad grade on a standardized test in my life.

*

My Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days but they’re also my favorite days of the week. I have a break between 9:45 and 11:30, so I go to the Information Commons (the library at Loyola) and sit in one of the leather chairs overlooking the lake. You might also remember this as the place where the body was discovered back in November.

I came to Loyola four years ago based on a hunch that I had, a feeling that I got while I was standing not far from where I’m sitting now, looking out over Lake Michigan. I still feel the same way. I love the way the water seems endless. I love the way it changes colors, from gray to green to the deepest blue. I love the power, the solitude…I love the hours that I get to spend here. I don’t think I’ve spent nearly enough.

Either way.
I’ve been procrastinating. Spanish test in a few hours and my favorite, Virginia Woolf, next.
(Surprisingly, that wasn’t sarcasm.)

After a sleepless night, I woke ready to face the world. That’s a lie. I hit the sleep button for over an hour while I held Cat and tried not to think about my upcoming statistics test.
However, I got the notecard completed and then went and took the test. My tired self wrote “without replacement” and then again, “without replacement” without thinking, so for the first half of the test, I was doing all the without replacement problems incorrectly. After a brief moment of panic, during which I frantically looked down at my notecard, I realized that my powers of observation and innate intelligence are stronger than my fear, and I corrected myself and the problems on the paper.
And so I’m predicting a high B on the test. It is probably the most ironic thing in the world that of all of my classes, I think the only one that I have a solid A in right now is Stats. I love the class. I love the teacher’s charismatic style and I love the fact that we have no book. I’ve gotten all of my homework in and I aced the first test. (It’s funny, when I get a low A, I get really annoyed that it’s not higher. If only that could work for B and C work that I’ve been turning in lately.)

I have purchased my cap and gown! Graduation, here I come! (Commencement, rather.)

Post-convention news: I’ve been thrown into a self-depricating tailspin of terror about the future. I need to remind myself to breathe. I am still a real person who matters, despite the fact that I’m nothing but a soon-to-be-college graduate with no tangible resume to speak of (besides the PR gig, the extensive babysitting, although it’s called child care…or actually, maybe even something better on my resume and the DQ. I need to boost volunteer work). That said, I need to focus on daily life rather than the future and on small accomplishments for the time being.

And so, I am going to tackle tomorrow. I’m going to embrace homework and attempt to hear back from the Chicago Public Schools.
I’ve got a meeting set up for Friday with a social worker for my doomed Social Work class. That actually might be interesting and fun. I’m going to help her cook for Passover.
I’ve got two stories due on Monday. The CPS is the most horrible group to deal with and I hate them. Also, none of their information is public. Thus, I’ve been unable to get access to write the stories that I need to write. I’ve also got a rewrite due. Excellent.
Babysitting a lot this weekend for my newest family. I really enjoy them, actually, so it shouldn’t be hard at all. (Also, desperate for cash.)
Tomorrow is always my long day, and I have a Spanish test and homework due. A rewrite of my midterm for Social Work (ugh, APA format is going to kill me as is my professor’s miserable and illegible handwriting). Getting my Hemingway paper back. It was only after I had turned it in that I realized I neglected to mention the title of the novel anywhere, however, I did allude to it in both my title and introduction.
Ugh frazzled brains need to neglectful academics. (This is my fault, I am well aware.)

Ah, the weekend. Let’s begin the big push toward the end of the semester and end on a high note.

I knew nothing of Boston before I came here.
That’s a lie. I knew a few things: it was the site of the Boston Tea Party, it’s home to Harvard and the Celtics and the people here love their baseball and have the most hilarious accents.
We had a bit of trouble befriending the stewardesses on the flight out. Something about the orange bag not fitting in the overhead compartment and then me dropping my glass bead bracelet. Anyway, we were served complimentary cold coffee. I laughed when I took my first sip, which the flight attendant of course overheard. And then after my first use of an airplane bathroom is a few years, I accidentally opened the door on her.
Great.
We landed just after midnight. The cab ride to the hotel involved tunnels that looked a lot like the Eisenhower tunnel, just a lot longer. We went to a bar called Whiskeys in the Back Bay area and enjoyed ourselves immensely for the hour that the bars were still open.
A friend of mine told me that the men in Boston would be really sweet, and they were. I was asked out on a date by a guy that I met in line at one of the bars that we went to. And by date, he wanted to do dinner and then a walk through Boston Commons (think giant old park). Adorable.
But alas, my trip was not a dating adventure. It was just a pure adventure.
The rain started yesterday morning. Maddie and I were exhausted after a night of late bowling the night before. I love business people. I know this seems strange, but the idea of entering the business world exhilarates me. Perhaps I shall give it a try after graduation. Something about suits. I love men in suits and I love the way I look in a suit. I feel like everyone I met this weekend was an engineer, which fits into my new life plan which involves no actors/artists/white rappers/philosophers as lovers. (If you’ve ever seen the tv show “Dharma and Greg,” you’ll understand that I’m Dharma and I’m trying to find my Greg.)
I got to pretend (for a very quick minute) that I worked for Xcel Energy and talk to random people from other utilities and random clients. I also have a new pair of bowling shoes courtesy of Lucky Strike Boston.
We went to see a movie because we realized there was no way were were going to walk around all day in the rain. We saw “She’s Out of My League.” Don’t see it. It’s terrible. And then we snuck into “Alice in Wonderland.” Better by far. Much better. Tim Burton’s gothic elements really put a nice spin on the classic, and they did it out of the original story. We had to get 3D glasses out of the recycle bin. It was hilarious and the perfect way to spend an afternoon.
Madeline and I tried to find trivia. We finally did that yesterday after sneaking onto the concierge’s computer at the hotel (because they were trying to charge $7 for 15 minutes of internet) and printing my boarding passes (3 of them, just in case).
Last night, after exploring Harvard and the Cambridge area, we cabbed it to the south side of Boston (not far from our hotel) to do trivia. Best shepherd’s pie I’ve ever eaten, hands down. It was amazing. We got third in trivia (not bad, but we had help from the bartender) and then proceeded to get absolutely ridiculous. At some point during the evening, we ended up having a row with a man about the Patriots. Lessons learned: don’t ever call them cheaters on their own turf and don’t insult big Bill B.
Also, don’t do shots with strange names like “Duck Farts,” which were gifted to us by men at the bar.
Boston is surprisingly chivalrous. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, either un-progressive or very old fashioned.
There was cab-hailing in the rain.
There was sleep and Lifetime movies.
This morning, we went to a diner and had mimosas and french toast and then I packed.
My flight was two hours delayed.
On the plane (I flew Southwest….we’ll blog about them later), I sat in the aisle and was joined by a man. We started talking. He had two drink coupons. We had whiskey. We spent the entire flight talking. Boston, Catholics, schools, Catholic schools, priests, college, English, punctuation, mathematics, Tarot cards, the Enneagram, bondage, rain, umbrellas, his hatred of flying, Dairy Queen, (you can tell that I talk too much based on subject matter alone), Reuters, Frontier, Alaska, reality tv, hoarders, everything.
He shook my hand and made fun of my eighty pound backpack.
The train ride home was slow due to mechanical malfunctions.
I was so happy to see my beautiful cat. He’s been renamed Van the Action Cat. I love him dearly.

And thus begins the final chapter of my last official semester of college.
Oh and did I mention I’m legitimately sick? Like the common cold. Stricken.
I’ll draw conclusions and analyze tomorrow. Tired.

We arrived in Boston at about midnight, then made it to the hotel, where we rendezvoused (this computer doesn’t have spell check and god forbid I spelled that wrong) with Aunt Judy and then went out to find some fun. We were at the bar a total of an hour and we had a blast.
Today, we are checking out of the hotel here and then moving to a different one. We’re hoping to see Boston Commons this afternoon and check out a graveyard. I love old graveyards in cities. The ones in Philadelphia were some of the best that I’ve seen in my life.

Airplanes. I’m just not on board, so to speak, with Southwest. Their system and I are incompatible. Madeline and I got in with our carry-ons and then attempted to shove them up into the baggage compartments.
Alright, enough for now. Leaving.

The rough week has come to an end.
I have barely survived and it seems that my exhaustion knows no bounds. How tired can one person get? I may attempt to find out.
I sleep well last night, not nearly long enough though.
I was about to sit down and write one of those, “I am in love with Chicago” sort of posts, but perhaps I shall save that for a later date.

Prayers for Mom, please.
This is instead going to be a post of gratitude. I don’t talk about my support systems nearly enough. I love my family and I appreciate everything that they do. And by everything, I mean everything. It makes me smile to know that I have a set of “other grandparents” who love me just as much as Grandmas Mary and Al and Grandpa Joe do. I love knowing that Aunt Sally and Grandma will take good care of Mom this weekend and today. For the record, I did not stress that much about the surgery this time around.
Also, I love Mike. He’s the best brother anyone could ask for. I know that if I ever need anything, I can call him and he’ll help me in any way he can. He may not tell me he loves me often, but I don’t have to hear it, I just know it.

I’m sorry. I can’t focus when I’m tired.
I’m meeting Madeline downtown for dinner and drinks and then we’re headed to the airport. Our flight leaves at 8:45 central time and we’ll land in Boston at 11:55 ET.
I’m bringing my computer and hoping to get some work/writing done while I’m away.