Paranoid Android

Things I'm Thinking About:

+My days are owned by my nights. I can't say no to people. I can't say how I really feel to someone. I drink too much. I smoke to get through the week. I don't care about anything. It's getting to the point where I wish my life was just a stretch of weekends. I mean it practically is, but it's still not enough.

+Whenever you say your own name, it's always, always awkward. You never say it out loud, you confirm it over and over again in your head. When you have to introduce yourself to someone, you will always hesitate, you might even mispronounce it.

+The weather report was a death sentence.

Taking Names & Jumping Fences

I feel nice. I'm high at work. Two of my classes got canceled. I was late to my other. But it was okay. I'm wearing my hair different. And my outfit's cool too. I'm listening to Blalock's September Playlist. But I'm sore. Horribly, incredibly, pitifully sore. I also just ate chocolate cookie dough ice cream. But it wasn't as good as Amsterdam.


So about Sunday night.


Well, it was one of the best night's of my life.


I'll tell you why.


I wasn't drinking, but I wasn't sober. I sat primarily on this porch at this house. A lot of people were drunk. But a lot of people who usually are slopping Captain & Coke messes were completely sober (myself included). That was the first strange but true fact of the night.


Second, there were PRE-PRE-LANYARDS there! YES, IN ENGLISH THAT TRANSLATES TO HIGH SCHOOLERS. Strange but True. Ended up fucking with some of them and told them I went to Colorado University, lived in Pueblo, and was only here for the weekend. And they believed it. For awhile.


Then, the primary, colorful driver of the night drove a pick-up-your-jaw-from-the-floor, 1970's whirlwind of nostalgia. A van. A love machine. The shit. The best part about this fucking van was that the inside of it was outer space. With "lived-in," worn-soft blue carpet, and topped with lines of lights on the ceiling, I was swooning over its aura of loveliness. Mmm. Strange but True.


Other Notable Parts of the Night:

-amsterdam was closed
-but bk wasn't
-and neither was ihop
-the drag queens we saw there figured that out as well
-the pedestrian bridge was an adventure
-i was scared of dogs
-i had pancakes for the first time in 3 years
-i had great conversations
-i didn't go to bed til 10 am
-& i jumped another mother fucking fence. 


But the best part of the night was that I saw people as they really were. They were either real of fake. I realized for the first time, in almost black-and-white contrasted knowledge, that I've always known this, but I've just never let myself think about it. I saw  people as people I could have a holy communion with, and people that I just talk to because they're there, because they exist. 


& then I was thinking about relationships. About how I've always thought relationships were about two people sharing a secret they only understand. When I was younger, much younger, that's how I clearly identified it. I haven't thought about that in years, but honestly, right now, I wonder if I ever stopped believing that. I think I've felt different my whole life, and that's not a bad thing, but I just wonder if anyone is going to find that secret inside me (as ridiculous and hackneyed as that sounds.) If I could commend anything about relationships, and the people who choose to be in them (for better or worse), it would have to be that those two people have guts. I've never put myself in a position with another person where I am brave, where I say how I really feel. 


And I don't know if I ever will. 


When I realized all of this Sundae Fundae night, it made me sad. But I'm glad that I know. 


"Oh, it's sad, but it feels so good, when you remember that you're not dead."

Is Nothing Sacred?

I’m back. But I’m not all the way back; I’m somewhere between back like Mel Gibson back and back like Kanye West back. So I’m almost there. But I’m still not there. At all.

Recently, I’ve come to realize that nothing is sacred. I literally don’t think I can tell anyone ANYTHING without it traveling through the byzantine conduits of all of my friends’ brains. I mean, don’t get me wrong, these are my people. And I’m guilty of the same thing. But it’s more than just gossip when I step back (a good back) and really take a gander.

 How do you get to know people? You open up to them. You act, you speak, and they construct an opinion of you in their heads. And so is born an idea, a conception of you that lives and exists in their upper story. But when it gets interesting, I think, is when you link your swings together so that you’re married: you're idea of who this person is mingles orison with palpable presence and the acquisition, is that you know them. Really well. So well, that you've xeroxed copies of each segment of them, dissected them, chewed them up and out until that conception is a beaten, unholy corpse of an idea. And that corpse buried deep in your upper story matches how you literally see them. 

I’ve also realized that I’m a magnet for guys I’m not interested in. And this magnet, is pretty fucking strong. GIIIIIIIIT SUMMMMMMMMMM. 

Too Young to Burn

I'm high and I feel like tonight, well especially tonight, but overall happening over the course of a few weeks or maybe my whole lifetime, everyone is an illuminated, cartoonized statue. And statues don't move, so the people around me don't move, however, because I slowly orbit around their immobile, stoic bearings, it still seems like they can move. Andthis is where the cartoon part comes in ->>>Because cartoons are just a series of pictures manipulated by an artist to become a story, to become a character, to become something meaningful enough for it to seem real. 

That's how I was looking at people tonight. 

^That's what I wrote the other night around 4ishh o'clock in the morning. I wasn't going to publish it because it seemed to be just mary-jane jabber, but a good friend encouraged me to still do it. And so I publish the jabber, but with an attached note. 

I've always claimed that I know what people think of me, but I couldn't ever actually change myself just to change their minds. That still rings true. But lately, I've been realizing how much different of a person I am. And I know, I know, everyone thinks of themselves as "weird," and you know what? We all are weird. Really, ridiculously weird. But I'm talking different in the sense that I function differently than most people. I love people. I constantly need people, but I also like to be alone. I like to do my own thang. I don't like it when people own a piece of me, and so I fear commitment in any sense. Chances are, if you've met me, you would understand the meaning behind the term "KatieLand." (^TM) The people who choose to include me in their life (although sometimes it's not a choice) often drop-kick this saying whenever I'm supposed to be somewhere and I'm not. And that happens a lot. But people often mistag this tendency as "immature," "irresponsible," and (my favorite) "selfish." Believe me, 97% of the time, it's not because of those favorable traits. I'm simply not there because I'm not there. (God that sounds dumb). But it's what I believe to be true, childish, or not.

And how can we ask anyone to stray from what they know is true? 

Mona Lisa's & Mad Hatters

I realize now that I didn't get to fully elaborate on the statement I made in the last post. It's weird when you can tell you are changing, and you know you could stop it if you wanted to, but you just don't care. This sounds a lot like a previous post, but it's different, I swear. 

Those faces and beings I've surrounded myself with and considered to be "my kind"....aren't  really fitting the way they used to. It's puzzling, the puzzle of life: a constant tetris game of trying to find the perfect fit with those spaces and corresponding faces. And it's fucking exhausting. It's a vicious cycle of  going with the flow of your instincts and regretting, regretting, regretting those decisions and the sacrifices you must make because of them. I generally get along with most people (varying with the day and the number of drinks/hits), but lately, I feel like conversations are forced and fucking nostalgic. Gross. I feel like I can only connect with two people here on an intellectual, delusional level. Yet this otiose, platform 93/4 drenched level, when reached, never lasts long enough. My eccentric thirst is never quenched. I'm always waiting for the beloved, most coveted, long, blue piece to appear in the game to make it all even and make it all make sense.