nonfiction

the key is to not let it get messy in the first place

I’m a fraud, but no matter.

The two extremes live inside of me: the desperate need to be isolated and weary, and the aching urgency to be productive and extraverted. My mother says it’s not a bad thing. You know, Kait, you can be a lazy bum and hide away in your room for awhile, letting it get cluttered and dirty, but then something in you clicks and finally you’re out and about and you clean it up. You can never let it stay messy for long. And maybe it is a good thing that I’m neither a perfectionist nor a “lazy bum” twenty-four-seven. Maybe that’s how humans are supposed to be. But I called them extremes for a reason, and bouncing back and forth between the two is dreadfully exhausting.

As an amateur writer, it’s no surprise that I took what my mom said as a metaphor for my life. It gets messy, but yes, I do always clean it up. However, it’s what she always said afterwards that solidifies the theory that I’m doing it all wrong. But, if you just put your clothes away when you were done with them instead of throwing them on the floor, you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.

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Apology to myself

I wanted to write a new post about all of the negative thoughts/things currently plaguing my life. I wanted to complain. Let it all out and trick myself into solving all my problems with the simple click of a “Publish…” button because “now that it’s out there, I’m fine.” But I’m not going to do that.

Instead, I just want to say hi. And that I’m sorry I’ve been MIA since May after making a post about wanting to create more and more content everyday and then not even lifting a finger to take a picture or type a simple blog post. This apology isn’t even to you guys, honestly, because quite frankly I don’t think anybody really pays that much attention or cares that much about my content (or lack thereof). But I want to apologize to myself. For continuously letting me down. In almost every aspect of my life.

nonfiction

retrospective me

in 2nd grade somebody pulled my hair and I had to apologize for disrupting the class with my scream. I didn’t think anything of this until one day my heart almost exploded for somebody and I was left apologizing for the mess I made. I think that was in a 11th grade, but who wants to keep track of apologies? in 6th grade a boy I liked showed up at my front door holding a cup of my favorite ice cream and I could’ve invited him in but instead I slammed the door in his face and felt so overwhelmed with kindness that I threw a perfectly good chocolate fudge sundae into the trash can. when he called me later that I night I told him it was delicious and not to tell anybody that we talk on the phone because it felt too old for me. this boy was in my geometry class some years later and never bothered to look at me so I never bothered to look at him. all the while, I was becoming someone’s secret. at the time, some people thought being seen with me wasn’t worth the trouble. I didn’t think anything of this until lyrics were written into a notebook about goodbyes and yet, nothing was done to mend my frustration. my train ride of emotions came to a sudden halt when I was 18 and I took it out on people and illegal substances at 99lbs with no map. I was last in the group to lose my virginity to a friend. I didn’t think anything of this until I went to college and I was surrounded by people who claimed their first times to be like fireworks. ‘fireworks?’ I thought, ‘and where are those people now?’ the person you used to cry over and lit a fire inside of you once upon a time… you guys don’t talk anymore, do you? the fire is bound to go out someday. and then you are going to pass it on to someone else and claim ‘you are the most I’ve ever loved anyone’ but your high school self would’ve slapped you in the face because what about the fireworks? at 24 years old, I have managed to dodge any resemblance to this. maybe I’m missing out but maybe passing on love after love just sounds exhausting to me. my makeup is already smudged and my hair is already tangled and throughout all these years I still don’t think I feel things properly. I didn’t think anything of this until I was left keeping track of apologies.

xox, Kait

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The Dreaded Art of Dating

As a 24 year old female, I am saddened to say that dating never turned out the way I thought it would. Surprise, surprise! It’s not a groundbreaking revelation. In fact, I would hardly consider it a revelation. More like a fact I knew was always there, but unwilling to accept. An ever-present shadow I chose to ignore. A voice in the back of my head I silenced.

However, I take full responsibility. Before I could read, I would take out books from my rickety bookshelf and read aloud to my stuffed animals, making up the words and creating happy endings the only way I knew how; romantically. In Goodnight Moon, the little bunny is so in love with the moon that he ends up marrying it. In The Hungry Caterpillar, the caterpillar is so in love with food, that he ends up becoming it, filling himself to the brim and consuming his love before anybody else can. These ideas sprouted from the movies I was watching as a child and I can say with utter disappointment that I was heavily exposed to the Disney Princess genre; and therefore, I was doomed from the start.

Once I was able to read, the endings became more diverse, but I chose to delve into the idyllic works of Stephenie Meyer, John Green, and Rainbow Rowell. Although these authors aren’t notoriously known for their happy endings, they are the epitomes of a good love story (besides Nicholas Sparks, but honestly I’ve never been a fan and wasn’t allowed to read those for quite some time) so the exposure was still there and thus, prompting me to start writing of my own.

From the ages of 13-16 I spent hours in front of my computer. Both reading love stories people had written online for inspiration and writing my own. I was transfixed, I was awestruck, and most disappointingly, I was lead astray.

By the time I was old enough to date, I didn’t know that people kissed people, slept with people, or dated people just for fun. All my life I had been taught in fiction, cinema, and other works that people kissed people they liked, cared about, and wanted to be with. So imagine my disappointment, at 16 years old, when I went down into the basement with a boy named Alex who had been texting me nonstop weeks prior, and who had then put is wet, slobbery lips on mine. I went home and told my best friend about it, “I can’t believe I’m going to have my first boyfriend,” and when he texted me later that night saying the kissing meant nothing and that he just wanted to “have fun,” I felt the ground crumble beneath me. That was a revelation.

I eventually played along. A few months into my senior year of high school I learned how to navigate the murky waters of adolescence and teenage hormones and I was proud of myself for eventually learning how to kiss, fuck, and even lay with no feelings attached whatsoever. Once I had endured a few more Alex’s during my junior year, I had finally learned how to play it, and eventually, I was winning every time.

Fast forward to now and I have had two boyfriends since college. Both of which just proved to me that even (semi) successful relationships are never the way they appear to be in movies, in books, or even in your own mind. The feelings I’ve felt watching people happily fall in love in movies had never once struck a cord in me with either of them, or anybody for that matter. And now, at 24 years old, as a single young lady in a thriving, hip city, I fear I must prepare myself to be underwhelmed for the rest of my dating career.

xox, Kait

nonfiction

opposite of laughter

So, I was talking to this boy.

I can’t believe I’m starting this post off like that but I am, and I was.

he was opposite of me inside and out. tall, dark, compassionate, effortless. not that i lack compassion, but he was full of it. he told me that when i walk by his desk at work, he fights the urge to stop me in my tracks and talk to me. when he walks by mine, i avoid eye contact and pretend i don’t see him. he makes calls for a living. CALLS. cold calls. in the middle of the office. where everybody can hear him. he calls businesses, bosses, regular people and has prospects and leads and other things i will never understand and i don’t know how he does it and i don’t wish i did but i wish i wanted to because he CHARMS. he really does and the thing is, i don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. but i watch. i sit at my computer, writing emails, sometimes staying completely silent for a full 8 hours and i hear his voice on the phone, laughing with coworkers, booming. and i’m jealous.

but that isn’t what this is.

it isn’t jealousy. resentment? maybe a little. but can you resent somebody you admire? i guess so. admiration. maybe that’s it. cause i’m not going anywhere near love. i mean, i’ve only known him for 3 weeks. and now he’s not speaking to me. so no, i’m not going anywhere near love. and i probably never will.

xox, Kait

nonfiction

Identity Crisis

Screen Shot 2018-04-29 at 8.45.40 PMTuesday, April 17
Today, I want to be healthy. In preparation I research fitness bloggers on YouTube, write down some workouts, buy a food scale, and download a macro-counter app. 1527 calories. 113 protein. 139 carb. 58 fat. I don’t know the first thing about tracking my food, but I’m determined to shrink. The dress-code at work is lax, so I go for a athletic, but casual look because I don’t care about whether or not the people in the office will stare at me today. I’m focused on bettering myself. Tomorrow, at 7PM UK time, there’s a new Gym Shark collection launching, so I set my alarm for 1 PM the next day and continue to browse their website. I’m going to need some new sports bras for this journey.

Wednesday, April 18
Today, I want to be cute. Sunshiney, if you will. Everybody’s dream. I wake up early to curl my hair, I raid my closet for the perfect sundress, and I keep my makeup light, pink, and casual. I worry that the dress might be too short for work, but I know people will stare today so the shorter the better. I forgot to pack a lunch because I spent the morning curling my hair, so I strut towards the kitchen, smiling at everybody as I pass, dress billowing behind me, and I make a sandwich. I don’t know what the macros are for this slice of bread, or this mayo, or turkey, but Hilary walked into the kitchen and complimented my dress so I know I’m doing something right. My alarm goes off at 1 PM, I turn it off, walk back to my desk, and eat my sandwich with a smile.

Thursday, April 19
Today, I’m into Anime. I’m the geek-girl of every nerdy persons’ fantasy. I wake up wondering whether I should wear my Kirby shirt, or my Marvel pullover. Infinity War is coming out soon, so I decide on the pullover in hopes that it’ll spark some workplace conversation. My earbuds pour out KPOP on my walk to work and when I arrive, I keep my head down. I walk to the kitchen at lunch time and make another sandwich. I feel a pang of guilt knowing I should be bringing my lunch so I can use my food scale to track my macros, but Scott just walked into the kitchen and asked me if I was seeing Infinity War. At the end of the day, I play Super Smash with some of the guys at work. I’m sure to let them know I watch Anime, too.

Friday, April 20
Today, I want to scare people. I want to be intimidating. The fucked up girl people only see in television shows. I wake up later than usual because there’s free breakfast at work today. I do my makeup dark. Thick black wings, black eye shadow, fake eyelashes, bold lip. I put on black skinny jeans, my black leather jacket and my combat boots. This time, my pop punk playlist is blaring and when I arrive to work I walk into the kitchen, head help up high, staring straight ahead, trying to look as mean as possible. I get in line for the breakfast and think to myself “maybe you should smile,” but Tom just sparked up a conversation and because I’m new to this town and it’s Friday night, I pray it’s an invitation to hang out. I make it known that I like to drink and oh, Tom, I love drugs, too!

Saturday, April 21
Today, I’m too lazy to get out of bed. I didn’t go out last night, but I don’t want to move. I wait until it’s lunch time to order delivery and flip on my TV. I watch people of all kinds live their best lives through movies, television shows, and YouTube channels. 12 hours straight. I order dinner. I don’t brush my teeth. I think about all the stuff I want to be doing. I write. I yearn. Something inside me shatters. I think about who I’m going to be the next day.

xox, Kait

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Year 24

Many people think reinvention starts at the new year. Actually, pretty much everybody does. New years resolutions are a thing, shirts that say “new year, new me” are (sadly) a thing. New years being synonymous with reinvention and second chances is something everybody is familiar with.

However, I believe that starting over on your birthday makes a lot more sense. By the time January 1st rolls around, I’ve already done some severe damage to the first half of my 23rd (or what have you) year, and although it’s “never too late” to be better or do something you love, I have an incredibly hard time accepting that. I like a fresh slate.

I turn 24 on Saturday and I’ve been thinking so much about how to make this year not “my year” cause I’m not an asshole but a “better one,” if you will. I just want to be better. And I’ve said this for so long. I’ve grown quite happier and more comfortable with myself within the past month or so but there are still things needed to be done that would personally make me what I perceive to be “better.”

For some reason, my “What It’s Like Dating Somebody with Extreme Anxiety” post got a lot of attention, which was surprising to me because it was such a rant with no structure whatsoever. But anyway, letting go of that toxic relationship was really, truly the first initiative I took to make this year-24 project a success. It was holding me back from a lot of things (including happiness, wow, how important) and since last week I have been a free woman. Honestly, talk about a fresh slate.

That’s why 24 is going to be more focused on happiness. It’s a cliche, but I spent almost 2 years in a miserable relationship so please bear with me. I want to do the things I’ve always wanted to do, create content everyday, be more responsible with my money, be more detail-oriented at work, be an awesome friend, and just pay a lot more attention. 24 has always been my favorite number, and since I’ve already smothered and killed the first part of my 2018, 24 is going to be the start of something better.

But I can’t promise you. I’ll probably ruin it by day 2. Don’t hold me to this. What am I saying. Seriously don’t listen to me.

xox, Kait