This dream is a little awkward but I had it so I'm writing it down. (I only had ice cream for dinner because it was so hot, so maybe that's where this came from?!)
Stu and I were at a party at a country house, and people were spread all around -- in the gigantic, open living room (wood floor, stone fireplace, big windows -- absolutely gorgeous), and the sun was just about to set so it was all beautiful and golden outside and people were sitting on blankets and in chairs outside and just enjoying being together (and eating).
I was sitting inside and this young blonde kid (maybe in his early teens) came up and kicked me for no reason.
"Hey!" I said "You can't treat people like that!" But nobody else seemed to care so he kept doing it. And then he said something REALLY nasty to me (I can't remember what it was). I was INCENSED.
I stood up and took him by the arm and dragged him to the other side of the room for a private confrontration. I pinned his arms above his head with one hand so he couldn't move.
"You listen here," I growled, "You were not brought up right. You WILL not say things like that to ANYONE!" I think he'd taunted me with some things from my past and I listed them off: "(can't remember the first one), I WAS a good roommate, and Stu loves being with me!" I chewed him out for a while (I mean, I REALLY let him have it), and then I let him go and scamper outside. Stu was backing me up the whole time so I felt like we'd handled the situation so I went outside to get a breath of fresh air.
Some of my guy friends were sitting on a picnic blanket and I heard one of them say, "Dude, did you see Kaitlin chew that kid out?"
And the other replied, "Seriously? Hottest thing I've ever seen."
...WHAT?!
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Your Task
"There's trouble ahead when you live only for the approval of others, saying what flatters them, doing what indulges them. Popularity contests are not truth contests—look how many scoundrel preachers were approved by your ancestors! Your task is to be true, not popular."
-Luke 6:26
-Luke 6:26
Friday, March 30, 2012
Jesus Partied
After this he went out and saw a
man named Levi at his work collecting taxes. Jesus said, "Come along
with me." And he did—walked away from everything and went with him. Levi
gave a large dinner at his home for Jesus. Everybody was there, tax men
and other disreputable characters as guests at the dinner. The
Pharisees and their religion scholars came to his disciples greatly
offended. "What is he doing eating and drinking with crooks and
'sinners'?"
Jesus heard about it and spoke up, "Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I'm here inviting outsiders, not insiders—an invitation to a changed life, changed inside and out." They asked him, "John's disciples are well-known for keeping fasts and saying prayers. Also the Pharisees. But you seem to spend most of your time at parties. Why?"
Jesus said, "When you're celebrating a wedding, you don't skimp on the cake and wine. You feast. Later you may need to pull in your belt, but this isn't the time. As long as the bride and groom are with you, you have a good time. When the groom is gone, the fasting can begin. No one throws cold water on a friendly bonfire. This is Kingdom Come!
"No one cuts up a fine silk scarf to patch old work clothes; you want fabrics that match. And you don't put wine in old, cracked bottles; you get strong, clean bottles for your fresh vintage wine. And no one who has ever tasted fine aged wine prefers unaged wine."
Luke 5:27-39 (The Message)
I love Jesus.
Jesus heard about it and spoke up, "Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I'm here inviting outsiders, not insiders—an invitation to a changed life, changed inside and out." They asked him, "John's disciples are well-known for keeping fasts and saying prayers. Also the Pharisees. But you seem to spend most of your time at parties. Why?"
Jesus said, "When you're celebrating a wedding, you don't skimp on the cake and wine. You feast. Later you may need to pull in your belt, but this isn't the time. As long as the bride and groom are with you, you have a good time. When the groom is gone, the fasting can begin. No one throws cold water on a friendly bonfire. This is Kingdom Come!
"No one cuts up a fine silk scarf to patch old work clothes; you want fabrics that match. And you don't put wine in old, cracked bottles; you get strong, clean bottles for your fresh vintage wine. And no one who has ever tasted fine aged wine prefers unaged wine."
Luke 5:27-39 (The Message)
I love Jesus.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Pieces
I remember a few bits here and there of the dreams I had last night --
One in which I discovered Stu had eaten the extra stroganoff AND a pack of Ramen, which is an absolutely NO in his diet plan (I was a wee bit disgruntled when I woke up and checked the fridge before I woke him up. Thankfully, he had not eaten anything after I went to bed).
In another dream, I was at a church, and we were early for some function -- Mom was driving. We got out and I felt unsafe. I hurried from the kitchen/dining area through the halls to the sanctuary, where I stayed because I felt safe there. I wish I could remember more of this dream -- the rest of what I remember is something about dancing, and shoes, and a lizard person.
And...that's about all I can remember.
I ate a Waldorf Salad for dinner with peas and chicken salad. Maybe I should eat some more popcorn tonight.
One in which I discovered Stu had eaten the extra stroganoff AND a pack of Ramen, which is an absolutely NO in his diet plan (I was a wee bit disgruntled when I woke up and checked the fridge before I woke him up. Thankfully, he had not eaten anything after I went to bed).
In another dream, I was at a church, and we were early for some function -- Mom was driving. We got out and I felt unsafe. I hurried from the kitchen/dining area through the halls to the sanctuary, where I stayed because I felt safe there. I wish I could remember more of this dream -- the rest of what I remember is something about dancing, and shoes, and a lizard person.
And...that's about all I can remember.
I ate a Waldorf Salad for dinner with peas and chicken salad. Maybe I should eat some more popcorn tonight.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Body Jumper
I like experimenting with food right before bed. Sometimes, I can guarantee weird dreams with whatever it is I'm eating. Like last night, I had popcorn. I ALWAYS have crazy, realistic dreams with popcorn. For some reason.
In my dream, I was living in an apartment complex next door to a friend. We had a fight and I rushed back to my apartment, where my boyfriend was. He was in the kitchen boiling water and he picked me up and held me while I cried. Then, I realized something had changed. I looked at him and at the water and stepped away from him.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Then I understood that he was going to switch bodies with me -- but then I realized no, he wasn't, he was going to take my SKIN and I was just going to be dead. The water was to either clean up what was left of me or start the process of separating my skin from the rest of me.
I think he got close to me because he was out to get the person I lived next door to, and the only way he could get away with the murder was to make it look like I did it.
He was a body jumper.
And then everything stopped and we were done filming that scene. I was on TV! And while I was being held by the guy, I thought, "I can totally do this! I can act!" It was a bit of a revelation.
In my dream, I was living in an apartment complex next door to a friend. We had a fight and I rushed back to my apartment, where my boyfriend was. He was in the kitchen boiling water and he picked me up and held me while I cried. Then, I realized something had changed. I looked at him and at the water and stepped away from him.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Then I understood that he was going to switch bodies with me -- but then I realized no, he wasn't, he was going to take my SKIN and I was just going to be dead. The water was to either clean up what was left of me or start the process of separating my skin from the rest of me.
I think he got close to me because he was out to get the person I lived next door to, and the only way he could get away with the murder was to make it look like I did it.
He was a body jumper.
And then everything stopped and we were done filming that scene. I was on TV! And while I was being held by the guy, I thought, "I can totally do this! I can act!" It was a bit of a revelation.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Tar Pits and Screenplays
Two dreams last night -- one super creepy, one deeply frustrating. I ate Cheetos before bed. Never again.
Dream No. 1:
My friend Stephanie and I were driving to a house to pick something up (I needed...something. A change of clothes? A bag?). There was a huge tar pit to the side of the house and I knew there were broken bits of mannequin in there as well as other junk. We were driving along when I mentioned them and my friend looked back at me and smiled. "Oh, I'm not the only one who put stuff in there." And I realized that the mannequins were bones and that she'd murdered her sisters. And their bodies weren't the only ones in the pits. I got out of that car fast and got into the house. I think I stayed put.
Dream No. 2:
(You can tell this is really a dream because I NEVER win anything)
I dreamed I won a contest and that Christian Kane was going to be in the first part of my first indie film. I was really excited but then realized I had a camera but the script wasn't finished and I couldn't find my quote that was the idea behind the whole movie. I went through my notes bunches of times, shuffling papers here and there. No luck. Christian showed up and we talked for a few minutes (I mentioned I loved guitars, mostly basses, and he mentioned maybe he had one lying around and it looked like he might send it to me. !!!) and then I got exasperated and told him that I couldn't find the most important part of my script and anyway it wasn't finished so we just talked it through. I knew he probably thought I was the most unprofessional person in the world and I was so aggravated that I couldn't find my note card, and it was really awful that he wouldn't end up being in my film because I didn't even have a finished script.
So intensely disappointing.
Dream No. 1:
My friend Stephanie and I were driving to a house to pick something up (I needed...something. A change of clothes? A bag?). There was a huge tar pit to the side of the house and I knew there were broken bits of mannequin in there as well as other junk. We were driving along when I mentioned them and my friend looked back at me and smiled. "Oh, I'm not the only one who put stuff in there." And I realized that the mannequins were bones and that she'd murdered her sisters. And their bodies weren't the only ones in the pits. I got out of that car fast and got into the house. I think I stayed put.
Dream No. 2:
(You can tell this is really a dream because I NEVER win anything)
I dreamed I won a contest and that Christian Kane was going to be in the first part of my first indie film. I was really excited but then realized I had a camera but the script wasn't finished and I couldn't find my quote that was the idea behind the whole movie. I went through my notes bunches of times, shuffling papers here and there. No luck. Christian showed up and we talked for a few minutes (I mentioned I loved guitars, mostly basses, and he mentioned maybe he had one lying around and it looked like he might send it to me. !!!) and then I got exasperated and told him that I couldn't find the most important part of my script and anyway it wasn't finished so we just talked it through. I knew he probably thought I was the most unprofessional person in the world and I was so aggravated that I couldn't find my note card, and it was really awful that he wouldn't end up being in my film because I didn't even have a finished script.
So intensely disappointing.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Narnia
Since I didn't get to see my brother this week (he had chickenpox crop up at the last second so his Spring Break was spent miserably in bed), we texted quite a bit. Today's conversation was kind of depressing. I think it partially had to do with me finishing up a really sad biography (How to Be A Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood) and realizing just how messed up my brother and I are, especially in comparison to our much more successful siblings.
My brother's 18. He's survived a snowstorm (right before he was born), a flood, an earthquake, and being molested as a young child. He's survived moving overseas, almost being rammed by bulls, firework explosions (still has the scars), and various medical issues (including asthma, chickenpox at 18 and tonsil removal). He's also survived a harsh and hyper-strict father and being missionary/teacher's kid, amongst other things.
I can't say whether or not his faith has survived, and I'm beginning to suspect he has a drinking problem. He can't get enough, and he doesn't get drunk. It's extremely hard for him a) get drunk and b) stay drunk. So he doesn't. But he drinks a lot. In Spain this wasn't a problem, but he's Stateside and under age. Of course, when he's with me he doesn't drink because I know enough to not be stupid and disobey the law. But he's 18. And as we all know, teens don't have brains that are done developing. Hence the not-so-smart decisions to try everything risky with the belief that you can't die from whatever it is you're doing.
So obviously, I worry about him. I know technically there's nothing I can do for him. I can pray and I can make him obey the law when he's with me, but he's his own person and he has to make his own mistakes. This is why I don't want to be a mother. I don't want to watch them make mistakes that will ruin the rest of their lives.
I don't have a drinking problem but that's only because I cultivated self-control early (in some areas -- mostly my violent temper. Not food) and have kept away from drink besides the occasional 1 drink on social occasions. But that doesn't mean I don't want to drink. I've been wanting to bite my nails and drink since Christmas and while I've kept away from the nails and only had 1 drink (on St. Pat's), I crave something to lower my anxiety and stress.
We didn't know my brother was molested until he told us last Christmas. It was a horrifying story, involving someone everyone trusted but me. When I was younger, there were certain people I stayed away from. I guess instinctively, I knew something was off. Later I found out these people were all abusive -- verbally, emotionally, physically or sexually. I always stayed away from the person that hurt my brother. I never wanted to be near them and I strove to keep myself out of bounds. To this day I don't know how I knew. But it wasn't me they wanted. And it sickens me that it had to happen to my darling little brother.
Talking to him today nearly broke my heart. He's going back to Spain for the summer and we talked about it. We likened it to Narnia. I spent nine months in Spain and when we had to leave I felt like I was leaving life behind and going back to the darkness I grew up in (I really loathe Tennessee). I had feelings in Spain, and thoughts -- neither of which I recall having up until then. I came alive there. And then I had to go back to hell. That's what it felt like. I fell into a depression and blocked out the next two years, escaping to South Carolina when I could, only to attend a school where I was a freak and a teacher's kid who didn't have any friends in her class and read books because they couldn't ignore her or turn her away.
But there's Narnia, calling us. My brother and I are knit to the fabric of Spain. We thrive in the culture. We belong there. And it's painful to be away from it, even though we know it's better to have that longing at times than stay there and find out it isn't Narnia after all. That's why I've resisted going back (even though the first few years I would jump at any chance to get back there and drink in the wild air). But I still love it and that was probably the happiest year of my life. I want it to stay like that.
But why are my brother and I so broken? Why did we shatter when my sister and other brother are perfectly healthy, independent and successful individuals?
My sister is studying violin and voice at the Music Conservatory in Madrid. She's been commissioned for paintings (her style resembles Georgia O'Keefe's), played with Symphonies and is a dedicated, serious professional. She's also tall and gorgeous (and slim).
I, on the other hand, am goofy, short, rotund, and laid back. I have no drive, I might have a mental disorder, and I am in pieces. I suffer from depression and anxiety. I grew up with a neurosis that I was ugly (I've since gone past that to acknowledge I am plain), too pale (I was called Ghost and Snow White as a child), too heavy (I was forced to exercise and eat less growing up), and wouldn't ever pass for cute without a ton of makeup (I was also forced to wear makeup when I turned 14). My mother is jealous of my legs and made it a point to buy me short skirts and comment on my "beautiful legs", causing me to believe that the only things guys would like about me were my legs and my boobs and I was told that guys only liked girls who took care of themselves, which I obviously haven't done. I was held hostage by family friends while my mother and father tried to figure out if I was sleeping around and into pornography (neither of which has ever been true), and I was told I was going to hell for playing Dungeons and Dragons.
I am a child. I like playing in water, make-believe, and eating. Coloring, stuffed animals, hugs, bright colors, play-doh, and finger painting. I'm emotionally stunted and have very limited emotional range. I also don't know social cues and I don't pick up on body language. I often repeat the same phrase over and over because I don't know what to say. I can't even look most people in the eyes. I can't process emotions until months or years later and my body is regulated so strictly that I can't even re-learn how to dance. I'm stiff.
My other brother is a musical prodigy. He plays cello and piano. He's played piano for two years and is already teaching. He is also going to be attending the musical conservatory for cello and is tall, slim, and athletic. He is boisterous, extroverted, intelligent and intellectual. He's popular, too.
My darling brother who turned out like me is emotional, sensitive, and drinks. He is highly intellectual but prefers partying and has done some things I never would have dreamed of doing because of the dire consequences. He's been abused and still has no resolution in knowing whether the person will go to jail or not. He's had one medical procedure after the other as things have gone wrong since December. His stress levels are high and he hasn't been to a counselor. He wants to earn lots of money and he doesn't want to get married or have kids.
Why did two of my siblings turn out "perfect" (at least, everyone thinks them so. Privately, my brother and I think they're uptight, black-and-white, high strung and don't know how to relax and have fun...and yet I think we're jealous of how put-together they are) while my other brother and I fell apart?
I feel like my brother is Edmund. Turkish Delight is his downfall. My other sister is like Susan. And My youngest brother is like Peter -- there are moments when we connect. And I hope I am like Lucy.
But how does a broken, shattered Lucy even begin to search for Aslan within The Wardrobe? And is there any hope for Edmund?
My brother's 18. He's survived a snowstorm (right before he was born), a flood, an earthquake, and being molested as a young child. He's survived moving overseas, almost being rammed by bulls, firework explosions (still has the scars), and various medical issues (including asthma, chickenpox at 18 and tonsil removal). He's also survived a harsh and hyper-strict father and being missionary/teacher's kid, amongst other things.
I can't say whether or not his faith has survived, and I'm beginning to suspect he has a drinking problem. He can't get enough, and he doesn't get drunk. It's extremely hard for him a) get drunk and b) stay drunk. So he doesn't. But he drinks a lot. In Spain this wasn't a problem, but he's Stateside and under age. Of course, when he's with me he doesn't drink because I know enough to not be stupid and disobey the law. But he's 18. And as we all know, teens don't have brains that are done developing. Hence the not-so-smart decisions to try everything risky with the belief that you can't die from whatever it is you're doing.
So obviously, I worry about him. I know technically there's nothing I can do for him. I can pray and I can make him obey the law when he's with me, but he's his own person and he has to make his own mistakes. This is why I don't want to be a mother. I don't want to watch them make mistakes that will ruin the rest of their lives.
I don't have a drinking problem but that's only because I cultivated self-control early (in some areas -- mostly my violent temper. Not food) and have kept away from drink besides the occasional 1 drink on social occasions. But that doesn't mean I don't want to drink. I've been wanting to bite my nails and drink since Christmas and while I've kept away from the nails and only had 1 drink (on St. Pat's), I crave something to lower my anxiety and stress.
We didn't know my brother was molested until he told us last Christmas. It was a horrifying story, involving someone everyone trusted but me. When I was younger, there were certain people I stayed away from. I guess instinctively, I knew something was off. Later I found out these people were all abusive -- verbally, emotionally, physically or sexually. I always stayed away from the person that hurt my brother. I never wanted to be near them and I strove to keep myself out of bounds. To this day I don't know how I knew. But it wasn't me they wanted. And it sickens me that it had to happen to my darling little brother.
Talking to him today nearly broke my heart. He's going back to Spain for the summer and we talked about it. We likened it to Narnia. I spent nine months in Spain and when we had to leave I felt like I was leaving life behind and going back to the darkness I grew up in (I really loathe Tennessee). I had feelings in Spain, and thoughts -- neither of which I recall having up until then. I came alive there. And then I had to go back to hell. That's what it felt like. I fell into a depression and blocked out the next two years, escaping to South Carolina when I could, only to attend a school where I was a freak and a teacher's kid who didn't have any friends in her class and read books because they couldn't ignore her or turn her away.
But there's Narnia, calling us. My brother and I are knit to the fabric of Spain. We thrive in the culture. We belong there. And it's painful to be away from it, even though we know it's better to have that longing at times than stay there and find out it isn't Narnia after all. That's why I've resisted going back (even though the first few years I would jump at any chance to get back there and drink in the wild air). But I still love it and that was probably the happiest year of my life. I want it to stay like that.
But why are my brother and I so broken? Why did we shatter when my sister and other brother are perfectly healthy, independent and successful individuals?
My sister is studying violin and voice at the Music Conservatory in Madrid. She's been commissioned for paintings (her style resembles Georgia O'Keefe's), played with Symphonies and is a dedicated, serious professional. She's also tall and gorgeous (and slim).
I, on the other hand, am goofy, short, rotund, and laid back. I have no drive, I might have a mental disorder, and I am in pieces. I suffer from depression and anxiety. I grew up with a neurosis that I was ugly (I've since gone past that to acknowledge I am plain), too pale (I was called Ghost and Snow White as a child), too heavy (I was forced to exercise and eat less growing up), and wouldn't ever pass for cute without a ton of makeup (I was also forced to wear makeup when I turned 14). My mother is jealous of my legs and made it a point to buy me short skirts and comment on my "beautiful legs", causing me to believe that the only things guys would like about me were my legs and my boobs and I was told that guys only liked girls who took care of themselves, which I obviously haven't done. I was held hostage by family friends while my mother and father tried to figure out if I was sleeping around and into pornography (neither of which has ever been true), and I was told I was going to hell for playing Dungeons and Dragons.
I am a child. I like playing in water, make-believe, and eating. Coloring, stuffed animals, hugs, bright colors, play-doh, and finger painting. I'm emotionally stunted and have very limited emotional range. I also don't know social cues and I don't pick up on body language. I often repeat the same phrase over and over because I don't know what to say. I can't even look most people in the eyes. I can't process emotions until months or years later and my body is regulated so strictly that I can't even re-learn how to dance. I'm stiff.
My other brother is a musical prodigy. He plays cello and piano. He's played piano for two years and is already teaching. He is also going to be attending the musical conservatory for cello and is tall, slim, and athletic. He is boisterous, extroverted, intelligent and intellectual. He's popular, too.
My darling brother who turned out like me is emotional, sensitive, and drinks. He is highly intellectual but prefers partying and has done some things I never would have dreamed of doing because of the dire consequences. He's been abused and still has no resolution in knowing whether the person will go to jail or not. He's had one medical procedure after the other as things have gone wrong since December. His stress levels are high and he hasn't been to a counselor. He wants to earn lots of money and he doesn't want to get married or have kids.
Why did two of my siblings turn out "perfect" (at least, everyone thinks them so. Privately, my brother and I think they're uptight, black-and-white, high strung and don't know how to relax and have fun...and yet I think we're jealous of how put-together they are) while my other brother and I fell apart?
I feel like my brother is Edmund. Turkish Delight is his downfall. My other sister is like Susan. And My youngest brother is like Peter -- there are moments when we connect. And I hope I am like Lucy.
But how does a broken, shattered Lucy even begin to search for Aslan within The Wardrobe? And is there any hope for Edmund?
Act I: Jitters
I've dreamed a few times about the upcoming play I'm in -- a good dream and some anxiety-driven dreams. Last night was of the anxiety-driven type.
I dreamed my sister and I were in North Carolina (apparently the play was there) and I was driving. As you know, I don't have a license or even a permit, so I was really hoping I wasn't going to get pulled over by a cop. I was driving really carefully, but my brakes gave out and I just kept running stop lights and stop signs. So finally we pulled over for gas and my sister said, "I'll drive." I agreed. "You've got your permit with you, right?" She shook her head. "Nope." So then we were off. She drove faster than me and since the brakes were still out we still kept running lights but we didn't get pulled over (we were out in the wilds of N.C. -- think long country roads and small intersections).
When we got to the theatre, our director wasn't there (in real life, she won't be back for the Monday rehearsal so her stage manager is stepping into the role) so the stage manager and a man had set up the stage (which was much bigger than our rehearsal space) completely wrong - two clusters of furniture on each side of the stage so there was NO ROOM for us to do the correct blocking or even be near each other since the tables and chairs were clustered so tight together.
We argued about the spacing but finally decided to rehearse and since we didn't have to pay attention to the blocking we'd been memorizing, we just had to figure it out for ourselves. We practiced entrances and exits for a while (and meanwhile there were a few audience members) for the person doing the lights and my sister and I were highly frustrated and couldn't wait for the director to return.
I dreamed my sister and I were in North Carolina (apparently the play was there) and I was driving. As you know, I don't have a license or even a permit, so I was really hoping I wasn't going to get pulled over by a cop. I was driving really carefully, but my brakes gave out and I just kept running stop lights and stop signs. So finally we pulled over for gas and my sister said, "I'll drive." I agreed. "You've got your permit with you, right?" She shook her head. "Nope." So then we were off. She drove faster than me and since the brakes were still out we still kept running lights but we didn't get pulled over (we were out in the wilds of N.C. -- think long country roads and small intersections).
When we got to the theatre, our director wasn't there (in real life, she won't be back for the Monday rehearsal so her stage manager is stepping into the role) so the stage manager and a man had set up the stage (which was much bigger than our rehearsal space) completely wrong - two clusters of furniture on each side of the stage so there was NO ROOM for us to do the correct blocking or even be near each other since the tables and chairs were clustered so tight together.
We argued about the spacing but finally decided to rehearse and since we didn't have to pay attention to the blocking we'd been memorizing, we just had to figure it out for ourselves. We practiced entrances and exits for a while (and meanwhile there were a few audience members) for the person doing the lights and my sister and I were highly frustrated and couldn't wait for the director to return.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Last Day on Earth
Last night's nightmare was so real that we were talking about reality in the dream.
In my dream, a couple we know moved from their house to a really nice apartment complex in the city. I went to visit them and help E move stuff around. A neighbor called, a blonde girl, and offered M a steak. When she left I stopped M from eating it and sniffed it, cut it apart, all the while freaking out. It looked like it was cooked, but inside it was mostly dark blood. Human blood.
"Don't eat this, M."
"...what?"
"It'll turn you into a vampire."
"Seriously, Kaitlin? This is real life."
"But this HAPPENS in real life, M."
I went to tell E and she believed me. We emptied the drains in the back room (I think the apartment, which was huge, had been a restaurant) and went back to the kitchen to see that M had eaten the steak. Elizabeth ran out to pack her car and I stayed in the kitchen with M, waiting. The blonde girl came back. She smiled and we saw her fangs.
"It's your birthday tomorrow," she purred.
"We'll be bringing gifts." I knew she meant humans, for food.
M started realizing something was really happening. He didn't like it but at this point, there was no going back. I got their dog, Lily, and held her. I rushed past the girl, who thought I was going to throw the dog at her. "I love her too much to let her try and fight you," I snarled.
I took her to E, who was crying in the bathroom.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
She came out and nodded. She sniffed.
"It's just that this is basically our last night on earth, and there were so many things I wanted to do for God," she said.
"I was watching Rosie on Oprah the other day and I was thinking about all the stuff we could do -- all the devotions I never had time for, the things I should have done and didn't, the right things to do..."
We stood there, with Lily, and cried because we knew that even if M didn't want to suck our blood, the blonde vampire and her friends would show up tomorrow and know that we were human and then they'd tear into us.
E had packed the car and we were going to go on the run with Lily but somehow we knew it was futile. They'd find us.
We spent the early part of the night in shock because in real life, stuff like this isn't real, and in tears because we knew it was our last day on earth.
In my dream, a couple we know moved from their house to a really nice apartment complex in the city. I went to visit them and help E move stuff around. A neighbor called, a blonde girl, and offered M a steak. When she left I stopped M from eating it and sniffed it, cut it apart, all the while freaking out. It looked like it was cooked, but inside it was mostly dark blood. Human blood.
"Don't eat this, M."
"...what?"
"It'll turn you into a vampire."
"Seriously, Kaitlin? This is real life."
"But this HAPPENS in real life, M."
I went to tell E and she believed me. We emptied the drains in the back room (I think the apartment, which was huge, had been a restaurant) and went back to the kitchen to see that M had eaten the steak. Elizabeth ran out to pack her car and I stayed in the kitchen with M, waiting. The blonde girl came back. She smiled and we saw her fangs.
"It's your birthday tomorrow," she purred.
"We'll be bringing gifts." I knew she meant humans, for food.
M started realizing something was really happening. He didn't like it but at this point, there was no going back. I got their dog, Lily, and held her. I rushed past the girl, who thought I was going to throw the dog at her. "I love her too much to let her try and fight you," I snarled.
I took her to E, who was crying in the bathroom.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
She came out and nodded. She sniffed.
"It's just that this is basically our last night on earth, and there were so many things I wanted to do for God," she said.
"I was watching Rosie on Oprah the other day and I was thinking about all the stuff we could do -- all the devotions I never had time for, the things I should have done and didn't, the right things to do..."
We stood there, with Lily, and cried because we knew that even if M didn't want to suck our blood, the blonde vampire and her friends would show up tomorrow and know that we were human and then they'd tear into us.
E had packed the car and we were going to go on the run with Lily but somehow we knew it was futile. They'd find us.
We spent the early part of the night in shock because in real life, stuff like this isn't real, and in tears because we knew it was our last day on earth.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Irish Creamy Potato Soup
I didn't even think about how appropriate this post was until I was typing in the title.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!
I don't know what you're doing to celebrate, but I have my nails painted green, and I'm going to read some history on St. Patrick. Then I'm going to a party later (some of the people are of Irish heritage, including myself) and I'm sure it will be full of laughter, noise, and Irish Car Bomb cupcakes.
My friend Alex and I have been making soups and he found this recipe in one of the little cheap cookbooks you might find at Wal-Mart or Bi-Lo. I've tinkered with the recipe a bit so anything in parentheses is what I did.
Irish Creamy Potato Soup
Ingredients:
5 potatoes, peeled and sliced 1/4" thick
2 c. chicken broth
1 - 1 1/3 c. milk
4 green onions, chopped (I didn't have these -- used 1/3 of a white onion)
(turkey sausage)
(baby bella mushrooms)
1 tsp. oil
salt and pepper to taste
(onion salt, garlic powder)
Directions:
saute the onions in the oil until clear/slightly brown around the edges. Add chicken broth and potatoes and bring to a boil. Cover and turn down to simmer ("2" on my stove) for 15 minutes. Take pan off heat and mash the potatoes. Add the milk. Season to taste. (Add cooked sausage, crumbled and fresh mushrooms, sliced)
Serve!
We topped it with cheddar cheese (I prefer sharp), and I think some Irish soda bread would have made this meal perfect.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!
I don't know what you're doing to celebrate, but I have my nails painted green, and I'm going to read some history on St. Patrick. Then I'm going to a party later (some of the people are of Irish heritage, including myself) and I'm sure it will be full of laughter, noise, and Irish Car Bomb cupcakes.
My friend Alex and I have been making soups and he found this recipe in one of the little cheap cookbooks you might find at Wal-Mart or Bi-Lo. I've tinkered with the recipe a bit so anything in parentheses is what I did.
Irish Creamy Potato Soup
Ingredients:
5 potatoes, peeled and sliced 1/4" thick
2 c. chicken broth
1 - 1 1/3 c. milk
4 green onions, chopped (I didn't have these -- used 1/3 of a white onion)
(turkey sausage)
(baby bella mushrooms)
1 tsp. oil
salt and pepper to taste
(onion salt, garlic powder)
Directions:
saute the onions in the oil until clear/slightly brown around the edges. Add chicken broth and potatoes and bring to a boil. Cover and turn down to simmer ("2" on my stove) for 15 minutes. Take pan off heat and mash the potatoes. Add the milk. Season to taste. (Add cooked sausage, crumbled and fresh mushrooms, sliced)
Serve!
We topped it with cheddar cheese (I prefer sharp), and I think some Irish soda bread would have made this meal perfect.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Co-workers
This dream was a few nights ago:
Stu and I were working temp jobs at a data entry place -- it was a low, wide white building with grey interior and cubicles. We were on break with a few more friends and I went to check on our co-workers -- little white mice who were turning our data entry into braille.
Stu and I were working temp jobs at a data entry place -- it was a low, wide white building with grey interior and cubicles. We were on break with a few more friends and I went to check on our co-workers -- little white mice who were turning our data entry into braille.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
I Never Dance Anymore
My dreams last night were jumbled, long, complicated, and emotional.
It's weird that I'm only overtly emotional and can clearly label the emotions when I'm *not* in reality (watching TV shows, reading, or dreaming).
My favorite bit of a dream last night was about dancing.
It might seem ridiculous, but in actuality it was amazing.
I was at a cabin some friends and I were renting. Brodus Clay (a wrestler on RAW) was there and we were in the kitchen doorway waiting while someone cooked...breakfast? Lunch? Anyway, Brodus and I started dancing. We matched each other in movement, timing it perfectly. We danced around the kitchen, and I was confident. Strong. I felt at peace. Warm. Loved.
After we danced, he asked if I ever danced at home. "Never," I said. I felt incredibly sad. "I was a dancer for nine years," I whispered as we left the kitchen.
Ok, so the last part was sad. But the dancing...it was a mix of modern dance and classical ballet with some ice skating moves. We glided across the floor as if we were one being, and I didn't fumble the steps once. It was exhilarating.
In real life, I've lost my coordination, gracefulness, and ability to let go. There have been numerous opportunities to dance -- at weddings, at church, with friends downtown.
Part of the reason I don't dance is where I work. And part of the reason I don't dance is because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of messing up. I'm afraid that I don't have the money to take lessons. I'm afraid I'm not good at it. I'm afraid I look stupid (I'm much too big to be a real ballerina, although I'm short enough). I'm afraid people won't want to dance with me. I'm afraid that I've lost whatever talent I had for it. I'm afraid I'll hurt myself. I'm afraid my chances are gone forever.
But I ache for it. I ache to dance again. To be part of a dance team of two or twelve. To learn. To flex and stretch. To be so focused on movement that my mind disappears and my arms and legs and torso take over.
I miss dancing.
But I miss the ability to let go, to be free, even more.
It's weird that I'm only overtly emotional and can clearly label the emotions when I'm *not* in reality (watching TV shows, reading, or dreaming).
My favorite bit of a dream last night was about dancing.
It might seem ridiculous, but in actuality it was amazing.
I was at a cabin some friends and I were renting. Brodus Clay (a wrestler on RAW) was there and we were in the kitchen doorway waiting while someone cooked...breakfast? Lunch? Anyway, Brodus and I started dancing. We matched each other in movement, timing it perfectly. We danced around the kitchen, and I was confident. Strong. I felt at peace. Warm. Loved.
After we danced, he asked if I ever danced at home. "Never," I said. I felt incredibly sad. "I was a dancer for nine years," I whispered as we left the kitchen.
Ok, so the last part was sad. But the dancing...it was a mix of modern dance and classical ballet with some ice skating moves. We glided across the floor as if we were one being, and I didn't fumble the steps once. It was exhilarating.
In real life, I've lost my coordination, gracefulness, and ability to let go. There have been numerous opportunities to dance -- at weddings, at church, with friends downtown.
Part of the reason I don't dance is where I work. And part of the reason I don't dance is because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of messing up. I'm afraid that I don't have the money to take lessons. I'm afraid I'm not good at it. I'm afraid I look stupid (I'm much too big to be a real ballerina, although I'm short enough). I'm afraid people won't want to dance with me. I'm afraid that I've lost whatever talent I had for it. I'm afraid I'll hurt myself. I'm afraid my chances are gone forever.
But I ache for it. I ache to dance again. To be part of a dance team of two or twelve. To learn. To flex and stretch. To be so focused on movement that my mind disappears and my arms and legs and torso take over.
I miss dancing.
But I miss the ability to let go, to be free, even more.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Maximum Ride
I love Maximum Ride. Everything about the series is wonderful. I'm two books away from finishing the series (one book doesn't come out until August 2012) and I have no idea what's going to happen. I know what I would *like* to happen, but...when does that ever come true?
James Patterson is a master at only giving you info the characters know. When I'm writing (and I've noticed this when some other authors are revealing the plot) it's tricky to only include information your character knows -- you want to set everything up and to do that sometimes you give in and give away too much.
That's what I like about the characters in Maximum Ride. They have a few pieces of the puzzle, but don't know how to use the information. They're kids, after all. There's a lot of bad decisions, mistakes, running from/towards disaster, and even some heartbreaking moments when everything goes wrong.
It is the closest thing to real life I've read in a long time. And it's totally sci-fi -- but the search for home, family, love, it's all there. The characters are real people, not just moving cut outs.
Anyway -- I wanted to do something fun while I was waiting on the last two books, so I went to Polyvore and created this outfit for Max -- she's a tomboy, and running from danger constantly, she'll have ripped up jeans, good boots, and no makeup. Rough-and-tumble Max, however, is still a somewhat-feminine girl (when she's not fighting for her life) -- so I gave her the earrings.
Good luck, Max. I'm rooting for you (AND FANG!!!)!
#SomeOfMyBestFriendsAreBookCharacters
Friday, March 9, 2012
Fall Apart Box
I am a weird mix of Type-A-Type-Bness.
I was raised to function as an A-Type. But in reality? I'm a B. Laid-back, spontaneous, needs less scheduled time and more free time.
Which has not been happening lately.
Which is why I'm so stressed out.
Which is why I'm going to be organized about my inevitable meltdown.
I'm preparing a "Fall Apart Box".
Everything I need to fall apart and recoup over a weekend will be contained in a box I can yank out when I need it.
Trying to put one together with as many different ways of expression as possible.
these are my ideas so far:
some good movies (that I will cry over when watching)
a good book
some hot cocoa packets (I find it impossible to frown whilst sipping chocolate)
a mixed CD I can play while lying on the bed (or the floor)
a comfort object (teddy bear? owl? ...another book?)
a few bucks to buy something fun -- like a pair of earrings (or to go see a movie)
kleenex/handkerchiefs
an art project and materials (from my Art Therapy board on Pinterest)
Bible verses on index cards
my Secrets Notebook
Any other good ideas?
And yes, I know. It will probably take longer than a weekend. But that's all the time I've got.
I was raised to function as an A-Type. But in reality? I'm a B. Laid-back, spontaneous, needs less scheduled time and more free time.
Which has not been happening lately.
Which is why I'm so stressed out.
Which is why I'm going to be organized about my inevitable meltdown.
I'm preparing a "Fall Apart Box".
Everything I need to fall apart and recoup over a weekend will be contained in a box I can yank out when I need it.
Trying to put one together with as many different ways of expression as possible.
these are my ideas so far:
some good movies (that I will cry over when watching)
a good book
some hot cocoa packets (I find it impossible to frown whilst sipping chocolate)
a mixed CD I can play while lying on the bed (or the floor)
a comfort object (teddy bear? owl? ...another book?)
a few bucks to buy something fun -- like a pair of earrings (or to go see a movie)
kleenex/handkerchiefs
an art project and materials (from my Art Therapy board on Pinterest)
Bible verses on index cards
my Secrets Notebook
Any other good ideas?
And yes, I know. It will probably take longer than a weekend. But that's all the time I've got.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Comfort Food
Chicken Orzo Soup & Tickle Your Tastebuds Salad
I followed the basic recipe for chicken orzo soup off the box:
1/2 box orzo
6 c. chicken broth (or in my case, 1 1/2 c. homemade broth, 1 creamy chicken broth packet and 4 1/2 c. water)
1 bag mixed frozen veggies (or 1 can sweet peas, 1 can carrots)
seasonings (parsley, onion salt)
1 c. cooked, chopped chicken (or 2 1/2 c. chicken cooked in the crockpot)
Boil orzo and veggies in the chicken broth for 10 minutes (for firm orzo) and then add chicken and seasonings.
I paired the soup with a french whole wheat baguette loaf and the following salad:
3 c. spinach
2-3 tbsp. dried cranberries (no sugar added)
1/4 c. gorgonzola crumbs (it always crumbles so nicely)
a few tablespoons of vinaigrette
If I'd had them on hand, I would have added almonds.
I'm giving this meal to someone who is grieving right now, and I really hope it's at least a little bit comforting.
I followed the basic recipe for chicken orzo soup off the box:
1/2 box orzo
6 c. chicken broth (or in my case, 1 1/2 c. homemade broth, 1 creamy chicken broth packet and 4 1/2 c. water)
1 bag mixed frozen veggies (or 1 can sweet peas, 1 can carrots)
seasonings (parsley, onion salt)
1 c. cooked, chopped chicken (or 2 1/2 c. chicken cooked in the crockpot)
Boil orzo and veggies in the chicken broth for 10 minutes (for firm orzo) and then add chicken and seasonings.
I paired the soup with a french whole wheat baguette loaf and the following salad:
3 c. spinach
2-3 tbsp. dried cranberries (no sugar added)
1/4 c. gorgonzola crumbs (it always crumbles so nicely)
a few tablespoons of vinaigrette
If I'd had them on hand, I would have added almonds.
I'm giving this meal to someone who is grieving right now, and I really hope it's at least a little bit comforting.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Art As Healer
I started thinking a while ago about becoming an art therapist so I could help people. I like helping people. I like comforting and being comforted -- not with words, but with hugs, with holding hands, with long, comfortable silences and walking and taking photos and doing something creative. I like being hospitable and being comforting -- I like feeding people, listening, providing the materials to heal. I think I like it so much because it is something I want from others.
I need to be comforted. There's a lot in my life that has healed crooked.
I've slowly started collecting materials and ideas and thoughts about what a weekend art-therapy retreat would look like. Would it cover a specific subject (Grief? Depression? Anxiety?), or would it just be an inclusive "everybody-brings-something-to-the-table" (my inclination)?
I don't know why I keep thinking about it, but something in my brain knows I need this. Even if no one else is interested, this is a weekend I need to take. I need to get away and create so that I can get whatever this stuff is out of my head and onto something else.
Because I don't process in my head. I just repeat the situation again and again, trying to figure out what should have happened. What could have happened. What should I have said? How could it have been made better? What did I actually want to say, later? It is a vicious, vicious cycle and I catch myself in it all the time. Situations from years ago make me cringe, and I can't sleep and I have dreams and it never, ever resolves.
I don't know how to process and lay things to rest. Unless I draw a comic about it, create a collage, or think up photography shoots that attempt to express...what?
That's why I started a "Art Therapy" board on Pinterest. There isn't much on the web, unfortunately, with a lot of helpful info (at least that I can find), but there are some great books I will be getting from the library.
I want to help people. But I think this is a case of figuring out how to help myself (since there's not an art therapist for adults here in Columbia -- another reason to think of getting a degree) first -- because how can I help someone else through grief or depression if I haven't found a way out yet?
I need to be comforted. There's a lot in my life that has healed crooked.
I've slowly started collecting materials and ideas and thoughts about what a weekend art-therapy retreat would look like. Would it cover a specific subject (Grief? Depression? Anxiety?), or would it just be an inclusive "everybody-brings-something-to-the-table" (my inclination)?
I don't know why I keep thinking about it, but something in my brain knows I need this. Even if no one else is interested, this is a weekend I need to take. I need to get away and create so that I can get whatever this stuff is out of my head and onto something else.
Because I don't process in my head. I just repeat the situation again and again, trying to figure out what should have happened. What could have happened. What should I have said? How could it have been made better? What did I actually want to say, later? It is a vicious, vicious cycle and I catch myself in it all the time. Situations from years ago make me cringe, and I can't sleep and I have dreams and it never, ever resolves.
I don't know how to process and lay things to rest. Unless I draw a comic about it, create a collage, or think up photography shoots that attempt to express...what?
That's why I started a "Art Therapy" board on Pinterest. There isn't much on the web, unfortunately, with a lot of helpful info (at least that I can find), but there are some great books I will be getting from the library.
I want to help people. But I think this is a case of figuring out how to help myself (since there's not an art therapist for adults here in Columbia -- another reason to think of getting a degree) first -- because how can I help someone else through grief or depression if I haven't found a way out yet?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
End of Letter Writing Month!/We Survive a Tornado
I completed Letter Writing Month -- but somehow I have more letters to write! I have a tiny package to ship to a friend, a few postcards to send, and some replies to mail!
I received three letters in two days just before the end -- a postcard, a 4 page card, and a two-page letter, all from old friends I've recently re-connected with.
All in all, it was a fun experiment. I sent two letters and two drawings to my Grandmother, a letter to my family, a package to my brother, and several notes to friends both old and new, and even some Thank You notes. I think it's a good practice for me and I intend to keep Letter Writing Month in my agenda -- now to make my own envelopes and stationary!
In other news, a baby tornado (an F0 which is the smallest) touched down on campus at 5:30 this morning. My husband said it woke him up and sounded just like a train barreling through. He wasn't sure what the noise was and went out later to put a plastic bag around our busted van window (ah, old vehicles...gotta love 'em!). It was dark out so he thought we'd just gone through a bad thunderstorm. Our power was out for over 10 hours, and at noon he went out to see what was going on, as there were what sounded like a dozen people outside. He took pictures of the damage and got confirmation that no one was hurt and that the buildings had not taken any hits. Some poor trees has been uprooted and that was about it.
Hubby's near brush with mortality seemed to affect him greatly today -- he kept talking about it and marveling and it was weird because I didn't give it a second thought.
I've been through an enormous hurricane (Hurricane Iniki in Hawaii in the 90's), a blizzard (April '91 in Tennessee -- we had no central heat so we burned bookshelves and window inserts to keep ourselves from freezing), a flood (Tennessee, at some point, but it wasn't a bad one...our vehicle JUST made it over the roads until we got to high ground), and hailstorms. The only thing I haven't lived through now is fire, and I hope never to experience that, because when I was little I'd always worry that we'd come home to a house afire. (Another joy of living in Cosby, TN)
Surviving is just something my family has had to do, my whole life. If it's not surviving physical trauma, it's an emotional or spiritual trauma. We weather through it and thank the Lord when it's over and go back to business as usual.
But it made me sad that I didn't stop and thank God for keeping us safe, even though I worried plenty afterwards about what the storm COULD have done.
Sometimes I take too much for granted. Hubby's a good reminder that we're here by grace.
The irony of today was the lack of technology -- people were outside, talking to each other (which, in this complex, is rare), the windows were open, we could hear the birds (which are usually barricaded by a wall of sound, I've noticed -- the fridge, the air conditioning, the fans), and the sun was the only light we had 'til around 4pm. It was weird. Almost apocalyptic (the aftermath, that is).
The sad irony is that I was ill and in desperate need of a heating pad and/or hot tea, none of which were possible. Thankfully (Praise Jesus!) the water was working so we could use the restroom and have semi-hot water. But without electricity to heat my rice pad or plug in my electric heating pad, I had to endure pain a little more than usual.
This is yet another reason I want alternative housing -- an underground burrow? Safer from tornadoes than our 3rd story apartment. Also, cooler in the summer, cheaper (medium-sized "house" footage for around $5,000) and cozier.
Maybe one day.
I received three letters in two days just before the end -- a postcard, a 4 page card, and a two-page letter, all from old friends I've recently re-connected with.
All in all, it was a fun experiment. I sent two letters and two drawings to my Grandmother, a letter to my family, a package to my brother, and several notes to friends both old and new, and even some Thank You notes. I think it's a good practice for me and I intend to keep Letter Writing Month in my agenda -- now to make my own envelopes and stationary!
In other news, a baby tornado (an F0 which is the smallest) touched down on campus at 5:30 this morning. My husband said it woke him up and sounded just like a train barreling through. He wasn't sure what the noise was and went out later to put a plastic bag around our busted van window (ah, old vehicles...gotta love 'em!). It was dark out so he thought we'd just gone through a bad thunderstorm. Our power was out for over 10 hours, and at noon he went out to see what was going on, as there were what sounded like a dozen people outside. He took pictures of the damage and got confirmation that no one was hurt and that the buildings had not taken any hits. Some poor trees has been uprooted and that was about it.
Hubby's near brush with mortality seemed to affect him greatly today -- he kept talking about it and marveling and it was weird because I didn't give it a second thought.
I've been through an enormous hurricane (Hurricane Iniki in Hawaii in the 90's), a blizzard (April '91 in Tennessee -- we had no central heat so we burned bookshelves and window inserts to keep ourselves from freezing), a flood (Tennessee, at some point, but it wasn't a bad one...our vehicle JUST made it over the roads until we got to high ground), and hailstorms. The only thing I haven't lived through now is fire, and I hope never to experience that, because when I was little I'd always worry that we'd come home to a house afire. (Another joy of living in Cosby, TN)
Surviving is just something my family has had to do, my whole life. If it's not surviving physical trauma, it's an emotional or spiritual trauma. We weather through it and thank the Lord when it's over and go back to business as usual.
But it made me sad that I didn't stop and thank God for keeping us safe, even though I worried plenty afterwards about what the storm COULD have done.
Sometimes I take too much for granted. Hubby's a good reminder that we're here by grace.
The irony of today was the lack of technology -- people were outside, talking to each other (which, in this complex, is rare), the windows were open, we could hear the birds (which are usually barricaded by a wall of sound, I've noticed -- the fridge, the air conditioning, the fans), and the sun was the only light we had 'til around 4pm. It was weird. Almost apocalyptic (the aftermath, that is).
The sad irony is that I was ill and in desperate need of a heating pad and/or hot tea, none of which were possible. Thankfully (Praise Jesus!) the water was working so we could use the restroom and have semi-hot water. But without electricity to heat my rice pad or plug in my electric heating pad, I had to endure pain a little more than usual.
This is yet another reason I want alternative housing -- an underground burrow? Safer from tornadoes than our 3rd story apartment. Also, cooler in the summer, cheaper (medium-sized "house" footage for around $5,000) and cozier.
Maybe one day.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Sweet Dreams
Last night, I dreamed that I was practicing on stage for Arsenic and Old Lace. I was with "Aunt Abbey" and we were re-enacting one of the scenes and we were GREAT. We were really old ladies, and whatever we were doing was making the director laugh. She loved it! And I felt awesome because I finally understood how I wanted to play the character.
Good dream.
Good dream.
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