you should have raised a baby girl

While I thank everyone for their politeness in asking, I'd just like to make a general announcement that, despite its inactivity, this username is not up for grabs. I do plan on using it again at a later venture; I've just been occupying myself elsewhere for the moment.

Thanks!

It occurred to me the other day that probably the bravest thing I've ever done in my life was choose to pursue photography as a career. Hospitals? Needles? Riding down a steep hill on my stomach on a Tonka truck? Nay. Photography, I say!

It's not that the actual act is courageous. It was the easiest decision I ever made. I've always been taught to do what I love: if I don't like something, don't do it. (Blame my mother; this is why I'm very frequently absent from school. I can't stand being bored or uninspired.) I love photography, therefore, do it. Easy. No, the hard part so far has been sticking to it. It betrays all sensible rationale.

For instance, I'm very good at history. This is probably because history is stories, and stories are easy for anyone who spent their childhood hiding in the corner with a book. But. I have never once considered history as a career. Could I do it? Sure. Would it be easy? Sure. Would I enjoy it? Probably, depending on the avenue. Would I love it? No. I'd be uninspired and unenthusiastic.

Or medicine. This was never an idea I seriously considered until recently. I'm terrible at math and chemistry and biology and anatomy. Terrible. But I'm fascinated with medicine and helping people, and the idea of being challenged to my absolute utmost is thrilling. I would adore the learning process, even as it destroyed me. But that's it. Not that I probably would not enjoy the challenge of the career itself, but it's mostly the idea of the battle that excites me, not the end result. But the end results would still be good. It would be an easy choice, because it would be mapped out for me: what I need to do, where I need to go.

But photography. In all likelihood, I will not be able to make a career as one, at least not for a while. I will probably never have very much money. I will probably end up having a horrible struggle with my career and my social/romantic life. It is an expensive, all-consuming sort of life. The idea of this uncertainty terrifies me. Not know how I'll end up where I want to be, how to make the connections work. Right now it's fine; right now, it's just work: homework, study, personal improvement. I can do that, for now. It's afterwards that scares me. It's having to prove myself.

I know this is how everyone feels about their passion. For those ardently pursuing history or medicine, it's just as terrifying as art is for me.

For those with passion, I am so proud of you. Maybe one day we can all change this world for the better.

So, I started school Monday. Four days a week, 8 AM to 3:15 PM. Or, at least, that was the original plan. Until day three of my anthropology class, in which my brain exploded. The teacher? I don't know exactly how many drugs this man has done in his life, but the quantity is still too many.

Day 1: "Genes, apes, blah blah blah... and by the way, did you know that you can find mushrooms in any religious painting ever made? It's there! Pictures of Jesus holding them! Look at this painting! He is kneeling on one!"
Kayleigh: "... okay?"

Day 2: "Bones, forensics, blah blah blah... and by the way, do you know why we use pine trees for Christmas? Because mushrooms grow on them!"
Kayleigh: "... what? that is a lie!"

Day 3: "Blah, blah... and you know those three missing years in the Bible? That's because it takes three days to dry and cure a mushroom!"
Kayleigh's brain: *snaps*

As Daniel put it: he's like someone who had an amazing trip while on shrooms, and discovered the meaning of life. And the meaning of life was shrooms.

My Women in American History teacher is about three inches shorter than me and argues in furiously passionate tones about the Puritans and is in love with Pocahantas. She is wonderful. I don't think I've ever actually enjoyed learning about this country, before.

Things I Hate:
• The Faint, for selling out their SF dates before I even realized they were happening. Dammit, dammit, dammit!

• The heat. I do love you, California, but I have no air conditioning in my car. Take pity on me and cool it down just a wee bit, please?

• The job market. And the economy. And gas prices ($4.61 last Sunday!). And pretty much everything else about America right now. Eeergh!

Things I Love:
• The yogurt place in Sacramento I went to yesterday. Mochii! Tasteh frozen yogurt with bits of delicious mochi atop. Nom nom nom. It pretty much made my day. I also bought some cute biscuits that would have made my evening, except all the cute little emoticon faces melted off in the sheer heat of the day. Awww!

• Mah new iPod. I've never had one (I know, shocking), outside a third-hand shuffle that was much loved, but very tiny in capacity. I named it Wildflower, and I love it more than I can countenance. Because I didn't buy a case, the back is already totally destroyed, but the front has bravely survived. To further that, I sewed a little red and white case with soft fuzzy lining last night. Eee!

• Thrift stores. Purchased yesterday: the amazing black lace dress I am wearing today. The pale satin lining makes it look like I am naked, but it fits perfectly. Four dollars! Also, the tiny brown pleated skirt that was only two dollars. Eee! If I could find some nice white shoes, I would be set.

• The internet, for providing me with music so beautiful it is sometimes impossible to believe.

The internets at home, they work so well it is incredible. I lie, by the way. I lie horribly. The internets work about as well as two week old roadkill.

And I am trying to come up with anything worth telling you lot, but there is nothing. I spend my days reading, working, and looking for a new job.

I did get to hold a baby duckling yesterday. It peeped quite charmingly and attempted to eat my necklace. Ankle deep in marsh muck and being attacked by hordes of mosquitoes, it was still very relaxing.

Watching House tonight, they used both José González and Iron & Wine. My heart, be still!

Honestly? Life is pretty good.

Not really a meme, but something I was thinking about the other day. Feel free to go anon on this, if you want.

1. Pick five positive words you think describe yourself.
2. Pick five negative words you think describe yourself.
3. Pick five words you hope other people use when they describe you.

Mine:

1. Kind, polite, empathic, engaging, sincere.
2. Lazy, unreliable, clumsy, obnoxious, cold.
3. Intelligent, interesting, amusing, thoughtful, friendly.

Just had the image in my head of a bunch of web/graphic designers sitting around a campfire, telling horror stories. One of them ends with "...and he wanted it in Comic Sans!", and they all shriek in girlish horror, clutching at each other for support.

Hi, I'm at work!

I totally wanted to post a happy entry, but I have no words that can really describe my happy, so I figured I'd sum it up in this: I am ridiculously pleased with this photo. And that just makes life brilliantly awesome.

Also, those rainbow socks? Totally mine. I own rainbow socks. WIN.

A blue-mascaraed old lady told me yesterday that I was a disaster. I should have told her she was a cunt, but instead I just went and sat outside on the curb and tried not to cry. I know I'm clumsy, but I try to make up for it, and I'm very sorry for being so disorganized. Why can people be so mean, sometimes?

This is my announcement: I am leaving/have left TFL Staff. So, feel free to take me off those filters. I should have posted this a month or so ago, but I just... am not here, anymore. I'll probably do an adoption post soon: don't get too excited, it probably won't be very big.

I started seeing my therapist again last Tuesday, for stress-related reasons. Yesterday I saw a boy with marks all over his arms and I didn't know what to do. Am I really the best person to offer advice?

It would be incredibly neat if any of the people I have contacted about full-time jobs would even email me back. I'm very tired of this waiting game.

Taking summer math classes, to catch up with some missed credits before I can transfer over to a CSU. Basic, basic math, but I have class four times a week, two and a half hours. For three months. Blaaaargh. At least I won't feel so math-deficient, afterwards. I am pretty much so incredibly bad at math it is horrifying.

Most days are better than today, but right now I just feel so lost. I have a purpose, it's just taking too long to get there.

You know what I hate most? Transference. Because something applies to someone, they believe it applies to everyone. As in, because I hated babies and then magically wanted them a few years later, clearly the same thing will happen to you. Because I changed my mind about getting a tattoo, you will too. Because that lady over there hates her life as an artist, so will you.

And do any of those people live inside my head? Fortunately, no.

The baby thing is the most irritating, to me. People who have had children seem to ignore the fact that there is a growing tendency towards childlessness. If you are older, this is, apparently, perfectly acceptable. But if you are my age, and nearing the "breeding age", it is impossible to think that you will never want an infestation in your uterus.

This is similar to what one of my coworkers said to me, the other week, about "working through" my panic attacks. To him, it is simply a problem of doing something enough times that you become immune to it. Which is the most utterly retarded thing I have ever heard, when it comes to any sort of mental issue. Yes! That's why I stayed depressed for so long! I was trying to become immune to it! Of course! Yeah, whatever.

I wish that I could open up my brain and allow people to see inside my head. I would give him the oil-slicked terror in my head during anxiety attacks, and I would give everyone else the shuddering, crawling horror at the idea of pregnancy.

(Really, it's not the children. I'm not that stupid. I will probably adopt one day. But the sheer disgust at the idea of having anything like that inside of me - no.)

Why is it not April 11th, already? Hneeeeeee.

No longer fuzzy! Vicodin and my stomach do not agree. I don't like being fuzzy-headed, so that wasn't very fun, either. Jaw hurts a bit, but I refuse to give in to the pain medication. I want to be able to think later.

The best part of yesterday: discovering that I had twenty dollars worth of change in my room. Woot! Totally exchanged it for cash. Do a happy unexpected money dance!

I have absolutely nothing of relevance to post. Hrm. People! Tell me something awesome about today! Or horrible, I guess that works too.

As a point of interest, I watched 1.5 episodes of Firefly. They kind of sucked. The boy claims they are bad episodes. In a series that contains only so many, that doesn't seem a very good indicator, to me, of the rest of the series' quality.

The most recent ex-boything is on a road trip out West, and we've agreed to meet up for coffee-or-something. This is intriguing to me, especially as we exchange friendly emails back and forth. Now that time has driven sanity and neutrality between us, I'm looking forward to being friends with him again.

I've mostly calmed down about the tooth removal - now I'm just anxious to get it over with so I can stop fretting. I will be fine. I willlll.

If only I weren't so tired, constantly. I just want to curl up and sleep for a few years. In between wanting to spend all day outside, rolling around in the grass. It's a tough choice, but for now, the grass is winning.

(Two weeks ago: the removal of the lip stud. Two days ago: the birth of the second eyebrow piercing.)

The sky was flat, grey. The sort of sky that comes after a long day of absolute beauty - the sort of day where you go on a long walk and end up falling asleep underneath a pear tree that has never born anything but wooden, ornamental fruit. The toads cannot stop chirruping pleasant mating calls. Tiny birds take flight and flutter abruptly to stop amidst the cotton tree leaves.

The flat sky collected the day's heat, and everything felt humid and tired. The sort of sky that let out occasional fat drops of rain. Summer rain - the sort that sizzles on hot asphalt and leaves the taste of gasoline and the smell of dust.

In March.

Wednesday, they take out a wisdom tooth. My patient chart says "desires sedation". Unfortunately, the patient did not realize that to be knocked out means to have an IV. The mere thought causes severe hand spasms and a sudden onset of horrified, depressed tears. I will have to be sedated for that process.

They keep telling me it will be fine, that it's easy, that it means nothing. It'll be over before I know it, it won't hurt that bad. Nobody's listening. I know it will be fine. I know it won't hurt that badly. I've done it all before. And I can't handle it.

Beth had me make a list of anxieties, obsessive habits I needed to work out, work through. At the top of the list was "dentist". It's still pinned to my wall. If my life collapses in a depressed heap before I even get through the procedure, have I even begun to accomplish that goal?

Happy birthday, Megan!

As of the last two weeks, I essentially do not have internet at home. It works alright between the hours of midnight and 4 am, but, as you can guess, I am generally asleep at that point. So. I can sort of get email, but that's pretty much the extent of the capabilities. I will probably toss myself off something with frustration, soon.

In other news, I bought a jacket a month and a half ago, and it got lost. The seller is going to try to make a lost item claim. The ironic, irritating bit? It was coming from somewhere about an hour away. I would have gladly have driven to pick it up. Dammit!

In the last few months I've been casually browsing the local apartment listings. I may actually start looking in earnest, shortly. This is a scary thought. I can do it! *determined* Everyone keeps warning me away from living with the boyfriend (and the best friend, it should be noted), but you know what? I'm going to be impulsive. I've been trying to be more emotional, more human, and this is it. I'm tired of just wanting to do things. I'm going to start doing them.

Tomorrow: dentist. Oral surgery is in the near future: gum recession sucks. The good thing, however, is that it's on two teeth that I've always wanted to have shifted (they're... sideways?), so I'm looking at this as a positive thing. Hopefully the dentist will have some good news.

Poll #1141334 Poll of Curiousness
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 20

Do you have sushi in your local supermarket?

Where do you be at? (If USA, state. Else, country.)

This question comes mostly from my desire to know if, outside the West Coast, this is as common as it is here. (The stuff offered at my local deli may not be what polite society calls "sushi", but at least it pretends.)

I AM A MESS. Officially! But I am okay with that, for right now. I won't be, like, tomorrow, when I have a nervous fit, convinced everyone in the world hates me. Right now, though? I am feeling pretty good about life. I've got an idea, and I've got a plan. I can do this.

Also: has anyone ever actually said "harbinger" out loud? Eeeeh? Thought not.

Like a horror film, I fantasize about my skin peeling apart, the flesh splitting and cracking. My arms dusty roads never traveled, the dessert floor veined with blood.

I want to hide myself behind you, and I want you to see me, naked, crouching, teeth bared. I want you to kick me. I want you to make it better.

(She thinks: why do I spend half my time deliciously content, and the rest of it wanting to claw myself apart? She thinks: side-effects include mood-swings.)

My mother bought my siblings and I chocolate for Valentine's. The type differs by the child, and I think my mother's assessment of the three of us is both amusing. And accurate. My little sister got milk chocolate (standard, smooth, popular). My brother got white chocolate (odd, out-of-the box, interesting). I got extra dark. Make what you will, of that last one.

I've immersed myself in my projects, recently. My digital portfolio is halfway done; I'm watching for jobs carefully. If I can find something in my field I will be a most pleased little web designer.

The other large project (started forever ago, resumed recently) is a cookbook. Not of anything original or unique; but merely a collection of recipes I've found in magazines or online, and from my mother's large collection. This is actually pretty exciting; eventually, I'll have a large collection of recipes I know I like. Typing them all up takes some time, but typing is actually ridiculously calming.

Speaking of typing, I'm slowly puzzling out a story idea, in my head. This is also exciting. More on that when it doesn't fizzle out like every other story idea.

I'm not sure why, exactly, but recently, I've been feeling very motivated.

The only acceptable form of web design is hand-coding. Dreamweaver can go to the same hell as FrontPage. It is a cold, frozen wasteland of tags that do absolutely nothing at all, and margins that belong to nothing at all.

Sincerely,
The Person Who Has To Fix The Buttugly Mess Afterwards

PS: It should be noted that my bosspeople occasionally demand I work in Dreamweaver. My soul burns a little more each time. This next one, I think it will shrivel and disappear. Can you live with that, Dreamweaver? Huh? I bet you can, you unfeeling bastard.

Most girls PMSing: Aaaargh I hate everyone and I hope you all die and I want the world dead!
Kayleigh PMSing: I am going to throw myself off this building and then SLIT MY WRISTS WITH MY BROKEN HEART.

I need to remember that from now on.

So, started the birth control. No side-effects so far; the first day my chest hurt really badly and I was like "oh god am dying!", but then I realized that was just stress. Lame, Kayleigh. Lame. The idea of chemicals coursing through my body is no longer freaking me out quite as much as it once did.

Reading "Another Bullshit Night In Suck City" by Nick Flynn, right now. Bought it years ago, has sat on the shelf since. There was a line, though, about people who don't drink, having something to hide. Or feeling like they do. Generally, that's held true, in my experience.

Except I'm not sure what I'm hiding, anymore.

Hot Chip ftw! I was like "downloady downloady dammit no! I want the CD!" So I bought it. Yaaaay Hot Chip! It's a cross between their first and second albums - more playful, electronically, but very fast-paced, at the same time. Growing on me!

I walk out into the seaweed, my knees shaking in the cold water. My grandfather stands at the shore and doesn't turn to look at the group of people crowding behind him. Where is she?, they ask, clutching each other. He doesn't answer. I know where she is, I could say, if I could speak.

There were ghosts in the ocean. Asian spirits, with white lips and long black hair that swirls around my ankles. My palms are tattooed with a thousand stories I have not written.

...

Behind the store, the beautiful Indian man smiles at me, his mouth eager for kisses I did not promise but will give anyway. The woman is coming later, he says, and I don't understand that. Didn't I invite her first? The plastic flaps hanging from the entranceway shudder behind me.

Crying, a tall skinny boy walks up to us, clutching a baseball bat like a teddy-bear. This is your fault, he says, and takes a swing. I never die in my dreams, but everyone else does.

...

I can't figure out where lyrics would look alright, inked. Perhaps across my calf, if I could arrange them nicely. I hate my calves, though. Some days, I feel the need to cover my skin with ink, so no one knows what I look like underneath my own obsessions.