tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14826815512748447822024-03-12T19:43:40.425-05:00Ivy and the WallKatherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-35921803002969821622012-09-03T20:00:00.000-05:002012-09-03T20:00:04.007-05:00If the world were a canoe lake. (Or: A better baptism; Last days.)There is a moment when everything changes.<br />
<br />
Standing on the dock of the canoe lake at 7 am in a bathing suit, crowding close to friends for warmth and smiles, waiting. Glasses off, the lake is a blur – so is the dock, your partners, your toes. AJ agrees to “lead the blind,” taking you and another by the hand as you edge your feet carefully down the stairs and onto the floating dock. A smile. 1, 2 – 3, jump. You come up spluttering, the water warm – you find faces in the gray water around you, steam rising up and up from the bath.<br />
<br />
It is H20′s birthday, and your last full day at camp; as you splash your way into the group, “Happy birthday” is screeched at the top of lungs. Campers are here somewhere, but you don’t notice them, not now: instead the people with whom you have shared the past two months are in sight, laughing as they splash and bob. The hovering steam skews reality; the moment lasts and stretches until you are moving toward the edge of the lake, hand in AJ’s hand, everything cold and changed. AJ grins a grin that reaches her eyes. In a few hours you will say goodbye to her. In a day this will all be over.<br />
<br />
You drape a towel around your shoulders. Your friends beckon you to follow them; muddy feet balancing halfway into your boots, you lean forward into a tottering walk beside them, laughing as you listen to their devious plans to surprise hug a fellow staffer. A shiver reaches your calves, your neck, your spine. Magic shifts inside the morning air.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg331SUYENDX9nC_p1ZfHtx4hLhge8jW7KgP-LckwR5hUjKvRpHYbKDzRU6fq8-JBnMhsIJ-MArAmYspS4Up6B6YoeuYAnbpdojKjrowX2cgydZBj_4OanDeTyUkmg9SNtUl0hgyf5OvUCQ/s1600/27500009.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg331SUYENDX9nC_p1ZfHtx4hLhge8jW7KgP-LckwR5hUjKvRpHYbKDzRU6fq8-JBnMhsIJ-MArAmYspS4Up6B6YoeuYAnbpdojKjrowX2cgydZBj_4OanDeTyUkmg9SNtUl0hgyf5OvUCQ/s320/27500009.jpeg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-79171116666365228732012-07-03T14:35:00.000-05:002012-07-03T14:35:22.533-05:00I think I want to raise my arms to the sky.My name is Catnip, and I live in the forest. I live in a tent, and occasionally under the stars. I live in the Sierra mountains of California, at 5,000 feet elevation, brushing up against a culture of dirt trails and trees stretching their limbs to the sky. I work 22 hours a day caring for children far away from home and from moms, sweeping through veils of ash and work so hard it makes the brain go whoosh - stop - freeze - keep going, going, go. I shower infrequently. My camp name is Catnip, and I miss civilization - I miss beds and central air conditioning and my mom. I miss talking to those I love on a regular basis. I miss wearing clothes that fit me and having time to dwell on my own thoughts.<br />
<br />
But there is something about this place that makes it worth it, a quiet agreement that through utter exhaustion and children creating disaster at every corner, an understanding that in the brain quashing work there is an unexplainable fulfillment. There is something here that makes me happier on a more regular basis than I have ever been. Even in the worst moments, when I am so tired speech is difficult, when my stomach beats its own angry and acidic rhythm over the sheer stress and abuse, when my body wants nothing but to stay inside its sleeping bag at the bell's toll at 7 am, when the moments build up until my self is ready to burst from the seams at any slight movement... I want to be here.<br />
<br />
The short and infrequent 24 hour breaks are a sweet relief, an opportunity for laundry and a shower that lasts longer than five minutes, but the thought of leaving for good is oddly unpalatable. My summer camp is a fairy land of children finding happiness and ultimate fears in one fell swoop. With reality suspended, suddenly everything is possible. Each day is a world of its own as moments stretch and replicate.<br />
<br />
I am finding a voice, though I cannot discern if it is mine yet. I am finding. I am.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ZQEmrK0OKLWP7Yt-m-2dG1FiPUM6oakwsy2dLawKkIq0J3CRDhbZdgjMLPCM1HdImhgIhE8khZvWy4u2D0TnouSbS3KqKIL0ShxXwWzTJOmrphogLouaPYTcaYS-fOV2eTbgdLGXnc0F/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ZQEmrK0OKLWP7Yt-m-2dG1FiPUM6oakwsy2dLawKkIq0J3CRDhbZdgjMLPCM1HdImhgIhE8khZvWy4u2D0TnouSbS3KqKIL0ShxXwWzTJOmrphogLouaPYTcaYS-fOV2eTbgdLGXnc0F/s320/photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
"I think you want to raise your arms to the sky."<br />
- from "E" by Katrina VandenbergKatherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-52173995125727559932012-04-07T21:27:00.012-05:002012-04-07T22:40:52.133-05:00"All the art of living. . ."I cannot remember the last time I put forth a legitimate effort toward homework – certainly not recently. (For the zero of you lovely people worried I may be squandering my education, I am doing fine academically. Homework is silly and laborious. I get through it.) Any of yesterday evening’s possible productivity was eclipsed by a friend asking to hang out and I obliging. We played pool (at which I’m awful but manage to <i>own</i> in the sense that I am not broken up about this aspect of my personhood) and watched a movie. The movie's main virtue, beyond harboring poetic justice and other <i>literarily good</i> things, was derived from its inclusion of a young, attractive Keanu Reeves. (I have nothing against the fellow, but the attraction I felt was jarring and unexpected. <i>Was it the suits</i>?) Towards the end my wonderful roommate was able to join in on the fun; it was a strange but ultimately good evening.<br />
<br />
It still boggles me that people want to spend time with me, though, when I am prone to say so little. Talkative folk are happy to create a chime-filled home in the quiet space, maybe. I am all for lively discourse, but the fact that one singular person could have <i>so much to say</i> is a mystery to my deeply introverted Self. This is not a negative judgment – it really isn’t. I enjoy people. I appreciate that there are those content to fill my silence with quirky tales and eyes that glint in the light of their smiles.<br />
<br />
In recent years I have acquired quite a lot of self worth. I am fond of my Self, which is useful as we spend quite a lot of time together, and for the most part I can wile away many moments with my thoughts contentedly. Inner turmoil and I are also, of course, well acquainted – but this is something I accept and work through on a daily basis. On the whole, I am content with who I am.<br />
<br />
“You don’t say much, do you?” “You don’t eat much, do you?” “You don’t wear colors much, do you?” “You don’t get out much, do you?”<br />
<br />
<i>But you haven’t asked me what I do or how these things make me feel. </i><br />
<br />
As a girl human, I was chubby. (I am still by no means perfection on legs, but the term feels more arbitrary now that I’ve gone through the motions and process of getting over/through societal pressure to a large degree.) I’m not sure it occurred to me that this was “wrong” until I grew taller and adults were suddenly telling me that I was lovely now that I had “thinned out” some. When I was ten, we ran into my teacher at the bank. She said, “what are these acne spots? Oh, but she’ll have boys after her like flies to honey once she hits fifteen.” At nineteen, boys are still yet to show any interest in my majesty; the difference now is that I realize superfluous attention from boys would make me unhappy. I have yet to dispose of my teenage hormones, however –<i> just one nerd-boy-who-is-not-accidentally-gay would be great, for the record</i>.<br />
<br />
That same year, a friend’s mother told mine that she really “ought not be dressing Katie in all these purples. She looks okay in them, but she would look so much better in teal.” While the comment never made any actual impact on what I wore, I still sometimes wear purple purely in spite. (And in any event, purple is a <i>fantastic color</i>.) Teachers twice concernedly asked me whether I had lost weight while I was wearing a red blouse; whether this was true or not, for years afterward I was convinced that red made me look thinner.<br />
<br />
My childhood was shattered glass, bare feet, and blindness. (Call me overreactive; no longer will I apologize for the unoriginality of my story.)<br />
<br />
My father was always easily angered. Once my mother told me that he disliked it when we finished eating our dinner before he did. I spent years afterward running this through my head during dinnertime in an attempt to kill time and parse meaning from it. When I was nine he stormed from the dinner table, grumbling loudly that <i>his dislike for this sauce should have been clear when he refrained from eating it the last two times and that my mother should not be fucking serving it</i>. We never ate it again. It was my favorite sauce; maybe memory has made it this way.<br />
<br />
There is a difference between being accepting of and feeling comfortable with oneself, between forgetting and getting through.<br />
<br />
I’m so much happier now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_khMqSB7ca2-U5_uEDynzJzEanZJb1t3NLDZ_1oX-iOcRduOjuFU5S3RLeUVlZ91vKWFEXCHY2evzpU_kIxVFE8U5YV60_QYTDhTm7HY08C6-GAWeZPzc-_hhhdATTsnPNVnpGRPyMB7/s1600/DSC05956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_khMqSB7ca2-U5_uEDynzJzEanZJb1t3NLDZ_1oX-iOcRduOjuFU5S3RLeUVlZ91vKWFEXCHY2evzpU_kIxVFE8U5YV60_QYTDhTm7HY08C6-GAWeZPzc-_hhhdATTsnPNVnpGRPyMB7/s320/DSC05956.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classy mirror photograph is classy. Self, body,<br />
and I may never meet impossible beauty<br />
standards or perfection, but we like each<br />
other just fine. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>;&<br />
<br />
“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”<br />
- Havelock EllisKatherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-90956595901689755562012-01-11T18:50:00.012-06:002012-01-11T22:19:53.445-06:00A flood of somethings.Sometimes I am selfish. I don't always <i>want</i> to share this journey with others, particularly of late. Part selfishness - mostly reservedness - and maybe not only this, but also: if I fail to filter feelings into words, I can pretend that tribulations <i>aren't</i>.<br />
<br />
When I do begin to scrape words together, I feel petty in my insecurities. I received a 4.0 for my first semester in college, and my English professor means to use my final project as a resource in her classes, and I have been accepted into the Honors program at Universityland, and... I am still a <i>mess</i>. My feelings may misconstrue the never-ending quandary, but I have always been good at school. As such, these good things surprise no one but yours truly - so I don't perpetuate this work ethic for perpetual pats on the back. Or maybe I do. Maybe this is the issue, for as lovely as accolades are, they do not fulfill me as I wish they would. It would be easier if it were enough, wouldn't it?<br />
<br />
The shining academic record and glittering tales of success are an easy way to disguise my worries. <i>Look</i>, I can say, <i>I have saved </i>myself<i>. I am fine; I don't need help. </i>Pretend perfection is my game of choice. Silence is a simple tool. I don't lie - I merely fail to tell, alter feeling until it takes on an acceptable shape.<br />
<br />
This is not to say that I hide within my silence <i>well</i>. It isn't even that I am greatly unhappy. Yet there is a disconnect somewhere, a niggling voice inside keeping me from any sort of comfort in asserting myself. I don't want you to know the rough number of times I have overdosed on Cheez Its and British comedy in a fit of wallowing, yet eventually the fact that I have hidden makes me <i>angry</i>, as if you should somehow innately have the power of mind-reading. As if you have no sadnesses of your own.<br />
<br />
And my sadnesses feel petty, too. Soon I will be returning to Universityland; my roommate and dear friend will not, as she is taking an internship. I will be okay - it will be okay - everything will be okay. (Mantra.) Because there are always good things. Because I will find things to do, because I will find ways to occupy my mind (see: mountains of homework), because <i>it will be okay</i>. But still I am frantic, ready to return to Universityland but uncertain of how ready I am to <i>be</i> there. Tiny Town Texas is comfortable only in that its incessant sluggishness and unhappiness is unsurprising - but my mother is here, hugs ready at any hour, and my soon-to-be departure is not something I want to think about at any sort of length.<br />
<br />
(Silence.)<br />
<br />
Breaks from the norm are difficult in and of themselves, for the new and empty space breeds unending worry. I will be okay. It will be okay. Everything will be okay.<br />
<br />
<br />
Miscellany: a) I no longer eat meat. Adjust your judgements accordingly, as - as you well know- vegetarianism is <i>definitely</i> an evil and conniving cult.<br />
<br />
b) <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fault-Our-Stars-John-Green/dp/0525478817">The Fault in Our Stars</a> by John Green is positively glorious, and I would recommend your reading it.<br />
<br />
c) I send my love.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-55801409075029989892011-10-21T22:17:00.012-05:002011-10-22T01:24:50.363-05:00(Flux, n.) Some days the cracks are less apparent.<div class="p1">I seem to have run out of words. The few phrasings I manage to pull together over and over again are far too familiar. <i>I feel lost</i>, I inevitably write. <i>I've lost something. Maybe this 'writing' has never been easy, precisely, but here I flounder in a manner I cannot pinpoint. It used to be </i>easier<i>, right? I have nothing new to say; I lack color. I don't want to whine. Rather, I want to fix myself before any difference is noticed.</i><i> I lack the muster to create something solid enough to say aloud. I feel disjointed, ungrounded, and unendingly transient.</i></div><br />
I manage to (sometimes) fool myself with the idea that lies count only in what is said. Yet I am oh so <i>practiced</i> in the art of silence, which can be something very like lying.<br />
<br />
The line that separates acceptance from detachment is blurred. Sometimes, in unexpected quiet or crushing noise, the things I have cast aside come back and lock the breath inside my chest. To pause against the rush is to urgently attempt to recollect and restore all things. <i>I ate lunch an hour late today. I need to send an email. There is homework to tackle, more homework than I can accomplish in twelve lifetimes. He... no. No, I can't. Not now. It </i>hurts.<br />
<br />
I like to forget the cracks.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of things I like to forget about myself, and often do by either design or total accident. I like to forget great swathes of time, and often do. I like to forget, especially, that I spent six years of my childhood overseas. My memories lack distinction, skewed <i>just so</i> to promote the most graceful of stomach flips. I remember then in a tangle of bleached picture memories and bitter whisperings; I like to pretend that then <i>wasn't</i>. I like to pretend that <i>then</i> is completely removed from <i>now</i>.<br />
<br />
I like to forget that my father is problematic and that the years I have spent painfully toeing the line (<i>et </i>freaking<i> cetera</i>) are a nearly direct result of this, erm, "difficulty." I draw a blank for a moment when questioned about him; he tends to surface just long enough to wreak total havoc <i>while</i> playing the part of the victim, yet even this streamlined approximation doesn't feel fit for sharing with most. I don't hate my father for a heaping conglomeration of reasons, but the fact that so many (acquaintances, often) choose to defend him is head on desk amusing to me and enough to keep me quiet.<br />
<br />
For whatever it's worth, writing does feel more difficult now. I have had this post in development for a week and have yet to decide what I mean by it. I switch sentences around at a frantic snail's pace, unable to make head nor tail of what I am saying. The words are all the <i>same</i>.<br />
<br />
I want to tell you about college, but I feel as though I have lost the drawstrings with which to pull ends together into something sensical. I want to tell you about the guy who jaunted down the main pathway near the library on a fine Friday morning, hair a flop of wet curls framing sunglasses. He carried a vintage briefcase somehow transformed into a boombox, which sputtered a hip hop beat as he passed.<br />
<br />
From my perch on a hanging bench, I watched people for an hour before the fountain behind me was shut off for maintenance. The white noise that had before masked the sound of footsteps and laughter suddenly gone, the already off kilter feeling of familiarity in the air dissipated.<br />
<br />
There is an amount of comfort in knowing something well enough to make movements without worrying deeply. The harsh angles of the new are easier to navigate once you have gotten to know them. Yet the longer I consider perspective, the less I am sure of it. The stasis is intermittent. People change, the weather changes, and we move through the shifting chaos.<br />
<br />
The all encompassing dilemma.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-2773719175781460952011-09-28T10:52:00.008-05:002011-10-08T20:59:13.364-05:00From the throes of a (not) existential crisis.I am in the throes of an existential crisis.<br />
<br />
This is a complete lie, but it feels more concise (and, frankly, fun) than "I have my first college exams this week and my body has decided to attempt illness in protest (thanks, yo)." I am convinced that I am doomed to crushing and total failure, but this is hardly breaking news and more of an occupational hazard than anything else. A preliminary count totals six humans who have assured me that I will not fail these exams, college, or life in general. It is also apparent that all I do is a) study, b) put stuffed animals on my head, c) consume caffeine and/or dairy products, and d) view the internet with longing.<br />
<br />
Granted, I am a citizen of the Internet, future crazy cat lady and douse myself in glitter with increasing regularity, but it occurs to me to wonder what exactly I would be <i>doing</i> were I entrenched in a thrilling and active social scene. From what I observe through thorough and exact research, "fun" in college quite often includes alcohol and illicit activity, neither of which I am interested in partaking. While I am fairly certain intellectually stimulating conversation occurs somewhere on campus, I am currently too terrified and immersed in study (i.e. panic) to seek it out.<br />
<br />
I may be slightly biased at the present time, as I have been studying the ins and outs of genitalia* for the past two days in preparation for an exam in Human Sexuality. Unfortunately it is not a practical exam, as we <i>all</i> know I am the loosest of women, constantly whipping men and ladies into a froth of raging hormones, and would thus be prepared to bring such an examination to a satisfactory finish.<br />
<br />
Such is life.<br />
<br />
<br />
* I have also been making all of the terrible innuendos. <i>All of them</i>.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-77051281020381571922011-09-15T01:06:00.008-05:002011-09-15T12:07:29.520-05:00A brief note on my lack of sudden and complete happiness.I often (almost always, of late) avoid writing because I feel that I am required to maintain a certain image. I feel that I am meant to be in a certain <i>place</i> and am expected fit into a <i>guideline</i>; the few words that occur to me are distinct only in their disjointedness and lack of zest.<br />
<br />
I didn't expect to find happiness here immediately and I haven't. Do I expect to get there eventually? Yes and... yes? I hate complaining, for it feels unnecessarily whiny and disrespectful of the trials of others. <i>Look at me! College is so hard! I miss my mom and I want to cry all the time but can't </i>let<i> myself!</i><br />
<br />
But it's true. I'm not happy. I do miss my mom. I've set the most potent of my emotions on the back burner, which plays a big part in the fact that I don't know what to say when asked how I am. A great deal of the time I don't feel anything.<br />
<br />
I say these things without wishing to be overdramatic. I want to press that I <i>will</i> be okay. I mean, probably. As terrifying as stasis is to me (it demands disaster), I always find it again.<br />
<br />
As for happiness? I'm starting to lose the idea that happiness is something one <i>finds</i>. A dear friend told me many months ago: "[Happiness] is not a location, not a prize. It's inside of you, already." This remains one of the best things anyone has ever told me. <br />
<br />
I'm not giving up. I'm just... very much overwhelmed. Sad. Shaken. Tired. And entitled to these feelings, as lacking in poetry as they are.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-22483169963325268982011-08-31T22:23:00.002-05:002011-08-31T22:24:02.504-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/31Fifty four pages of Government reading still call my name, yet I have spent my evening writing letters and sneering at it and my other homework.<br />
<br />
In my last English class the girl I was seated next to informed me she had not done the reading and instead guessed at the quiz questions, which apparently worked out well for her. In Government, again, several humans behind me discussed at length their tactics for doing<i> as little as possible</i>. Call me insane or naive (both?), but I really like schoolwork. Which is not to say that I do not expect to freak out in the near future over the state of my academics. I have no idea what I am doing.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>This August has been tumultuous, to say the least. I almost want to apologize, as it has not been what I might have wished in terms of writing. Several of my buddies in this venture are facing the same problem; words are not easily found these days and oftentimes a painful ordeal. In some ways, I worry, I have failed you or wasted your time. But for what it is, this affair <i>has</i> helped me. Words have shed some of their fright. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Sticking it out counts for something.</div><div><br />
</div><div>My fondest regards to all of you. I will be back.</div>Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-80944744519775844202011-08-31T00:08:00.002-05:002011-08-31T00:35:12.011-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/30I am currently putting off doing sixty pages of Government reading. It is not technically due until Friday, but I am crazy and take skeins of notes, necessitating a ridiculous amount of time. Have I mentioned that I am crazy? I suppose this somewhat of a regular occurence. <br />
<br />
News flash: the off brand Cheez Its I am currently consuming are CHOLESTEROL FREE. Oh so reassuring, that. Government, while occasionally intriguing, is making me want to stab things. Eeyore has been brought in for moral support.<br />
<br />
College.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/9LDwCvoxejU" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: -9Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-87933823813948806432011-08-29T22:27:00.003-05:002011-08-29T22:38:42.782-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/29I am exhausted. Is this a theme? Maybe it is implied at this point. Part of me wonders why in heaven's name you lot stick around day after day like this; this month has been, in my lowly opinion, a disaster. The only conclusion I am able to draw is that you a) love me and b) are at least slightly crazy... for which I thank you. Crazy is preferable, in my opinion, and the love here definitely goes both ways despite my currently lacking relationship with communication.<br />
<br />
I would like to thank Manar ever so for filling in for me yesterday. Her words are a shining beacon to me always. Have I mentioned I am a sap? That. But really, <a href="http://manarnia.blogspot.com/">Manar</a> is brilliant. As are all of you. <a href="http://rhodester.net/">Dave</a>, I am bewildered as to why you've put up for my ramblings (or lack thereof) for a month, but your readership and comments have been appreciated. And <a href="http://lydiapage.blogspot.com/">Lydia</a>! You're amazing. I mention hardcore commenters here, but my appreciation extends to all of you.<br />
<br />
My humans shall be visiting me this weekend; that my immediate family is willing to drive seven hours at (almost) the drop of a hat is itself enough to make me weepy. Needless to say, I am excited.<br />
<br />
Partner In Crazy <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/ukulele17">Laurel</a> forced (see: nudged) me to visit the cafeteria and acquire caffeine, as I was nearly falling asleep in my chair. It is apparent that the cafeteria is <i>the</i> place to be at ten on a Monday night. The more you know, eh? My head is now in a special, special caffeine + tired place.<br />
<br />
Loveyoubye.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: -8Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-44043307733134930952011-08-28T23:35:00.001-05:002011-08-28T23:43:25.217-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/28Hello Readers of Katherine’s Blog! This is Manar. Unfortunately, “the homework has eaten [Katherine’s] brain," and so she is unavailable for blogging at the moment. However, I feel partially responsible for this occurrence, as she was kept from doing said homework earlier in the weekend due to my presence in her dormitory.* <br />
<br />
If you are reading this blog, I must assume that you are a quality person, so I am honored to grace your eyes with my words. I apologize for how lackluster they must seem in comparison to the words that you normally consume on this page. <br />
<br />
I would like to take this opportunity to assure you that Katherine is doing just fine. I realize that having one’s brain eaten does not seem like the kind of thing that leaves one “just fine,” but Katherine has brains to spare, so she can handle it. True, college is frightening and intimidating and new—and she may be having issues adjusting to the drastic change—but she has a pretty boss roommate (that would be Laurel, the #PartnerInCrazy) to guide her through the twists, and I was able to personally verify this weekend that she is just as wonderful and sane as ever. (Of course, “sane as ever” for Katherine is still markedly insane, but in the best of ways.) Besides, we all know that our beloved Katherine is capable of handling anything. She’s pretty awesome that way. <br />
<br />
Now that your fears are allayed (because I am <i>obviously</i> a trustworthy source and am <i>totally not </i>actually blogging in her place because I kidnapped her and constructed a robot to take her place), we can move on to other more important matters. Such as ice cream. Ice cream is of the utmost importance, and should be a staple in the lives of all. Katherine and I both had ice cream for brunch today (well, I mean, we ate not-dessert too), and I think everyone can agree that we are better for it. I would like to encourage all of you to partake in the consumption of ice cream yourselves, for the good of all humanity. <br />
<br />
Well, though I am but a lowly high school student (an entire <i>year</i> younger than the Mighty Katherine), I also have homework to feed my brains to tonight. I hope that I was an acceptable stand-in! Enjoy tomorrow’s return to your regularly scheduled programming. ☺ <br />
<br />
*Um. This may or may not have also resulted in yesterday’s post being late, and I may or may not fear the wrath of vengeful blog readers if I cause the delay of yet another blog. True, I am no Katherine, but I’m better than nothing, right? Right? Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-67474022357786637802011-08-28T01:52:00.002-05:002011-08-28T23:41:09.538-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/27Let it be noted in history that I am currently distracted by the gorgeous <a href="http://ukulele17.blogspot.com/">Laurel</a> and <a href="http://manarnia.blogspot.com/">Manar</a>, my alphabuddies in crime, and thus blatantly forgot to update this until this late hour. Manar is sleeping over. We watched Winnie the Pooh with our stuffed animal friends (Pooh, Eeyore and Tigger). Our girl talk has reached new and impressive heights this evening; I adore them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: -6Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-8633383936610868472011-08-26T23:59:00.013-05:002011-08-27T00:28:31.193-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/26There are fifteen minutes left in the day and I am only now attempting a post. I wish I could be/feel quality. I feel that I've let you down. To recap my day for you accurately would necessitate a lot of unnecessary whinging and it is, as ever, difficult for me to rationalize a blow-by-blow depiction when I am lost to put it in any sort of entertaining fashion.<br />
<br />
I don't feel well. Stress sets off stomach pains. As silly as it may seem, I hate taking my medicine. More often than not I convince myself of the idea that I am just hungry and ignore it. The issue seems trivial, really, but it is a slight <i>extra</i> annoyance. The moral of this story is that <i>no</i>, it doesn't just go away, and medicine is useful or some expletive.<br />
<br />
Nothing devoured me whole today, which I find to be preferable to the alternative. My powers of concentration have been sapped for so long that I worry as to whether I will be able to accomplish things ever again. Prediction: I will. (Maybe.) My fondness for academia really ought to kick back in at any moment and fix everything, right? Right?<br />
<br />
The wall directly in front of me features pictures of and drawings by my humans. It makes me happy.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyx2tBCkTP_vMOB_sieeEC9UYlQ8Fa4Lo4Eh8W41lE3JcY8xpg37K6P2w_afSatsvAlOBLnL7-NcR_Nw2ZpFXvqZiiVOL5Ekcie516Xw-teKdwUzCLUuiF5WSJl-64laClILJfYapr5LF/s1600/IMG_4008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyx2tBCkTP_vMOB_sieeEC9UYlQ8Fa4Lo4Eh8W41lE3JcY8xpg37K6P2w_afSatsvAlOBLnL7-NcR_Nw2ZpFXvqZiiVOL5Ekcie516Xw-teKdwUzCLUuiF5WSJl-64laClILJfYapr5LF/s400/IMG_4008.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photographs picture (left to right) my maternal<br />
grandmother as a college student, my mother<br />
as a young woman, and my mother, sister and<br />
I on my seventh birthday.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: -5Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-76681342236568596872011-08-25T22:36:00.002-05:002011-08-25T22:37:34.403-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/25It's after nine on a Thursday night and I sit on a bench outside the library. It's still warm, still somewhere in the 90s Fahrenheit, but night brings a soft comfort to the heat. Across an expanse of sidewalk a fountain sprays water up, up, up. People are still out and about; a bicyclist passes by, then another. Some twenty yards away a boy pushes his comrade on a hanging bench.<br />
<br />
Shadows are cast in all the right places as people walk, occasional voices muffled against the blanket of dark. The fountain is a rush on which I can focus, almost worth the sweat.<br />
<br />
I like these benign trappings of night, this handful of minutes in which I can quietly watch and breathe.<br />
<br />
I never imagined this far. College was the final point on the map, the destination as far as I could reasonably see. Now that I am here I find myself floundering, overwhelmed and broken all at the same time. Emotions sing as they rocket up and plummet at an unpredictable, incomprehensible pace.<br />
<br />
I have yet to grasp this new reality.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j9kR9aQFNpPj1_-IFmMUcq366-7PEqr-gniwALnJzsZK66p8cHLWVmUJp9VfAuTo8TWcde-UtOJTVm3gPUxMFIzVtJKLvKBGOJEIejMiBETAcE9Z5op48Kcf4skFnqp4yXDH7D5kZlT_/s1600/IMG_4017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j9kR9aQFNpPj1_-IFmMUcq366-7PEqr-gniwALnJzsZK66p8cHLWVmUJp9VfAuTo8TWcde-UtOJTVm3gPUxMFIzVtJKLvKBGOJEIejMiBETAcE9Z5op48Kcf4skFnqp4yXDH7D5kZlT_/s400/IMG_4017.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Days until college</b>: -4</div>Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-11122210085717685732011-08-24T23:59:00.005-05:002011-08-25T00:09:13.403-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/24Today is officially my nerd Christmas; <a href="http://www.pottermore.com/">Pottermore</a> sorted me into Ravenclaw and my wand core is Unicorn. I reunited with a friend from student orientation (following a near panic attack during an intense social function, we happened across one another as we both hid in the bathroom) this evening and ate pizza. <a href="http://twitter.com/ukulele17">Partner In Crazy</a> continues to be ridiculously cute. I miss my humans. Classes start tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Here is a kitten.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqgvdxSrrM1qmwarbo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqgvdxSrrM1qmwarbo1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sveaolf/6073000709/in/pool-1507022@N21/">Source</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><b>Days until college</b>: -3Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-4850200778003033482011-08-23T20:51:00.000-05:002011-08-23T20:51:57.927-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/23The fact that classes don't start until Thursday is starting (continuing) to throw me for a loop. You're all going to laugh at me, but I have never felt adequate academically. I may know in some dreary corner of my soul that I am the stuff of legends (ever so likely), but I don't <i>feel</i> that I am intelligent. In both social (understandable) and scholastic (I am ridiculous) realms I constantly feel that I am hanging on by only the loosest of threads.<br />
<br />
The moral of this story being that, as terrified as I am, I would like classes to start so I can begin to do things rather than stew over how horrific I am at life and its many apricots*.<br />
<br />
Today I wore the fabled Pizza John t-shirt out and about (for the first time ever, goodness me) and happened across two <a href="https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=explorer&chrome=true&srcid=0B2Y-4hv63hlIYTkzZmQ5NGYtMzE5Mi00OTM1LWJjZDctYzM2N2ZmNmZmOTU5&hl=en&pli=1">Nerdfighters</a>. The odds of this astound me; it was quite exciting. "I know this is creepy, but I like your shirt" is somewhat of a hilarious statement when one is wearing such <a href="http://dftba.com/product/w3/Pizza-John-T-Shirt">classy apparel</a>, but I shall hold these words dear to me always. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: -2<br />
<br />
<br />
* Yes. Apricots.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-76574065784023325342011-08-22T21:33:00.003-05:002011-08-22T21:35:27.087-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/22Maybe this is all a dream. That's how it works, right? Nightmare, pleasant dream, what-have-you - an abrupt finish line must await me at the most inopportune of moments. I am halfway in denial and split as to whether I really want to be here; I am as terrified as I am thrilled.<br />
<br />
Classes start on Thursday. My residence hall box receptacle is adorable and comforting. <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/ukulele17">Partner In Crazy</a> and I attended the first meeting of our university's Harry Potter Alliance this afternoon, which went better than expected. Harry Potter folk or no, I was all sorts of nervous. Afterwards we ventured to obtain food in the land of the mighty cafeteria only to find that the <i>door</i> was missing and the cafeteria is under construction.<br />
<br />
Thus we made our way instead to a magic cafeteria, which has recently converted all vegan. It was yummy and exciting (food! I was ecstatic. I should probably eat food more often...); there I happenstanced upon the sole human I know from the general vicinity of tiny town Texas. Fancy that! She is quite lovely.<br />
<br />
I have acquired a P.O. Box in college land, if any of you peeps* require the address. I have been searching desperately (not desperately) for postcards and have yet to find them. Soon! I wish to send postcards to all of you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: -1<br />
<br />
<br />
* You're <i>welcome</i>. I am the most eloquent of beings.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-31230407123922522012011-08-21T22:22:00.000-05:002011-08-21T22:22:11.046-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/21I'm exhausted. I had Easy Mac, an apple and M&Ms for dinner. Our microwave and mini fridge was finally delivered from the rental humans; quite exciting. My mom left. I have no words to talk about that.<br />
<br />
But I'm here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: 0Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-10244601082375695162011-08-20T22:07:00.003-05:002011-08-21T22:22:33.499-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/20While move in day is officially tomorrow, with the proper coaxing my residence hall allowed yours truly to move into the proper box receptacle a day early. This will allow my humans to leave the vicinity of college town with enough time to return to tiny town Texas and not have to rush the already inevitable seven hour drive.<br />
<br />
I'm emotionally spent and dreading their departure, but also deeply excited to be rooming with (soon to be current!) roommate and partner in crazy <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/ukulele17">Laurel</a>. She is delightful. We had dinner with our respective humans this evening and spent the entirety of the meal making funny faces at one another and giggling incoherent phrasings ("You have all the cute." "YOU have all the boys!").<br />
<br />
Maybe I haven't bemoaned it enough, but I detest having to take things a day at a time (granted, who exactly enjoys this?). I have a broad mindset yet manage to do nothing but worry with it.<br />
<br />
Life is tough. And good. Mostly good.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/100886524679092379912/KatherineVenturesToRead100BooksIn2010?authkey=Gv1sRgCJeVn-SA_Zis_QE#5643140263717899586"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_nz0P84ZMusPjetbhiIt3Nm1XPgw9EsM_-u_fDmtJ0TkTQZnEe2eiJjFHuLAnQ6uRvWyq8Akoz5jo8J5lLlWJnVmXT7cGJoU9be00OvOo6R4KaqX1hYXKfwGwmTXzwZ6NNiPMMx95QmE/s320/iphone_photo.jpg" style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 5px;" width="320" /></a></center><br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: 1Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-71707681047828583762011-08-19T23:03:00.003-05:002011-08-19T23:04:32.217-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/19I blog to you this evening from an ever extravagant (eh) hotel near my college. Move in is on Sunday, which is tricky as my humans must be back home on Monday morning for school and work. Fun times!<br />
<br />
This day has been a long one. My dashing knight, <a href="http://tohavevalor.tumblr.com/">John</a>, proved himself to be a miracle car packing ninja this morning as he saw me off. He is one of the sweetest people I have ever known. Granted, he is also one of the most wry; it works. I already miss him very much.<br />
<br />
Our journey had a later than expected start (who's surprised?) and ended only a few moments ago despite the fact that I was awakened at the devastatingly early hour of 7 am. My brethren and I were able to have a lovely dinner with my glorious aunt and uncle on the way here, however, which was delightful.<br />
<br />
Enjoy this kitten.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpu5rb12Aa1r189uao1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpu5rb12Aa1r189uao1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: 2Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-67586511198891555222011-08-18T20:38:00.004-05:002011-08-18T23:16:06.283-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/18Today I saw my therapist for the last time before college. I'll be checking back in when I visit home, so my therapy isn't over per se, but this is definitely an ending of sorts. I've been dreading it all summer.<br />
<br />
The subject of therapists and mental health is almost taboo in many circles. I've come to mostly ignore this. Why? I'm not ashamed. I'm not crazy, either. Therapy is one of the <i>best things</i> that has ever happened to me. To compare myself pre-counseling and today is a difficult proposition in that the change is staggering. I've grown into my skin in ways I would never have fathomed previously.<br />
<br />
Despite their good intentions, my first few counselors managed to make me feel inadequate ("It's been six weeks - you should be happier by now") and worse about myself ("You're quite like your father, aren't you?"). I'm verklempt just trying to find words for how grateful I am for the lovely woman I have been seeing for the past year and a half. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that she cares for and about me deeply. I've never felt judged, unsafe or rushed*.<br />
<br />
I have, to be cliche, blossomed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: 3<br />
<br />
<br />
* She also makes Harry Potter references. Just saying.Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-40458773604166455922011-08-17T20:34:00.001-05:002011-08-17T22:12:27.888-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/17If there was ever any question as to whether I was a great big sap, call off the search, as today's events are a vaguely good example of my tendencies.<br />
<br />
This afternoon I had the great privilege of lunching with my good friend <a href="http://tohavevalor.tumblr.com/">John</a>. We drove around our <i>metropolis</i> of a town in search of a classy food source; when I refused to choose point blank, John skillfully guided the vehicle in which we were traveling to an Asian buffet (mmm, Asians). It really is the most stylish place around. How it exists is beyond me. <br />
<br />
There we (unpredictably) ate food.<br />
<br />
Following our foray into fine dining, we removed ourselves from the premises (John kindly allowing me to open the door for myself, a great leap for womankind as a whole) and went to a land in which we consumed ice cream. It was delicious. I was a most elegant creature and spilled mine only twenty times or so.<br />
<br />
Our banter throughout the outing was, on the whole, fairly incoherent. He is a quality being.<br />
<br />
Tiny town Texas being the unsavory place that it is, I didn't expect to have friends I would miss upon my departure. I will miss John very much, but our adventures need not end here - for which I am grateful. Friendship is nifty.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeC91YXAXNT-v6MnmR_SVKcz5XMSzc25X1-GTJINoxMHuONXt451FXI88U65rKnFA2v9xOxQ7LIY3bvCE996DJYOqOIY0G13VhI5A_OptEy6urIJA1eJsIGImRu2GAMETD1yNqjecQ7qHo/s1600/IMG_3703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeC91YXAXNT-v6MnmR_SVKcz5XMSzc25X1-GTJINoxMHuONXt451FXI88U65rKnFA2v9xOxQ7LIY3bvCE996DJYOqOIY0G13VhI5A_OptEy6urIJA1eJsIGImRu2GAMETD1yNqjecQ7qHo/s320/IMG_3703.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're kind of extremely adorable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div><br />
<div><b>Days until college</b>: 4</div></div>Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-45711986757215805482011-08-16T23:26:00.002-05:002011-08-16T23:29:56.498-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/16<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My brethren and I shall be leaving for college land on Friday morning. Here I present you the state of my belongings. I have decided that packing is the most exciting thing to exist.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Au81T3oKtG7bIrJ1x6AgM-Wu4ulnH4atVWhXge7dGIMDJTX337rr2NWYQwvPOCkxoPfgnqrOpHHmTpmX-rPSgEu9cq96EhYznw6IyQ2raIqQN-Fd8s_Httrq_jC5721ManBp-UcDYFLD/s1600/photo+1+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Au81T3oKtG7bIrJ1x6AgM-Wu4ulnH4atVWhXge7dGIMDJTX337rr2NWYQwvPOCkxoPfgnqrOpHHmTpmX-rPSgEu9cq96EhYznw6IyQ2raIqQN-Fd8s_Httrq_jC5721ManBp-UcDYFLD/s400/photo+1+%25282%2529.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgip1_9h7AsvEdAoRm_7SAXyvxlsLaulkneyUKukhNJLwYOsa3oak2RBunCdFidrKzt2ameEyUmnhiiMcmHR64ugTbntUMmfcad-lFemi_r4U5DKLYnjsSJHOTTnkyJ1S8gyW2OAfuVkTSv/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgip1_9h7AsvEdAoRm_7SAXyvxlsLaulkneyUKukhNJLwYOsa3oak2RBunCdFidrKzt2ameEyUmnhiiMcmHR64ugTbntUMmfcad-lFemi_r4U5DKLYnjsSJHOTTnkyJ1S8gyW2OAfuVkTSv/s400/photo+2.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlp5uy7Iw_mo-mAofVuAyAKSYQLG3MHEcLuHkb84k18OwLk2G2-X0yjpaCiA53oAJzVxXAHfwGhlMuml034YZCurNlZFTW5ksII5i7Nj2roCN4XL2pTnE8oV6kphmBnR8U-XrLt1Fxhk_/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlp5uy7Iw_mo-mAofVuAyAKSYQLG3MHEcLuHkb84k18OwLk2G2-X0yjpaCiA53oAJzVxXAHfwGhlMuml034YZCurNlZFTW5ksII5i7Nj2roCN4XL2pTnE8oV6kphmBnR8U-XrLt1Fxhk_/s400/photo+4.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Days until college</b>: 5</div>Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-48353734394079445262011-08-15T23:29:00.004-05:002011-08-15T23:31:30.913-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/15In some ways packing for college feels easier than packing for a short trip. The planning has been in stages of completion for months, yet when the rubber hits the road the process isn't as difficult as it was cracked up to be. But I still reserve judgement, as there are still days left in this. I suspect many a breakdown is to follow.<br />
<br />
My anxiety levels have reached new lows in the past few days, nudged along by lengthy viewings of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aKwYECKxVw&feature=player_embedded">The Supersizers</a> (care of the charming, witty and fantastic <a href="http://lydiapage.blogspot.com/">Lydia</a>) and unknown forces. There's still much to do, but the unknown feels more manageable now that its qualities range on tangible. I suspect tomorrow's ride on the coaster will be different, but for the moment I have stopped shaking and no longer feel close to vomiting... so that's chipper.<br />
<br />
On that note, please watch this. It's excellent; I'm obsessed.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8aKwYECKxVw" width="640"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><b>Days until college</b>: 6</div>Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1482681551274844782.post-63461803870147355042011-08-14T22:32:00.006-05:002011-08-14T22:41:07.249-05:00Blog Every Day August: 8/14I know, I know. Ever so many of my blogs are cop-outs. I was going to wax poetic on the idea of romantic love today, but seriously: just <i>look</i> at this journal entry I came across a few moments ago. What can I say? I've always been eloquent.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ruGPLP4_0CMaaeCYYhSujyZfMV7SPgSwHy15hN5Svp94kEHhjYDAB9nwc-WYfWsnuTItz3zFpE5EUUovw6CqbEmI2_hJhkfkQPK2vxMgA6UHtLRZrptZICP-lejB1XwTxAj_K3aruv_W/s1600/Doc-8_14_11+1013+PM-page-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ruGPLP4_0CMaaeCYYhSujyZfMV7SPgSwHy15hN5Svp94kEHhjYDAB9nwc-WYfWsnuTItz3zFpE5EUUovw6CqbEmI2_hJhkfkQPK2vxMgA6UHtLRZrptZICP-lejB1XwTxAj_K3aruv_W/s640/Doc-8_14_11+1013+PM-page-1.jpg" width="451" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://docs.google.com/document/pub?id=1f0tuZ1xSWvLEA3CPf55Dwvjt5cf1DS4X8mCXKJ4c7h4">Transcript</a>.</div><br />
While I most certainly find great enjoyment in poking fun at the journals of younger me, I really am quite proud of this. The bulk of my childhood diaries give no real insight into my feelings, yet this entry scratches the surface of my <i>whole existence </i>(drama!).<br />
<br />
I would still quite like to punch people most days. Some things don't change.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Days until college</b>: 7Katherine Lowenbraunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08342127759696564627noreply@blogger.com2