My Sincere Apologies

I guess I should have a little faith in the system sometimes...
thanks for the snow day mother nature.

White

The sky is painted red as hundreds of overjoyed college freshmen throw snowballs in washington square park.

Every so often, the fun is disrupted and the honks go off, the sirens ring, and the quiet white blanket of snow is interrupted by the usual traffic of the bustling city. (and then i recall I am not home, and even the snowiest of nights are loud here)

"the snowball fight of the year"---the statuses are already taking over my facebook mini feed, my memory, this moment.
The joyous yells.
I'm not out there (although part of me wishes i was)
I cant help but think, "when else will I be able to run rampant at 2 AM frolicking in fresh snow under the glorious arch?"
But then I think about my bed,
how cozy I am,
my hair,
how straight it is, [i know it sounds silly, but it took me an hour to do]
the 11:00 AM class I have tomorrow,
how fast asleep some of my [more sane] nyu companions are,
and decide,
it's best to stay in
with the promise that if we have a snow day tomorrow,
I'll make sure to frolic and love while i still can.
I've given up on hope--
the backwards pajamas and ice cubes down the toilet tactics
just don't seem to do it for me these days.
My alarm will go off,
and I will get up and go.
study graphs and charts I can't make sense of,
speak of Plato and Aristotle,
until everything has melted away.

You Know Your Life Sucks When....

1) you miss your economics class because you dont know how to read properly
2) you are witnessed multiple times sprinting down the street like an idiot because you dont know where your classes are (even though you already made yourself walk to each class two days before classes started so you would avoid problems like this)
3) your professor gives you a piece of candy because he feels sorry for you
4)  it's ginger flavored, and you don't even like ginger
5) you manage to buy the wrong super expensive textbook even though the booklist (that is supposed to be accurate) told you that you needed it
5) there is an arrangement of people in the dining hall eating lunch together who should have never known each other existed (a big school can suddenly get too small)
6) all of your friends are at the gym right now but you aren't because you're lazy.
7) you really want to eat Artichoke pizza and then proceed to hit up Mamouns but you promised yourself you would actually eat on the meal plan this semester. (and eat healthier in general)
8) you should be doing work right now, but you aren't because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself.

It's Tuesday and I Miss the Summertime.

It's been a while. I've been promising myself i'd write for the past couple of weeks, but I seem to never have the chance. (more like the diligence) However, I have been thinking about this post for a while, and I'd just like start out with this statement:
I am SO happy i go to NYU.
let me repeat that, I am SO HAPPY I GO TO NYU.
Last week i visited some friends at UMass, and I think I would suffocate on a college campus. Not just at UMass, at any college not in a city. (how/why the hell did i look at the smallest schools in the country?)
Alright, maybe I've been spoiled, living in the heart of the universe for an entire semester, but I just don't understand what people do on a college campus.
I guess they just be at college. be in a bubble. imerse themselves because there is nothing else to do.
the interesting thing is, everyone seems to love it.
everyone seems so, so happy. and it's really a beautiful thing. (and i really shouldn't question it)

Tomorrow (well today) is my second first day of school. i also should be reading beowulf. obviously i am not. 

olga just stopped me midway this post to edit a poem,
you know, one of her deep ones,
where i have to think REALLY hard when i edit,
i have to choose words carefully,
convey the right feelings.
my feelings.
her feelings.
something about snow and blackbirds.
and liars (not pretty little ones) 


 i didn't watch.

it's made me awfully tired.
but in a good way. a nice tired,
the kind you get when you've been thinking quite hard.
and made me realize that  i need to start writing poetry again,
i miss it.
and i'm just miserable at this blogging thing. (clearly)


i just need to keep repeating: 
katie, 
this is an exercise.
this is only an exercise.
it doesn't matter if you're terrible at it.

olga promised me when it gets warm she would bike around amherst with a notebook and write.
i told her i'd walk around newyork with a notebook and observe. [and write too of course]
we're going to hold each other to it.

i need to start taking advantage of the city. it's sad how little i do.
I'm going to buy a calender and mark off X's for the next two months on days I need to do something interesting. and under the X i'm going to write where i'm going.
and then i'm going to go there. and enjoy it.
because i KNOW, i will enjoy it, i just have to plan it. and actually do it.
it's just so HARD when its 6 degrees out and all i want to do
is lie in bed and talk about nothing for hours with good friends.

but i will, i will.

i also vow to never be the stupid college freshman again. never again. 
but, of course, i'm going out next weekend. (why am i a walking contradiction?)


goodnight,
and good luck.

Where do they all come from?

Sometimes when i lie in bed late at night
and pick at my chipping nail polish,
and run my fingers through my hair
[that is just awfully too long]
i think about l o n e l i n e s s
For a person who is not lonely,
i guess i think about it a lot.
What does the word mean?
or rather,
what makes a person lonely?

Ironically, in a world where are
chocked with interconnectivity,
loneliness has given birth
to thousands-millions
and everywhere i seem to go,
i stare into dark eyes
glazed over with a hard, cold, layer of
something i can't reach.

I think we're all here
to say something,
but in the hustle of trying to get
through our lives and find happiness,
[another word that confuses me]
some are silenced.

Sleeping, eyes wide open

Tonight I listen to the quiet outside my window, letting my fingers tapping on the keys take the stage in this concert of silence. The city is never this quiet, no matter the time of day. When I first got to New York, it disturbed me. I would hear the honks and yelling at 4:00 AM and feel alone in a city of thousands. However, within weeks the songs of the city streets were the comforting lullabies that rocked me to bed. Now that  I'm home again, I'm not quite sure if I find the quiet lonely or comforting. The idea of an entire town being fast asleep is gives me eerie feeling, something I can't shake. 

I turn off the TV to go to bed, and tell myself that the season finale can wait until tomorrow because my sleep is more important, even if it is winter break. It's 3:29 AM. Last night I went to bed past five AM. One would think I would be falling over in exhaustion craving nothing but the warmth of my bed right now. And perhaps I am sleep deprived and in need of a bed. Yet, as soon as I settle down to close my eyes, I am drawn to writing. My body is giving out, but my brain is still on overdrive. I guess this is how it usually happens: late night, not particularly sleepy, and a little bit of inspiration.
The past few weeks home have been a blur. Half the time I'm complaining that I miss my college friends and that winter break is too long in a town with nothing to do. The other half of the time I'm getting used to the comfortable, mundane routine of sleeping all day and staying up all night, doing nothing but seeing old friends and watching good TV. My mind has drifted away for a while, and frankly, it feels nice. The thought of classes, work, professors, and the hustle bustle of my new home, has me shrinking deeper and deeper into the mass of pillows on my queen size bed at home.
I guess I should savour the last two weeks while I have them, because like any other college student, I will undoubtably begging for time off once the semester begins.

I promised myself I wouldn't complain on this blog, and already I've begun ramble about insignificant details. Maybe another day I'll have something more interesting to say. In the mean time, my bed is calling me. It's looking quite comfortable tonight.

Begininngs

It's sounds almost cliche, starting a blog on the start of the new year. I guess blogging is the next natural step in the "I want to spend my life writing process." I've always been a writer, but I was never one for stream of consciousness. It feels awkward, almost forced. My roommate writes in a diary every night. I've never had  patience for things like that. I guess I get bored with my words, sentences,  and stories that no one particularly wants to hear on a given day.
 If I have a lot on my mind, I tend to write poetry.  I guess it sounds sort of silly, but banging out a few lines usually reveals the heavy set of emotions that need to come tumbling out once-and-a-while.  Throw me into the middle of a story and I won't know what to do with it. But give me an interesting prompt, and I'll write a poem.
  But, something told me inside that I needed to do this blog. (god, I'm a walking cliche) Step outside my iambic pentameter filled Microsoft word documents and into this new user-friendly text-box, where I don't have to think so hard about how my next line should transition. It sounds so cheesy (and I'm embarrassed to admit it), because perhaps I'm making a bigger deal out of this whole thing than it actually is, but there is a thrill in writing without thinking. A thrill in the idea that someone may actually read this mass of jumbled words, even though I'm just writing for myself.
As a friend once told me "the only restraints you have are the ones you put on yourself." People blog all day and every day, and no one gives two shits about how delicious so-and-so's lunch was, or how wonderful their trip to Paris was, but it gives the writer a sense of satisfaction, a purpose, when they write about these insignificant details of their lives. I guess what it comes down to, is that every one gives a shit about their own shit, and everyone wants to do something useful with the stock of words that have been building in their bursting brains. A commentary on the world, by yours truly. It's self indulgence at full speed.
I don't really know how this works, I don't even know who reads this thing. I feel sort of odd making it public that I have a blog, what would I even say?  "Dear friends and family, read about my life on here. I can't promise you it'll be interesting but maybe you'll be tempted to check it out while you're procrastinating" Who knows, I doubt I'll tell anyone I have a blog at all. It's more for myself , and whoever accidently discovers it, well, I'm sorry if I bore you.
This is an experiment. A learning process of sorts. I need to break out of the melodramatic, ambiguous, writing that has dried my lips and move on to other, more exciting endeavors. Maybe I'll write something real that I can wrap my fingers around and understand at first glance, and not worry about the various ways it can be interpreted by my audience. Perhaps a post as simple as a vivid memory, a sunny afternoon maybe, or a day in the square. After all, writers are only entrepreneurs of thought. And as readers, we jump on the story for the ride.

I don't know how to end this, but I've come to realize nothing ever really ends these days. We end one year only to begin another. I end a blog post with the promise to write again tomorrow, but who knows if I'll ever even come back. I guess that's the magic of it all...