-insert fitting title-

Blah. I'm so far gone, anymore. Life is crumbling just a bit. 

Okay, no. Life is crumbling a FUCK TON.
Worst thing is, I know I need to talk to someone about it, but I can't. It's extremely difficult for me to actually go to someone and ask them if I could decompress at them. So I just don't talk. To anyone. At all.

Not good, considering I haven't really talked to anyone at all about anything for nearly twenty years.

(-insert shudder- Whoo. Twenty years. I feel... old.)

It's not that I don't want to talk to anyone, it's just that I physically cannot bring myself to initiate conversation. And once conversation is started, I don't know what to say. I have extreme difficulty getting the emotions and feelings from my mind into verbal form. It will, most likely, take someone quite literally dragging me somewhere, sitting me down, and prompting me until I cave and unload my life onto them.

...Geez, I've got problems.

Talked to one of my friends the other day, and she instructed me to talk to someone. And I nodded and said that I'd try, but now that I'm trying to find someone to talk to, all the same worries are coming back. They don't have the time, or there's so much more constructive things that they could be doing than worrying about my problems, and I'd be imposing on their time, and so on and so forth.

I'd love someone to unload on. Someone who I can vent and cry to (...yeah, cry. I want to cry again. I want that piece of emotion back, Mother dearest. I'm tired of sucking it up and dealing with it, and I want to cry again. I hope you're pleased with yourself.), and someone who would vent and cry with me. Someone who I can lean on, but whom I can also support. But I don't feel... close enough to anyone to do that. I can count on one hand the people who I feel comfortable decompressing at, but I don't feel that we're really that close. I know that I care ridiculously deeply for said people, and I'd do anything at all for them, but I don't feel that it's entirely mutual. But having someone to relate to, having that mutual connection where I would hold them when they need it, and they'd hold me when I needed it... 

...I hate this doubting part of me.

I want to believe them. I really do. But I just don't feel.. worth it.

If anyone's reading this, and thinking things, let me tell you one thing straight up: this is indeed a cry for help, because there's no way I'd say any of this in real life. The Katelynn you see walking between classes is a Katelynn who puts on a mask and suffers through it until she gets home. The Katelynn you see as the funny kid with the wit and the jokes is no more than a shaking, quivering, terrified mess of emotion. And you'll just never know these things, because you'll wave and ask me how I'm doing, and I'll hesitate before smiling and saying "I'm good, how are you?" And I'd change it, but I really don't know how. I can't. I'd say it's because I'm afraid, but I honestly don't know anymore.

Idunno. Maybe I'm just tired. And maybe I'm a bluebird wid' a frog for me uncle. I know being silent will only make things worse, but it's hard to change something I've been doing all my life...

Of Fridays and Freestyle~

 "It's dark. Still. A candle in the window of each house, some lit, others dead. The city stretches to every horizon. From the sea of star-dotted ink rises a tower - Her tower. She sits, silhouetted against the clock's pallid face, and waits. Watches. The bells toll. One... Five... Eleven... She steps out into thin air and descends like a drop of water through oil, until her feet brush the bruised black cobblestones of her city. Down the streets she passes. A glance extinguishes a flame, and a candle bursts into spirited life somewhere else in the hugely eternal domain..."

This originated as a solo for a trumpet friend of mine. I sat a piano and plinked, until I found a pretty sound. Then I let it run away with my creative license. A simple solo turns into something dark and terrifying and chilling.

And it has a story, apparently.

More to come. But, yeah. Gotta love it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was kinda ridiculous. Like, beyond ridiculous. Friday morning pretty much raped my brain, and sucked all the happy out of me. No bueno. Do not want. Aural Skizzles really didn't help anything, either. Meh. Then came marching band, which was good, yus. Chilled after that, scribbled on the crumpled piece of notebook paper that contains the rough work for said trumpet solo, then went to J-j-j-jazz Choir. Mmm, tasty. Went home after that, wrote some more (I don't have a problem. Honest.) went to Serpentine (marching band does it smarching thing through campus while squad leaders try not to murder ditsy Hawaiians and other people who can't stay in line!!!), hung out with some of the bestest bandos in the whole world, aaaaand went home. And now, here I sit, digesting a tuna melt thing (that could've used banana peppers. Really.) and writing more. And thinking. -le sigh-

Boyyyyyyys are silly. And adorable. But mostly silly. And confusing as all hell.

And clingy. D: Switch to different boy for a moment. The clingy one. Yessss, you. I'm okay with the clingyness, because I enjoy snuggles and I don't get enough of them from anybody. But. I dun want the snuggles you give me to convey the wrong message to people. Because you are snuggly to me and not as much to others and I are teh scared that they'll read to far into things like they tend to do and then get depressed.

And then there's the one who I'm trying to figure out. Because I'd really like to start something with him, but I dunno if I should. I enjoy who you are, but am I just reading too far into it?

GAH. Men.

Aaaanywho. Prolly write a bit more, then head to sleeps. Hooray for weekend work, whee!

Σαγαπο, και καληνυχτα~ <3

Hmm.

Aaaaaaand tonight is one of those nights where I really wish I had someone to snuggle up with and just... be. Not even necessarily in a romantic way, just... there with someone.

Iiii'm going through another icky lonely phase, whee. It shall pass. They always do.

But, yeah. Tonight feels like a night to dwell on relationships and fun things like that. :/ Not good for me, but whatever.

So much affection to give. No one to receive.

I Abuse the Tilde~

Tell me~

Tell me about your feelings,
Tell me about your stories;
Look into my eyes and come on closer
And make me immortal with a kiss.
Tell me...
Tell me about your feelings,
Tell me about your stories; We know it's over, so tell me it's over,

And life will be better in spring...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, Cyprus. How I love you.
The above lyrics aren't relevant to anything in life right now (though they're scarily accurate to the mindset of a last-semester Katelynn 0.0), I'm just completely in love with this song. The Eurovision contest has broadened my view of lyrical music in general. I suppose words aren't so terrible after all! -shot-

Iiii was up late last night. Like, ick. Got to bed around four, woke up at six (fucking circadian rhythm.), dozed on and off for the next four hours, all the while trying to ignore the whisker kisses of my ninja. Whee.

But once I admitted that I was awake, I went and filled my ears with Lincolnshire Posy. Lots of it. On repeat. Gooood stuff. The third movement, 'Lord Melbourne', has these three chords at the end that I have lovingly dubbed "Fuck, yeah!" chords. Because you get there, and it's so glorious. So epic when performed live. Also on my Endless Repeat playlist (Yes, it's an actual list. Judge me and die.) are Cyprus's song, and Nickel Creek's "Lighthouse's Tale". So amazingly gorgeous. The harmonies in "Lighthouse" are nearly magical. Really makes me wish I could hook up a video screen to my eyes and let everyone else see what I see.

BUT instead of wasting your respective times gushing and fangirling over how amazing the music and lyrics of everything ever are, I'll get to what I really meant to put in this post~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like things are falling apart as of late. I'm confused. My mind is cluttered and distracted (I blame you <3) and in too many places at once. But when I actually try to ponder a conclusion, I get two steps close to nowhere. Which is why I come here (and my shiny new LiveJournal, as well {though there are things I'll post here, but not there, and vice versa}) to list things and vent and write shtuff down, aye.

So here we are, whee~

1. My bestie from back home (with whom I haven't spoken with in ages {eew, proper grammar}) ambushed me on Facebook the other day. We chatted it up, then she shot me a joke. Something agriculturally-based. I got it, and laughed, but before I could type my reply, she typed: "Or are you too liberal to appreciate a joke like that?"

Now I'm not saying that I got upset, but that little retort stung. Really. I mean, come on. Does me being liberal and not fucking ashamed of it make me a bad person? Does it make Katelynn DIRTY somehow? Unable to appreciate a joke? Does it mean that I've completely changed my lifestyle and refused to acknowledge anything from back home? I know I've realized and changed a lot about myself, but I'm still tied to that desolate little town... Gah. Some people.

2. Some people (read: one person in particular) need to realize when someone dislikes what they're doing. In example: If I touch your back every time I talk to you, and you look at me rather pointedly and move away each time, I'd stop. Yes? Yes. It's easy.

But some people just CAN'T GET IT THROUGH THEIR HEADS and they're going to end up WITHOUT FINGERS if they DON'T STOP TOUCHING.

I don't want to make a big deal of it. I'm not the type of person who enjoys making a scene. I like my silence, and I've no problem with being overlooked. If I'm not in the spotlight, no worries. But sweet Jesus, man. If you don't back the fuck off, I'm going to do something that neither of us want to happen. -rage-

3: My roomie just ambushed me, and told me to look up a video on YouTube. So I did. And I can safely say that it made me cry. Like, if roomie hadn'tve been sitting there, I would've let go. As it was, I just marveled in the fact that it was so touching, and that I was barely restraining my intense need to bawl. The song was "Somewhere Out There". The singer was 4 years old. The performance made me cry. If you fail to understand the significance of this, ask me about it. 

4: It's... nice to be back here again. Like, I was rather terrified that I'd never let myself be back here again, but now that I'm here, and there might be a chance that it could actually work (and that I've bared myself for a possible rejection, I'm... rather content (in this situation alone. everywhere else, I'm a mess). We'll see where it goes. ~ <3

5: I've been hard pressed to fulfill my purpose this week. So many of my friends are needing a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to chew on, or just someone to talk with about things. And I love doing it (the gratification of knowing that I might've helped even just a tiny bit is immense), but I think that some small part of me is yearning for a shoulder of my own to cry on. My reaction to that YouTube video made it all the clearer. I've been stressed for the past few weeks, and I've been ignoring it. Le sigh. If only I was one who felt comfortable enough (read: felt that people actually cared) to talk about stuff with people. I know some of them care. But, meh. There's a chunk  a few posts back that kinda explains this. Whatever. That's what my beautiful pair of emotionally-explosive outlets are for. ^_^

6. Couple weeks back, I met one of the trumpet players in marching band. Cool kid. We chatted at lunch, and when he turned to talk to a friend, my ears couldn't help but prick at their conversation. He dropped a name that I recognized, and I asked him about it. He seemed... hesitant to explain (not that I blame him), but once he realized that I knew exactly what he was talking about, he was super excited. And now we're buddies. ^^

Which once again makes me realize how small of a minority I really am, when everything is taken into account. Like... yikes. If ever there were a person to be viciously misunderstood and judged/persecuted/scorned for it, it'd be me. Yay. Sad thing is, I was almost as excited as he was to realize that we were in the same minority. Because a) it's not an obvious thing, 2) it's not like I can go around asking people about it, and c) it's a highly misunderstood position to be in. I've never talked to anyone about it. Ever. Because I don't know how they'd react, and I'm pretty sure that they all have preconceived notions about said minority.

...Oh, snap. Look at the time. I should go to bed now. Yes. Maybe. Which means I'll still be awake for at least another half hour.

Also: OMFG, FACEBOOK. I appreciate the concern, but I don't want million of lesbian chat advertisements on my sidebar. Thank you very freakin' much. -rage-

Σ'αγαπο! <3

Lalala~

Lalala~Volleyball.

Lalala~LiveJournal.

Lalala~OHEY, HAI THERE.

...Met someone today. We talked a bit. We've stuff in common. Like... terrifyingly obscure stuff that I can't discuss here because EVERYONE would know, and I'm not okay with that. D:

...Hm. This doesn't have much content, does it? 

Lalala~Pointless blog things.

...You Didn't.

--OH, YES I DID!!!

...My blogging has proliferated, it seems. I've made a livejournal.

What is wrong with me? Like, really? What am I going to use another blog for? Honestly?

But, yeah. Not much of an update. Not much to talk about.

Flipped through some old pictures, wished it was, realized it wasn't, and listened to some Armenian dance music. Mhm.

OH. TANGENT.
That kid. (I know who I'm talking about. Most of you don't.) He's adorable. I heart his face. Muchly. ^///^ Yash.

...That is all.

SELFISH SELF-ADVERTISEMENT!!

...Poke it.

.:Warring:.

Black feathers. Rose petals.
Constantly fighting, never ceasing in their struggle to prevail over one another.
The Pain
and the Love
and the Ache
and knowing that there will always be that
l
 i
  n
   e
of misunderstanding, the words unsaid, the looks not caught.

The hidden feelings, the light behind the eyes. The things never passed between the two.
Always fighting.
Living.
Warring.
Rose petals. Black feathers.
Not dark and light.
But maybe
emotion
and common sense?

The feathers slice and sting and tear. They hurt.
But the petals trap them, smother them.
Feathers silenced.
Petals victorious.
Until the ebony shards force their way through and scar the night.

The petals heal and sooth and console. They calm.
But the feathers need to breathe, and break free.
Petals destroyed.
Feathers released.
Until the roses wrap their thorns around them and choke them silent once more.