Everyone must breathe.

One moment. Breathing, living, circulating. These are things we all have to do. Everybody breathes until they are dead. This is an obvious one.

One moment. He was in love with me for one moment. For one moment, there was no one except for me. There was no wife, there was no boyfriend, there was no wall.

"Where is your wife?"

"Oh. She's... on hiatus. For a while now."

"From what?"

"From me."

"Oh."

Was he pushing his arm against mine, or was I imagining it? I looked at him in his perfectly tailored suit. When you are a successful college professor, you can have lots of perfectly tailored suits. All of your female students will want to be with you, want to slide their hands under your perfectly tailored suits. He had this affect on his students. I should know, he was my Sociology professor for the six years I was in college. He did not just affect the female students; he made the girls feel strangely flirtatious and men slightly aroused and threatened. This man, he was so handsome, he was so dark, he was so close.

He said something. It's difficult to be sure of what, all I could hear was the din of alumni laughing and half full glasses of champagne clinking. Women laughed pretentiously in their perfectly tailored, one-time worn evening dresses.

"What did you say?"

"I said, how was the drive back up here? As I recall, you don't come from these parts."

"Oh. No, I don't, but I actually only live about thirty minutes away from campus these days. With my boyfriend."

"Oh?" he smiled, cocked his head. I caught the brief scent of his aftershave. "What are you doing? I haven't seen you in nearly three years." It's true. I graduated three years ago, I never looked back.

"What am I doing? Well, right now, I'm at a party."

"No, I meant, do you have a job? Because, I was thinking, you might want to go into teaching... You could always come back to the old Alma Mater."

Yes. I thought. Say that again. Don't let me go back to waitressing at that stupid diner, owned by my stupid boyfriend and his stupid fists.

He spoke again.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, come to my office. We can discuss there." He said this into my hair. He was a large man. Not large in the fat sense, but his shoulders were sizable in his perfectly tailored suit. He was a foot taller than me.

"Oh, okay."

--------

I found myself again in the room I spent so much diligent time in three years ago. I instinctively sat in my old seat. I am a creature of habit.

He chuckled, leaned against the table next to me. There was polite chatter. Small stories shared about "the student who showed up and vomited on his final exam" and "the one time my dog ran into traffic unscathed" and "that's the reason I can no longer eat tangerines." As the night waned, I looked at his clock. 1:56 am.

"Oh shit, oh shit, shit!" I stumbled over my own feet, my sister's heels catching on the floor.

"What's the matter?" I could not see him, he was behind me.

"It's just, it's late, it's so late. He hates it when I'm late."

"Who does?"

Instinct kicked in. "No one. No one will be. Nothing."

He gently grabbed my waist. But he held me fast. There was no escaping, I knew I couldn't move my legs, I realised then that he had frozen me to the spot.

But I was wrong. He turned me around slowly, brushed the strategically placed hair from my forehead. He saw it.

Standing here, with his hands on my hips, it was not difficult to imagine making love to him. Gently lifting my skirt, hands in his hair, sliding together, two fragile creatures clinging to each other for warmth and shelter. He needs me.

On queue, he breathed in, drew me closer. My face was buried in his tie. I shut my eyes, inhaling the complex smells of his life. Books. Aftershave. Pine trees. Rosemary.

The clock struck once. Two am. He looked at my eyes.

The clock struck twice, setting off a wave off kinetic energy. Two am.

I slid my fingers into his hair, he slid his hands down, over my body, over my borrowed evening dress. He tasted of god awful champagne and cinnamon. Like nothing in particular and like everything.

I moved my fingers into the rim of his perfectly tailored slacks. He grabbed my hips and pulled them into himself. Breathing, living, circulating, loving, wanting, dying.

Ringing. An awful ringing. He pulls away, reaching sheepishly into his pocket.

"Yes dear?" he says.

I am quietly putting my heels on, sliding my dress down over my thighs. He straightens his tie. I grab my coat. He looks at his watch.

"Yes, I know, it's 2 am. I'll be right home."

He expects me to be standing right there when he turns around, I'm sure. Too bad.

Three minutes, thirty seven seconds, and 200 or so feet of running in heels later, I'm seated by the wheel in my car. I clench the wheel, unclench it, clench, unclench. I look at my phone. One new message.

"Where are you bitch?"

Out the windshield I see a young couple. They are not alumni, not dressed nicely, perhaps only freshman. They are so young, so beautiful, so happy. I tell myself if they see me, if they acknowledge me, I will live on. I will quit my job, quit this life. Start writing again.

Look up look up look up.

As if on his own accord, he looks up. He smiles, he looks back at his beautiful young girlfriend.

I put the car in drive, I back out, I get on the road. No turning back. Breathing, living, loving, dying, smiling, and the earth still spins.

Pet peeve #43.

You know what's really annoying? When people dislike you for a stupid reason or for no apparent reason.

There's this girl. I was friends with her in eighth grade, we were tight, but we grew apart. Okay, it happens, no big deal, right?

So from seventh to eighth grade I went through a crazy radical transformation. Not my inner self, who I am, the essence of my Kaitlin-ness, but my outer appearance. Sometimes I like to change what I look like. I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

But apparently, when someone changes their appearance, they change everything about themselves. (According to this girl.) So when I lost weight or lost/got glasses or dyed my hair red or chopped it all off, I was changing who I was.

Sorry, but no, that's bullshit.

Just because I get tired of my outward appearance, doesn't mean I get tired of who I am. I don't. It took me a while to create and piece together this person I am now, and I like myself. It's just annoying and obnoxious when people like to tell me that changing my outside changes me inside.

Maybe I just like trying new things. Ever think of that?

You are the exception that breaks the rule.

Staring at the computer screen, I feel relaxed, detached, seperate from this world.

But I know this is not true.

The near silent hum of hard drive fans is surrounding me, swaddling me in it's familiar resonance. I just saw you again. Perhaps this is why I'm feeling so at peace with my world. "My" world, not "the" world. In "the" world there are bad things. Children are used and broken and killed by adults who forget what it's like to be young and innocent. People kill for God. Heritage is a deciding factor for hate. "The" world is full of imperfections.

"My" world has little imperfections, save for the ones I allow. "Perfection" is a bizarre term. How can there be a word for something that doesn't exist? Perfection is also relative. To the boy sitting next to me, judging my his web browser, he finds Arabic scripts and pictures with funny captions to be perfectly in balance with his world.

In "my" world, a few things are perfect. Iced raspberry lattes in the summer, hot caramel lattes in the winter. Softly spoken affections, hidden under covers, lost within our own secret world where no one else matters and nothing is imperfect. Fresh baked cookies, a blank canvas, unopened watercolours. A movie that makes you cry for good reasons. An animal that's so soft you can't stop petting it. Hair dye, black nail polish, ten dollar cardigans. A song that makes you forget everything you knew about music.

And you. Always you.

"Why yes, that is my frontal lobe on your shirt."

Tonight, finally, the hard work of my friends and "co-workers" and fellow students all comes together in a glorious apex of live theatre. There willl be lights, sounds, set pieces, techies running hither and thither, and occasionally, there will be acting. But nobody goes to plays to see actors.

Overall, I can honestly say that I'm nervous about tonight, considering this is my first time in a managerial position during an actual live performance... Meep. Not to mention that some other people in the same position may or may not be bringing their best to the table... particularly people who hang out stage left and wear headsets... but I'm not implying anyone in particular. *cough*

Mostly, I'm just anxious because I'm afraid either I or somebody backstage (or in house, for that matter) will finally burst a blood vessel in their brain. Or maybe my brain will just explode, flying everywhere. I've been seeing it in my head for days. Everything's going well, until suddenly there is some disasterous set malfunction or someone breaks the fourth wall. I can hear a certain PSM's voice in my head even now. "Kaitlin... Why did the shoe not drop? Did you hear my cue? Why can I see so-and-so? You missed your spikes, you're a horrible person." But these are just my anxieties and pre-show jitters acting up.

Come show time, I can confidently say that I'm going to perform well - behind the scenes, that is. I'm going to show this set who's boss. Kickin' ass and takin' names, all in honour of overworked techies everywhere.

Is anyone there? It's me, scared and confused.

It's been close to two months since I've posted, and this is only because my home computer can barely be considered functional. It's so degrading, being a tech nerd and having to deal with such faulty equipment in my own home. But alas, I'm only a teenager and whether or not we get a new computer is not up to me. It's all up the the higher powers.
The reason I haven't been posting is not that I have nothing to say. (There were a lot of negatives in that sentence.) I have an abundance of things I would like to say, and many many things I would like to talk about. But sadly, seeing as I'm in a third block study hall with 30 minutes or so left until lunch, I have neither the means, time, or opportunity to get it all out there.
Lately, my personality/mood has been on a bizarre balancing act. On one hand, I've got really good friends, a great romantic relationship (for once) and good grades. On the other, my sister has been growing increasingly suicidal and it's Tech Week. My parents are constantly at each other's throats, and I suppose you can see, dear reader, why that would not help. And then there's the mounting collegiate pressure. "So-and-so is applying to X university and these schools, where are you going?" "What are you gonna do with your life?" "I'm already looking at colleges in the Boston area." "So the difference between a BA and a BFA is..."
I don't want to know. I'm too intimidated to find out. There are so many people who look boldly into the cauldron of the world, call out, waiting for a response - a call to arms, an adventure, something. I call out and run away, because I'm afraid of what I might find.
I'm being pulled in so many directions, I feel like I'm being ripped apart at the seams. There are only one or two things holding me together, though I still feel like I may burst.

The possibly glorious return.

So, I guess it kind of goes without saying that it's been a while since I've posted... About a month. And now, looking back on that month, an almost infathomable amount of things have transpired. Anybody reading this will understand what I'm speaking about.

Also, I've recently had an epiphany. It sort of ties in to my last post, the one about near death experiences. I figure that I'm young. I shouldn't be so worried and anxious and caught up in so many seemingly insignificant things, like how my body looks or the fact that there are people who don't like me. It pretty much goes against everything I used to be to be so calm all the time... I've been calling it "zen," and I'm really glad I've adopted this principle. Every fortunate thing that's happened to me recently had occured becasue I was honest and not so uptight.

"Zen," at least by my definition, is about honesty and not letting the little things get to you. It's been difficult to get used to, because I have chronic anxiety, but I sincerely believe it's worked wonders for me. The amount of panic attacks I have has steadily been declining, my life is exactly the way I want it, and I don't have any secrets anymore.

Another trick to my Zen principle is living in your moment. Not the moment, there are way too many people who pledge to do this, and it never happens. Living in your moment is all about stepping back and appreciating all the wonderful things you have in your life. It's about telling everyone the truth, telling someone how you feel towards them, and then reminding them every opportunity you get.

Never take anything, or anyone, for granted. They could disappear at any moment. And if they did, would they know everything you feel about them? Don't take that chance.

Taste of reality.

They say there's something about a near death experience that makes people rethink their lives and start "living in the moment." It's like some nerve in the brain is triggered when the mortal terror brought kicks in. People realize just how fragile they are on the inside and the outside.

Physically we are easily broken. All it takes it a mistep or momentary loss of balance. We're all made of glass. We can't be shaken about or dropped for fear of damage. Our souls are made of precious metal. We can't afford to be oxygenized by getting our feelings hurt our having a broken heart. We'll start to rust. The more rust we endure the more brittle we become, and it only takes one more hit till you're broken.

I don't understand why people need to be close to death to feel like they need to do something. I don't need to experience death to value my life.

Ode to my discontent.

Every time I think about you, I think I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. My hands grow cold, I feel sick, like I need to shake it off before I catch a cold from all the ice in my soul.

Do you ever think of me this way? I would give every last ounce of my sanity to know how you thought of me.

You make me want to take a cold shower. You make me feel numb, and like I can feel everything.

I want to punch you in your face and take you in my arms.

Looking at you makes me want to smile sweetly and cry, and say, "It's okay. Everything is okay. Nothing is wrong, I've been waiting for you."

I feel nothing and everything. I am dormant and electric. I am happy and not.

You are my nothing and my everything.

Another day, another blog.

So, here it is. Not super exciting, considering about 3 or 4 people will ever lay eyes on it, but still. My blog. That's right. Just mine. Mwahahahaha.

Recently I've been completely obsessed with a particular song by Owl City called "Vanilla Twilight." I can't exactly put my finger on mhy I love it so much, but I just do. I guess the lyrics really speak to me. Have a look:

"The stars lean down to kiss you,

and I lie awake and miss you,

pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere.

'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly,

But I'll miss your arms around me.

I'd send a postcard to you, dear

'Cause I wish you were here.

I'll watch the night turn light-blue,

But it's not the same without you

Because it takes two to whisper quietly.

The silence isn't so bad,

'Til I look at my hands and feel sad

'Cause the spaces between my fingers

Are right where yours fit perfectly.

I'll find repose in new ways,

Though I haven't slept in two days

'Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone.

But drenched in vanilla twilight,

I'll sit on the front porch all night

Waist-deep in thought because

When I think of you I don't feel so alone.

I don't feel so alone, I don't feel so alone.

As many times as I blink,

I'll think of you tonight.

I'll think of you tonight.

When violet eyes get brighter,

And heavy wings grow lighter,

I'll taste the sky and feel alive again.

And I'll forget the world that I knew

But I swear I won't forget you

Oh, if my voice could reach

back through the past,

I'd whisper in your ear,

Oh darling, I wish you were here."

Pretty sweet, no? I thoroughly enjoy it.