I just worked 14 hours (8 am to 10 pm). I’m tired. I’m beat. I’m sick of people. Except for Dessa. And Kelly. But she wasn’t there today. It’s time for a long, long, long bath. Work tomorrow 8 am to 4 pm. Might stay longer if needed. I need and want more hours, because unlike the rich people that I swear work there and volunteer to go home, I actually have things to pay for and shit to get that I need. Yeah. Bath and bed are both calling my name. So is that book I stole from the Lost and Found today.

Night.

Seniority v. Favoritism

So I’m not sure when this came about, but apparently the new trend at work is to put people less experienced than other people in chare while Miss Boss Lady is gone for the day. You know what, it’s really starting to piss me off royally. I was told at the beginning of the year that I “would be given more responsibility when she [the boss lady] was not there.” Where the fuck did my responsibility go? I think she gave it to someone who, frankly, in my opinion, has no right to have it. This is my FOURTH summer at this job. Yet, the people who have only been there for two, or even worse, one.. have suddenly become my fucking boss when our real one isn’t there. I know people from work read this sometimes, and might even be rolling their eyes or spouting off something about me. But let’s put it this way: If you were the one who has been there the longest (besides one other person – who actually has been in the same department with me for only three of the years), wouldn’t you be a tad bit pissed off if the boss put someone who has been there less years in charge? Yeah. Yeah. Fuck that.

I am so sick and tired of answering to people who I shouldn’t have to be answering to. I guarantee that everyday that the boss lady isn’t there, I get sent home early. It is almost a 100% guarantee. And today, I had the option of leaving two hours early or staying two hours late. I got shit to do, I want to work my eight hour shift and leave. I mean, how fucking hard is that to understand? How about you start going home early almost every day and you will see how it fucking feels? Yeah, I’m pissed. I have been pissed since eleven this morning after boss lady gave someone that did not deserve to be charge, the radio and told him to be in charge. I was three seconds away from just clocking out and walking out of work.

I didn’t think I was a bad worker – in fact, I think I am pretty damn good one. I do my job the best of my ability, carry the slack of people who do jackshit, and try not to bitch about this stuff while I am at work. But it is seriously hitting a nerve with me and I about to flip my lid one day. I was so close today. So damn close.

All I want is that our boss gives our responsibility fairly. What does she want me to do? Not be friends with almost everybody in my department and in many others? That is the way I am. I talk to people – I get to know people – that is the part of my job that keeps me sane while behind the scenes I’m being fucked over by a bunch of people who have their panties so far up their ass it will take them four thousand years to get them out.

It doesn’t matter what I say now – I am leaving in two and a half weeks. Tomorrow, I am saying something. I am going to confront her and say something about all the shit that has been going on for this entire season. It is bullshit. It is complete and utter fucking bullshit.

I am sick of being sent home early because the person put in charge probably does not like me. Fuck that. I am a better person than that, I refuse to let anyone walk over me like I am nothing. I have never in my life been treated so poorly by fellow coworkers and a boss. It is seriously wearing me down and stressing me out because I hate going to work every day, knowing that I might have to deal with having to be told what to do by someone who shouldn’t be telling me what to do.

I am so angry now I am shaking.

-Kate

Feel free to comment on this – how I should deal with this – if this is even a big deal – etc.

…..

Flanked by storm clouds on all sides, the road looked so unfamiliar. The dark sky was crying heavy tears, reflection of how I felt inside. My brain was on overdrive, thinking of everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks – idea flying in me, out of me, over and under me, around me.

As soon as the rain started to blind my vision, the wipers cleared it away so I could see the car in front of me. The songs on the radio were just mere background music as my little car sped along the water-covered street. I slowed down, fearful of hydroplaning.

I began to wonder if I could trust you – if everything was patched up the right way. I have not talked to in a little bit - how are you? I mean, is everything okay? Are you packing for school yet — did you get your flight and your apartment, do you know what car you are going to buy?

I almost get rearended hardcore so my mind stops thinking. Stupid person, I say to myself – hoping they can hear me and understand that tailgating in this weather is the dumbest thing they could ever do, considering well.. their SUV is a lot larger than my car and if they had hit me, I would have been so fucking pissed. The light turns green and I start to think about someone else.

How this person has what I deserve and they stole from me more than they think. I despise them in a way, hoping they will fall flat on their face but at the same time I am kinda jealous of the fact that they have it and I don’t and I wanna cry.

I guess I will turn down the street I never turn down, to be a little adventurous but I don’t know why it is that way because I’ve driven on this “adventure road” a gazillion fucking times and frankly it looks the same. I want it to look different, I want to close my eyes and be like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and fly to somewhere different and just be someone no one knows, whose past is erased and only the future is in my mind.

But the only thing I think about sometimes is the past and all the hurt, and then I think about saying Fuck It All and just moving on and beginning somewhere else. It is days like today when people are seriously being jackasses that I just want to slap a few and not get fired from work.

I don’t know where this going, this is all one big long thought that I just put into words because honestly, I can’t think of anything else to write which would suit the masses of people who come by my site, and when I say masses, I mean like 10 people who regularly read which is more than I usually have had before.

I was going to do a post on why I hate “random props” or “propz” because I got my first one today and when I went to her site, I could barely read anything because her background was giving me a fucking migraine and I just wanted to rant on that, but alas, I didn’t. Think of it this way: it saved you from actually reading my rant on one of my many, many pet peeves.

I am still buried under some applications, I don’t feel like answering the same questions I have answered on every single one. I feel like bullshitting or copying my answers. Meh. Meh. Meh. I feel “emo”.

-Kate

I am currently in the midst of applying for about 21 jobs for next summer.. all jobs at summer camps teaching riding lessons or being a camp counselor while teaching lessons or taking care of the horses. Yikes… be back when I am done.. (also known as never).

But the good side of this is that I think I finally figured out what I want to do with the rest of life when it comes to horses – teaching people how to ride. I really, really think I want to do that. And teaching at camps is a huge, huge plus.

Kate

*Edit (12:45 a.m.)*

So I am about halfway done with the now-dwindled-down-to 17 applications. I get so sick of answering the same questions over and over again. Do employers really call your references? Because I keep putting the same people down over and over again. Should I switch them up? I would feel bad if 17 employers (possibly less or more) called them and asked the same questions. Shit, I have no idea.

Note to self: Get CPR and/or First Aid certification as soon as possible.

*Edit (2:17 p.m. – Tuesday)*

So I got an email from one of the camps already, asking me if I could come teach for their two week session starting July 31. What?!?!?! What?!?! I am going to have to decline them at this time, considering it is (1) in Virginia, (2) conflicting with my other summer job that I have to go to, and (3) IN VIRGINIA. Maybe next summer, Camp Offer #1, maybe next summer.

But, boy, how great that makes me feel.. to already have one offer. Fuck yes.

do i have it back? i have no clue; read and tell me what you think.

As the sun dipped down below the horizon, we drank from the case of Bud Light you had brought over, sneaking in kisses every couple of sips, never letting it progress into something heavier and more passionate.

We became drunk on each other and on the beer – laughing and joking and playfully flirting as if we never hurt each other in the past, as if our hearts were never broken apart by the casual and so-called meaningless sex we engaged in for years until we both got caught up in the feelings and emotions and instead of trying it out we just stopped it all.

I never knew I was falling in love with you, or that you were falling in love with me, until you agreed to come with me as my escort to my sister’s wedding knowing that my entire family would be there, asking us a million questions about our relationship status. You were so amazing that night, dancing with my aunts and grandmother over and over again while they fanned themselves because they knew you were the most handsome one there in my mind. And when my cousin’s daughter fell asleep on your lap, her head against your chest and her legs sprawled across yours I thought my heart melted as you smiled and waved to me across the dance floor as I pretended to enjoy being with the person I was waltzing with.

Here we sat, together but not together – thoughts running rampant in my mind as to whether you cared as much as you said you did, if you understood how many nights my heart had longed for your warm body to sleep next to mine. Your eyes sparkled as you drank from the can, almost choking as you laughed at something we were reminiscing about. It was like yesterday was the last day I saw you, even though it had been months.

Your gentle touch sent shivers up my spine and down my legs, weakening my knees into puddles of mush. I sought in your voice the words of the past – the promises of never leaving and always being there and loving me.

As your lips touched mine, I held on longer. I wrapped my arms around your neck and pulled me into you, lingering against you as passion rose. I wanted you. I needed you.

Our mouths tasted like beer and vanilla ice cream, tongues intertwining as our breath got shallower – we were one, meshed together – unbreakable, undeniable, and I was falling in love with you all over again as your hands searched my body and mine did the same on yours. I caught your hand in mine – your rough spots brushed against my delicate ones, perfect in each other.

I was falling into you, hoping you would catch me, praying that this was right and not wrong and every jump I had ever made would be made up by this one. I risked it all – everything, and when you told me I was beautiful and kept on complimenting me, I couldn’t help but say

                                                                              I love you

the worst post of my life

Have you ever had something to actually write about, but when you try nothing comes out? You have all these characters and plots and ideas and themes, and still.. nothing. You can get the basics, but not the details. You can get small phrases here and there but never bigger ones or chapters. The harder you try, the more difficult becomes to write it. I desire to write about something, but I cannot seem to. I try, I try, I fucking try. Every day I try to pen my thoughts, but all that comes out is blurbs of words that make no sense at all, or are so simple and juvenile it makes me look like an ignorant fool. I carry that damn notebook with me all day, every day.. hoping that at a prime moment I can write something that will inspire the rest of it.

All I can write right now is what I am feeling inside – which most of my writing comes from anyways – and at the current moment, I feel very torn and downtrodden and those types of posts are getting rather repetitive and annoying.

Whatever.

We have this picture in my kitchen of the seniors from my sister’s soccer team in this pyramid, but someone obviously used Photoshop or something on the picture for some unknown reason, flipping the picture so the school name on their shirts are backwards. Every time I see it, I get pissed off. It’s a cute picture, besides that.

I have 605 songs on my iPod. Yeah, I’m cool. Admit it.

This is a dumb post; why am I still here? I have nothing better to do right now, actually. Besides finish the fourth Harry Potter book, but it is like four hundred thousand pages anyways.

I was talking to someone the other day and told them that I hide behind a mask. Their response? “It’s a beautiful mask.” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be flattered, or what. Meh.

Every time I say “meh”, I feel like an “emo” kid. Save me.

The post really does suck. I have nothing to say besides that work is consuming me, killing me, boring me, and if I ever had a boyfriend with the same personality as this one kid at work, I would be in complete and total love.

My foot still fucking hurts. And now my toes are bruising. Sick.

For some reason, I really enjoy the word clandestine. Like, The clandestine writings were passed around the group acting as if they were delicate, age-old findings – something to be treasured and coveted. I don’t know.

Maybe I’ll write something later, who knows. I still feel downtrodden.

-Kate

I just found the BEST summer job ever for next summer. It is in Pennsylvania. I emailed them for the application; it is a pretty sweet deal. I hope that I get the job (because it is fucking sweeeeet).

I have no fucking idea..

I have a pained soul; it is old but strong. My weak interior is masked by a strong exterior – tough, worn, almost completely bullet proof. I hide well behind the invisible walls I built, barely a word escapes from them without being filtered and planned. I walk blindly, bumping into unknown objects that I run from – tripping over the same foot you keep sticking out there. I fell once, you let me. I fell twice, you let me. I fell a third time, I should have known. My knees can only be so scraped up before you feel like I stopped deserving it. Do I even deserve to scrap them up once?

I want to believe you, I really do. A part of me already does. I don’t know if what you say is the truth, or if it is not. All I ever asked for was for you to be honest. I am scared you never were. I keep writing the same things over and over again, yet in different forms and words. It is like I can not get enough of releasing these feelings from me. They are so far from being happy.

I honestly do not know right from left, up from down, this way from that way. I trusted you, I fucking trusted you. I rarely trust anyone, and you ripped that trust from my hands so fast that I did not even realize it was gone. I want it back, along with everything else you took from me. I never understood what it was about you that I took to so well.

So, here. I give you the decisions from now on. You take the ball and decide what to do with it. You call me. You instant message me. You prove to me that it was not you, that you really want something, that this is not a joke.

You know how I feel, let’s see how you do. Frankly, I am not so sure who you are anymore. You somehow found this way to hide behind someone else, and it is killing me inside to know that maybe, maybe.. what happened was you. But a huge part of me does not want to believe it.

Still confused.

If you want to know more, because this is so vague.. my screennames are on the left, either AIM or Yahoo, I’m on both. I won’t tell you if I don’t trust you, especially if you are a random person who never reads or comments on my Xanga. That would seriously freak me out.

-Kate

I am so confused.

Like I said, if you do not like what I write, do not read it. Xanga is full of other authors whose sites you might like better. What I write often does not even reflect my feelings or what I am going through; I often just write to purely write. I can capture any feeling I want, I just choose the same ones because, often, they are the ones I know the best. There is this thing called Creative Writing, which I sometimes write in first person as if it is me experiencing it.

I search my memory for a slight remembrance of you, but I cannot seem to find it. Maybe you never existed; maybe I chose to forget you; maybe I have moved on to someone or something better for me. I do remember the feelings you helped exude from me. Small moments of time frozen for our enjoyment, we felt what we thought no one else had felt before.

Through all the pain and tears, you stood by me. Slowly, your face comes back into focus in my mind’s eye. I can remember almost all we did – all we said – all of the future we discussed. But the day you walked away from me, my whole world collapsed right in front of me. The agony, the pure hurt, everything the opposite of what I had felt for so long hit me hard.

Everyone said we would never make it. I defended you, I defended us. I was out to prove them wrong; I was set on loving you as much as my heart would let me and more. I was ready to embrace you and your feelings, without pressure or force. The happy days were more often than the sad ones, but when the sad ones came along … they felt never-ending.

I would give anything to have you back, to change the past and what you did to me. I know I was not the best for you either, but I thought we would be able to work past all our differences. But they were all right; we did not make it.

In my mind there are only two parts of our relationship: the lust, and the downfall. It was so exciting, so new, so euphoric. But then it was all fights and arguments and we just went down from there. Falling faster and faster until we almost hit the cement at the bottom, almost splitting open both of our heads. We almost killed each other.

I wish for that lust sometimes, but I am glad I do not have it – merely out of fear for the close call of suicide. It was a romance so badly struck by Cupid that it could only end in such a hurtful way. We ran too fast, we jumped too far, we risked too much. I fell, you fell, we both fell together holding each other tightly as the fall took our breaths away.

I just wanted to say that I hope you are okay. But I hope that, in time, we find our faults and hold them in a light so that all we meet can see them, either to accept them or not. Good thing that I had you at one time. Otherwise, where would I be now?

[Note: Not based on reality.]

My inspiration is getting low. I need some new ideas. Help, please?

If you don’t like what I write, don’t read. It’s rather simple.
Will post tonight with something that is actually longer than these three sentences.