As I laid down last night, I was in that punch-drunk stage of tired that mimics childhood in its ability to come up with completely random shit. I put my head on the pillow, and heard: thump thump thump thump.

I sat up, convinced the cat was in my room, only to find that it definitely was not her. Figuring I must have imagined it, I put my head back on the pillow and tried to sleep again, only to hear: thump thump thump thump. This time, I was more determined to figure out what it was, and so was perfectly still, attempting to discern the origin of the noise. Disturbingly, it appeared to be coming from my pillow. I laid there, trying to figure out what it could be, coming up with very large bedbugs, compressing stuffing in the pillow, and the wrath of god, when a memory from my childhood came roaring to life: the man on the pillow.

You see, this was not the first time I had heard thumping that appeared to be coming from the pillow. It used to happen with some frequency when I was much younger, around five or six years old. And of course, what does a five or six year old do but invent something awesome that could be on the pillow. I pictured a man walking on the pillow, and the thumping noises were his footsteps. He was dressed as a lumberjack (even I can’t figure that one out, and it’s my delusion), and he stomped around on the pillow rather loudly because there were no trees for him to cut down. This was, after all, a pillow he was on. His clothes appeared remarkably clean for a lumberjack, with the requisite red checked shirt and denim overalls, but then again, maybe I just didn’t imagine him being dirty because this was my pillow, and I didn’t want there to anything dirty on my pillow.

I would always try to pick my head up really quickly so I could see the man on the pillow, but I was never fast enough. I thought there was some sort of magic involved, because, after all, what could be crazier than magical lumberjack pillow men? I always found his approach very disturbing. It sounds like he’s getting closer and closer to my ear, which is terrible, because I hate things in, around, near, or even looking at my ears. (This hatred predates the earwig scene from the Amityville movie, but was in no way lessened by it.) There were some nights where I had a hard time sleeping because the pillow man was particularly persistent. Now the pillow man’s visits are increasingly sporadic, but still filled with a child-like wonder, seeing as they typically coincide with a fatigue that makes LSD look like aspirin.

I have since learned that the noise is actually the sound of your heartbeat in your ear. Cool beans!! Not nearly as cool as the pillow man, but still, I suppose it’s acceptable.

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written you, internet. And so much has gone on in the last month that I hardly know where to begin. I’m afraid the only thing I can do right now is apologize and promise to write again tonight (when I actually have time…) and can do an update some serious justice.

xo

Katie

My birthday is in sixty-four days. Sixty-four days, internet, and I will be twenty-one years old. I can’t over-state how awesome this is.

I need some. Could you lend me yours, just for a little bit, pretty please? I was doing so well on my P90X, but alas, trips home make me lose my motivation to work out. I never get to see my family, so it’s really hard for me to want to take time away from them to work out. Hence my week-long hiatus from the workouts. Added to which, I am currently fighting off a monster of a cold, one which saps my energy more than anything else. It feels much like I would expect mono to feel. And on that note, I bid you adieu, Internet, for I am going to take a hefty dose of NyQuil and sleep for the next three days.

Greetings, internet!

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated anything, perhaps because there hasn’t really been anything to say in the last couple of days. I will say this: being broke sucks. It makes you do things that you would never normally consent to doing, such as removing the grout from your father’s bathroom floor.

Did I get paid?

Yes.

Was it worth it?

Maybe.

See, the thing that frustrates me isn’t that I had to DO something to receive parental funds. This is par for the course; nothing is free in my houses. The issue that I take with it is that it was physically painful and excrutiatingly boring. I found it exceptionally frustrating that my ears hurt, my hands are killing me, my bach aches, and frankly, because I’m trying to keep this a family site, I can’t mention the other places that are quite sore from sitting on a floor for four days. Perhaps the worst part of this tale, however, is that this is not even the most agonizing thing I have ever done for money. Staining the deck certainly wasn’t this bad, but cleaning out the crawlspace under the living room was; finding several dead animals and walking in a hunched manner, and spraying distilled bleach over mildew on the walls tends to take the cake.

Of course, no one could forget the great fun to be had sanding down an entire car to prepare it for being painted, or putting shingles back on a roof during what was the hottest day of that summer; nor is is possible to forget that, several years later, I was again forced up onto the roof, this time in order to paint it (again, the hottest day of that summer).

I guess what I’m saying is that things are trending for the worse with regards to my prospective chores. In my earliest years, this extended only as far as priming things to be painted (I was only allowed to paint a color on a wall recently, much to my chagrin). I realize that this means that my family trusts me more now to be capable with the tasks they give me. This could be construed in a positive way, but still.

“I know [my family] will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish that [they] didn’t trust me so much.” – adapted from Mother Theresa’s quote.

Ah, Alan Jackson, you knew what was up when you sang that song. The summertime blues are quite a killer. You think it’s glorious. You think: ah yes, summer, no classes, no homework, hurray. Alas, this is only true when one is in possession of money. This, dear internet, is not the situation I find myself in. Point of fact, I would have to stay that I actually have negative money, a situation which is not only possible, but exceedingly uncomfortable. And so, I am broke. I’m understandably distraught about this. If there’s one thing I hate in this world, it’s being poor. It is, to put it lightly, exceptionally uncomfortable. I feel precisely as Alan Jackson does in the song. I think the most frustrating thing about this situation is that I have a job, I have another job lined up, and I just can’t get started on it soon enough. Looks like it’s going to be skinny living for the next little bit.

So many beginnings in the last couple of weeks.

Summer (yay!!) One of my favorite seasons! The sunshine! The lilacs! The lack of homework and assignments!!

Running (boo) It’s time I started. Water polo is done, I’ve had my time off, and I need to get workouts in. I’ve been working on finding a new route I like with varying degrees of success. I’ll be trying out the new one shortly. Wish me luck!

Summer Work (ehn) Necessary, but not exciting. Quite boring, in fact. I’ve finished three books in four days at work, which is awesome.

These beginnings have left me with very little time, but I hope to be more consistent with this during the summer. No promises!!

And I am unable to express my joy adequately. I have no words, Internet. It makes me want to get an Alice Cooper tattoo. School’s out!! Now, all I have to contend with are work shifts, one more week of water polo practices, a take-home exam and an in-class exam, both on the 29th. Delightful! I can’t stop making plans for my weekends, which probably isn’t wise given that I haven’t received my May schedule for work yet, but c’est la vie. Imagine me in a field of sunshine, butterflies, rainbows, unicorns, rivers of melting ice cream that is delicious, yet has zero calories, and other impossibilities, for that is how I feel.

I’m almost waiting to wake up and find out it is in fact February, there is snow on the ground, and I have midterms. *shudder*

I have officially reached the stage in the semester when grades no longer appear to matter. All that matters is that, in a few days, I will be done with classes and that exams will be upon me. I also signed up for plenty of hours at work, mostly because I’m a stupid jackass that can’t see that time at work is inversely related to grades. Alas, I would rather have moneys to spend.

In other news, I’m really ready for polo to be done. I love the people, I’m sick of the practice and the drain on my time. I feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up right now, and it’s exceedingly frustrating.

You won’t get playtime unless you’re awesome. This is a complaint that I’ve got right now: we have three goalies, and one of them, the senior, is amazing. Number two club goalie in the nation last year. Basically, it’s very hard to get playtime on this team unless we’re slaughtering the team that we’re playing, and then, I have to split this leftover playtime with another goalie. I traveled all the way to Miami of Ohio last weekend to play for a quarter of one game. That’s six minutes. With all the stoppage, that translates to nine or ten minutes. Miami of Ohio is four hours away.

I traveled eight total hours to play for ten minutes. Worse, my family traveled eight total hours to watch me play for ten minutes. What a giant and frustrating waste of time.

Obviously, I got other things out of traveling, like hanging out with my teammates and watching some really good water polo. But seriously? I couldn’t get in for a little more time? I know other girls on the team are feeling the way I feel, and it’s very frustrating to have happen. I’m starting to resent the freshman goalie because she’s taking playtime I could have, and that’s not a good thing. I’ve got to find a way to stop feeling this way.