Feelin' the blogging love

Disclaimer: This blog post contains nothing of any worth, and may be a large waste of your time.  If you hope for the superpower to read minds, then this is your lucky chance to read mine, but if not, don't say I didn't tell you so.

You know, nobody blogs anymore so that's awesome.
But most of the time I like things better when I'm the only one doing it...
like being in love with Robin Hood
or reading Science Fiction.
But secretly I still love Jane Austin and Charlotte Bronte.
Truthfully, I'm not one who just types on the internet like I'm talking to a friend.
But mostly today I just need a friend.
Unfortunately today, these keys have fallen victim to my thoughtful fingers
because my typewriter has lost its spring for the day.
AKA my power socket in my room blew out.
Is it time to change?
I keep changing but I'm the same person.
Really though.
Changing is who I am.
Change is my personality.
But don't go around selling polaroid film for less than $50
because I'm all out of cash and I wish I could carelessly squander my money
like some sort of pop-hipster-billionaire who wishes she was somebody she isn't.
You can just forget about that last post.
That was a bunch of....crap and I think I ate too many Lindt truffles.
(Let me just say, the peanut butter are divine. Right up there next to dark chocolate)
It is untrue that I hate boys
and it is untrue that I hate my flip phone.
Two very comparable subjects, but I
Won't get into that.
I have these dimples on my cheeks that really make me look like I have
cellulite on my face, because they are in every odd nook and cranny, and the one on my little cheek that most people say is cute, isn't deep enough to be cute, so it just looks like a chubby cheek, and the ones near my lips look like somebody stabbed me with a pen, and the ones under my eyes are just very odd.
It's really a challenge to smile at everyone, when every time you smile,
you look like a walking blob of cellulite.
This is getting a little long, but I might as well tell you that I'm into skulls and gold.
Gold may positively correlate with skulls, but don't confuse correlation with causation.
Sometimes I wonder what it would take to pop this bubble.
But really, are cello players more flexible than the other string players?
And I like hawaiian tourist shirts in the winter.

Hopeless

You still make my stomach flip.
Flip?
Dance.
Twist and contort into shapes of love and...
love.
Love?
Nothing more than lost and unforeseen.
Nothing more than hints of jealousy and permanent damage.
Sigh the last sigh and restrain yourself, dear stomach,
for the knots will not soon untie
and they will more likely be rent in twain.

Have you gotten the hint yet?

conversations

"I mean, this isn't because of me"
"It's not."
"It couldn't be my fault."
"Of course not."
"But something could have gone wrong."
"Maybe."

"Do you care?"
"Only if you want me to."
"Can't you just give me a straight answer?"
"Yes."
"Don't you think that this is getting a little carried away?"
"Don't you?"

"Green apples are sour"
"Maybe its all about perspective."
"Or maybe they just are"
"Maybe"

"Romney isn't going to win."
"We believe in miracles"
"I'm not even that political."
"Then why were you yelling at Twitter an hour ago?"
"I just don't want the store to be open on Sunday."
"Why? It's a free country."
"That doesn't mean we have to lower our standards."

"This is a mess."
"Why don't you clean it up?"

Don't read this

Because I never learn.
Because mixing your hashbrowns and eggs is gross.
Because I hate school,
not because of the school part,
but because of the people part.
Because all of a sudden I've been losing my Words with Friends game.
Because I've been making mistakes;
not just the typical high school drama kind,
not only the million stupid things I say,
but real mistakes.
Mistakes that send me curling up into a ball and cringing at the sight of myself.
Because it isn't right that money means so much.
Because I forget which reality is more important.
Because I'm weeding in the garden and getting dirty.
So dirty that I can't wash it off with just a hose, but I have to take
shower, after
shower, after
shower.
And I have to wash my clothes 3x on the "extreme soilage" level.
Because I'm rolling in filth and forgetting who I used to be.
And I know its wrong.
I know that I don't need to be this dirty.
But I am.
I am,
I am,
I am.
And its ruining everything.
Because my ukulele is lonely,
and my typewriter is desolate.
The piano hasn't been touched, and
the only problem is money.
Money, is
Money, is
Money.
It's only paper that is more valuable than gold,
than food,
than human lives.
AND IT'S RUINING MY LIFE
Honestly, I'm sorry
I'm sorry, I need,
I'm sorry, I feel,
I'm sorry, I'm stupid.
Unteachable.

boys and collisions

In Driver's Education, we always learned that it was never an 'accident'.
It was always a collision.
If it wasn't your fault, why are you cited?
Brakes screaming, adrenaline rushing like never before,
I knew it was coming.
"Let's get off the road."
Here's to the safety of everyone, here's to seatbelts, here's to spiritual guidance.
I did my scripture study for 1 hour on Sunday, like the stake president asked.
I read my New Era, like the stake president asked.
I went to the temple 3 times in a week and cried the day I couldn't go.
"Why is this happening?"
"Sometimes bad things happen to good people."
"Why is everyone yelling?"
"Sometimes you have to deal with the truth."
"Why didn't I get asked to homecoming?"
"Sometimes that isn't what matters."

Glass everywhere, radiator fluid. No airbags.
No airbags?
"Is anyone hurt? Is anyone hurt."
Nobody's hurt. OK.
Calling, calling.
"Were you crying? Was it scary?"
No.
No.
Why is he here? Why is he here?
"I'm just happy you weren't hurt."
"Why?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Because."
"Why didn't I get asked to homecoming?"
"Because."
Bones aching, head spinning, responsibility.
"I have to do this."
Filling out statements. More and more statements.
How fast were you going?
I don't know. Slow.
"I wish I was homecoming queen."
"Sometimes we can't get what we wish for."
"This has been the worst week."
"Sometimes bad things happen to good people."
"What about the bad people? What happens to them?"
"Sometimes good things happen to bad people."

The Complication

Me and Kimya, we're doppelgangers yo'. 

Please,
Talk to me.

doesn't make sense

I'm thinking about you and it doesn't make sense. You don't make sense. I'm watching the Olympics all day, every day, and they don't make sense. The most confusing part is the gymnast mens' shoulders. Around and around...Are they elastic? Are they human? I'm watching the news, I'm watching the death. Death in Syria and war over things that don't make sense. Death doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense but it still happens. A soldier who goes to war for a noble cause, only to die, that doesn't make sense. When bad things happen to good people, that doesn't make sense. Which is why you can't trust karma. Because the results aren't accurate, they aren't reliable, they aren't solid. Karma doesn't make sense. Men who kill people, they go to jail. Jail, where they can be alone, where they are fed three meals a day without earning money. They can write, they work out. And they've killed someone, and there is someone out there who has lived a perfectly good life and is digging through dumpsters for food. That doesn't make sense. The world, it doesn't make sense. They tell us what is enjoyable, what is valuable. Sex=good. Food=Bad. Diamonds=$. Souls=okay to waste. That doesn't make sense. What makes diamonds valuable? The people that buy them? The price they sell for? That they are hard to find? Are they any more beautiful than flowers, dragonflies. That doesn't make sense. Is a good man valuable? Maybe to me, not to the world. Is a good man honest? Maybe to me, not to the world. That doesn't make sense. To value riches over morals, that doesn't make sense. Low self-esteem, doesn't make sense. Comparing yourself to others when we were all created different, doesn't make sense. If God created us all different, isn't it almost an insult to him to try and all be the same? The world wasn't made to be monochromatic. That makes sense. Color, that makes sense. Feelings, they don't always make sense, but having them, that makes sense. Evolution, that doesn't make sense. The dinosaurs, they don't make sense. Did God just put the bones on the earth for human discovery? For the imagination. That makes sense. My thoughts, usually don't make sense. My dreams, never make sense. My writing, will always make the least sense.

{today is really summer}

{realizing you have less than half the summer}
{remembering goals that seemed plausible last night}
{eating sugar like there is no tomorrow. even though there is.}
{planning and planning}
{dreaming of beaches}
{getting tan-well, for you}
{noticing that your only friend is a bird}
{not caring about that ^^^}
{wishing for kisses. Hersheys...}
{forgetting how to blow-dry your hair}
{falling asleep on the trampoline}
{thinking you need a job}
{but remembering how good lazy feels}
{falling in love...again}
{hot grape nuts}
{zipline rides with glow sticks}
{being amused}
{doing ab workouts and failing}
{reading over 15 books already}
{going over the limit of books at the library}
{blogging, blogging, blogging}

Inspiration

"If I don't seem to need help, it is because I have a better friend, even than father, to comfort and sustain me. My child, the troubles and temptations of your life are beginning, and may be many; but you can overcome and outlive them all if you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as you do that of your earthly one. The more you love and trust Him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of life-long peace, happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother."
                                                                                                                        --Little Women

Normal-People

It is on rare occasion that I have nothing to say.
Recently, the occasions have become less rare and more of a recurring event.
I'm not sure why--I'm not sure how it happened, but it seems to be suiting me well.
Mountains will feed you.
I'm sure of it.
My imagination is reeling me in slowly and gushing in new thoughts for me to process,
filling my normally organized and particular mind with extraordinary ideas and pictures.
And somehow, I don't feel the need to share them.
My dreams are becoming mine; I'm selfish to keep them in and I love it.
Slowly I forgot about drama and people, not caring what they think.
I've begun to watch.
Watch their eyes, watch their unusual habits.
Try to determine the meaning of emotions.
Maybe it is my recent isolation that makes people's uniqueness captivating,
but maybe it's just that I haven't noticed it quite that way before.

awful dreams

I'm asleep on a bench, a bench that knows my thoughts and erases my worries. Bliss is all I feel--joy greater than any birthday cake or Christmas gift could possibly bring. Cotton flits around my eyes and my nose seems to remember the itch it felt yesterday, but can't seem to remember the taste. I close my eyes, and it only seems like minutes until my eyelids are pried open by some unknown force. I can't will my body to stop, and my mind wants so much to keep them closed. But now I'm sitting up, and I'm leaving my bench. I'm leaving my bench of security, my bench to find happiness. My bare feet sink into the soil and the sticky topcoat spills out from inbetween my toes. For a moment I don't move. I don't want to move. I want to sink. Where will the mud take me? To what unknown worlds will I travel? But again my legs are seized by a ghost, and I'm forced to carry on...trudging, tripping, moving at a painfully slow pace. My teeth clench as thorns pierce my feet and I look around me at the barren landscape. It seems to go on forever, and I can't find the familiarity of the mountains, or of my precious bench. I feel torn between my thoughts and my aching legs, and as I think, I carry on. Where am I going? Why do I have this burning feeling to carry on? Are my human instincts finally taking over? I stretch my neck to see higher than the edge of the earth, hoping for an end. Hoping that the earth really is flat. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know the earth is a sphere, but my knowledge seems to conflict with my imagination, combining into something different and foreign, a growth that presents neither fact nor fiction. I finally collapse, and my elastic body piles on top of itself. It's all I can do not to cry. So I close my eyes as my face sinks into the grainy pink sand. 

This time, I awaken again on the bench, and my nose is nearly touching his. Two benches, two people. One field. I'm forcing myself not to move, not to blink, to understand. But I can't. And as he stares, my lips form the words I cannot speak and my feet begin to take my trek once again. 

 

concerned

I'd like to say a few things.
Is that alright?
Not that you care.
So you could stop reading this now or you could continue...
but I just have a few complaints.

I would first like to bring up the terrible lack of concern  that people have lost for my well-being recently. I could be on my deathbed and people would still be selling home-ade rap CDs on the street. Have you no compassion? Truthfully I'm living a boring life ever since testing ended and I'm feeling awfully neglected. If you aren't going to answer my calls, please try to convince yourselves that those pictures you are going to post on facebook about that party last night (that I wasn't invited to) should probably stay far away from me.

Secondly, I'd like to bring up my over-bearing concern for people who compare their writing to bodily fluids and organs. Mostly because its disgusting and sometimes graphic, but also because nobody wants to be thinking about a bloody squishy heart while reading about your love life. And words look nothing like vomit. Vomit is...I was going to describe it, but that was getting a little sketchy. Or babies. Don't compare it to babies. Find something better and use your creativity please. (not to be harsh or anything. But really.)

Lastly, I'd like to point out that concern is really unattractive. Its making my and your face wrinkly and full of acne. (Which is really disturbing. Something close to a ninety-year old going through puberty. Equivalent to a hybrid of a toad-chameleon.) Stop worrying and eat Nutella or something.

Who doesn't like Nutella?
Please raise your hand now so I can use the money you are currently saving to buy it for myself.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this...

Childish

You know, sometimes I wish that I had never learned any more than how to read "A is for Apple."
The world would seem a lot simpler if I had never learned any common sense or calculus. Truthfully, innocence is bliss.
       Really though. As a little girl, I was never really worried about what other people thought, and for me, everyone was pretty. When I saw myself I didn't think I was ugly, or pretty, or even a redhead. I just thought I was Kalli.
       How do these kids manage?! How can they possibly go countless days without looking someone up and down and judging their appearance? How do they sit in the sandbox and play and get sunburned while their parents fret over taxes and bills and skin cancer?

To them, a dollar is the most amazing thing they have ever held in their hand.
Just think: 100 gumballs at Kohlers.
They could possibly be the richest one in their class at that moment.
        In fact, they can be anyone they want. None of them care how much money careers bring in or how much education they require; but they all have something they want to be. Firemen, cops, astronauts, dancers, movie stars. A vet. How many kids did you know who wanted to be a vet? I never understood it. I always thought I was going to be a mom and a teacher.

        Okay, so that's a little more realistic and grown-up. But maybe my 7-year-old self was even a little more punctual than my 16-year-old high school self who has no idea what she wants to do because a National Geographic Photographer is a completely outlandish idea, unless you've already inherited quite a sum of money. And college? East coast? New York? What was I thinking? I'll be stuck here in Utah, in my little bubble. That's okay. I'll add diversity I guess. I have red hair. We're almost extinct.

         I wish that I still had hours to play dress up and to create 'cakes' in the sand. I wish I could be a rugged rock collector like I was before, breaking open rocks and proclaiming them to be expensive crystals. My dreams of real princesses have been shattered and I've given up every hope of becoming a movie star.
I guess I'm still the same person, but a little more experienced. Experience is good, right? Its good. Growing up is good. I guess the only reason I want to believe that innocence is bliss is because I don't want to take the responsibility that comes with knowledge. WITH GREAT.. never mind.

again with the writing

Seemingly confused, my clock can't seem to communicate with my brain. Blinking for a moment, I can't find my lungs and my heart pounds. I'm searching for the truth, but I'm searching in all the wrong places, asking all the wrong people, turning over all the wrong stones. Somehow I tell myself its here, with them, surrounding me. The people I love are the people that the world tells me to love. The world screams in my face and tells me what is great, wonderful, terrible. The world whispers improvements and gives me reasons to complain. The world tells me what is hipster, what is prep. The world shoots nasty words at me because I only have 11 followers when, in reality, I remembered that I never really wanted anyone to read this anyway. I'm forgetting who I am and why I came. I'm forgetting the people who matter and remembering the people I tried so hard to forget. The world tells me what love is, they tell me what to think about it. Will you just kiss me already? You've been staring at me fo  I'll tell you what love is. Love is when someone you care about anyone finds something they like about you and decides to love every bit of you because of it. Love is when your heart skips a beat because they looked at you 

Who Am I kidding I know nothing about love.

Happiness is junk food all week and ice cream for every meal.

Happiness is not feeling addicted to the internet for a week.

Happiness is becoming a rugged adventurer and living in the mountains for a day.

(because any longer than that may have driven you insane.)

Happiness is a 72 in bowling and a good date.

Happiness is running three miles in the rain and breathing in every moment of it.

Happiness is shopping for things you don't need--straw fedoras and indian shoes.

Happiness is finishing Mosiah and taking on the challenge of Alma for the ninth time.

Happiness is sitting by a projected fire and knowing you got asked to prom.

Happiness is chocolate chip pancakes and whipped cream.

Happiness is mostly getting your homework done. (mostly.)

Happiness is remembering the two checks you haven't cashed yet.

Happiness is when the baby goes to bed. On the first time.

Happiness is watching old western movies and roasting cheerios.

Happiness is finally getting over him. (Maybe?) (Definitely.) 

Happiness is reading in a bubble bath without stress.

Happiness is the temple on a friday morning.

Happiness is finally getting out of your routine

Happiness is spring break.

Happiness is when spring break ends and you go on tour in five days.

Happiness is me today.

impatience

I'm sitting, chewing my fingernails.
Waiting.
Hoping.
All at once it happens and its here and I want to cry.
I thought I would be ready, I assumed the best,
But never assume the best because you might find yourself facing the worst.
The false hope we have will never assimilate with reality.
The tears in your pillow never dissolve, and wet skin is cold when you sleep.
Nothing implausible is worth your attention,
not today,
not now.
Maybe when we're old, without a care and without
assignments to finish and children to feed.
But for now, you must
you Must
Forget. Forget the fantasies and dreams you find yourself swimming in so often.
For soon the lake will freeze over and you'll be caught in the ice
frozen, immovable in the water of dreams that was once alive.
I'm not implying a forced depression;
I'm not purposefully suffocating your imagination;
I'm reluctant to tell you this because I'm afraid it will destroy your smile.
Find happiness in life now, while you can.
Hide your silly wants in a corner of your mind where you can find it later, because
right now
the things that matter most are the people
and the things
and the moments
that are staring you right in the eyes.
So forget the dreams to find the truth,
and wipe the hopefulness out off your runny nose
and be satisfied.

My Fault

Frustrating.
Infuriating.
Angering.
Saddening.

Jealousy.
and Regret.

I let the tears fall
and cradle my face in the pillow.

confession time

I have a confession to make.

The only thing I've eaten all day is celery and peanut butter.

I have a confession to make.

I spend too much time on the internet.

I have a confession to make.

I wish it was Christmas.

I have a confession to make.

I want to move away to a foreign place and never see any of these people again.

I have a confession to make.

When I fall in love, I never get over them.

I have a confession to make.

I love the rain.

I have a confession to make.

I give up too easily. 

I have a confession to make.

I write on this blog way too much, considering how little attention it gets from everyone else.