Chicken Salad

[Thursday]

Dust swirled through the air. I coughed as I breathed it in. Cleaning had never been one of my fortes. Especially in my room. My philosophy was always if I can still see the floor, I'm good. My room. My sanctuary for the past few years. A refuge in times of stress and uncertainty and of course AP exams and other high school crap . Now in a couple of short hours it was all packed away. Everything was sorted neatly in boxes and piles. Keep, Give Away, Throw Away, Take. Everything had a place. I glanced around. Memories covered every wall. Ticket stubs from movies and band contests, a picture from a night out with the girls, a jingly bra from a really intense Renaissance fair. I smiled taking it all in. Everything had a place, but I wondered where my place was. I was leaving behind everything that I knew, escaping a hundred miles away to a completely new place. A new beginning. My empty room remained behind. I had never been good at new beginnings. Would I belong to this new place, to my college of choice? Would I still call this room my home? They always say college is a transitional phase in life, chock full of new experiences and people. But now before school began I felt in between. Unsure. Part of me was afraid, wanting to stay in this comfortable place but another part screamed for change, craved more than what was here. Life was just starting and I had barely scratched the surface. But I embraced the chance of something new and the idea of possibility. I picked up my last box, ready to go to the car. I turned and looked over my shoulder. It would still be there, waiting. But for now I was leaving. Ready or not.

[Thursday]

Okay, this is going to sound really strange and a little bit morbid, but in my mind I've always compared my sisters and I to Phoebe, Piper, and Prue from Charmed. Weird I know. But three sisters? And when you think about it, the characteristics are eerily similar. Emily is like Phoebe, the youngest sister. Little to no responsibility, the baby, gets what she wants, attitude problems. I am just like Piper and she's always been my favorite character. I've really identified with her. The middle child, serious, takes all the responsibility, and more even tempered than her sisters. Plus Piper ends up with sexy Leo. I can only hope our lives will continue to parallel in this way. And Megan is like Prue. The oldest, bossy to the point of insanity, always thinks she's in charge, and acts superior or jealous of her sisters. Now the morbid part: Megan and Prue both die. Okay the circumstances are different but insert car accident for demon and there you go. In the show, when the girls were younger they didn't get along. It was only later after discovering their magical, witchy powers that they really started to appreciate each other and get along. This is true for me and my sisters as well. Especially me and Megan. Too close in age and too different in temperament to truly be friends when we were teenagers. But I'd always hoped that would change. That somehow later in life we would find some common ground and learn to be friends. Then we would truly be like the Charmed Ones, sisters and friends out fighting the forces of darkness. Just with out the fighting the forces of darkness part. But that chance was taken from us and it makes me sad. I never got to know Megan as a friend and not just a pesky sibling. True she had her bitchy moments just like Prue but I'd aways secretly looked up to her, envied her, and wished we could be closer. Now it's just me and Em and the only difference now is I won't let that happen to us. Emily may be irritating, a smart ass, borrow my clothes without asking but our shared childhood and history binds us together forever. A fact I won't soon forget.

[Thursday]

I am not a runner as much as I try to be. The path and I have a love-hate relationship. When I'm lazy, every step feels like a mile, every breath burns like fire in my chest. When I'm faithful, I fly. There's something powerful in running, something that keeps bringing me back even when I haven't gone in months. Maybe it's biological, some evolutionary advantage or maybe it' just me. Chalk it up to runner's high or an endorphin rush, but I keep trying, keep going even after I'm tired and sore. What it is, I can't explain exactly. There's a feeling I get when I'm running. The rest of the world becomes a blur, literally and metaphorically. My breathing gets deeper, my stride lengthens and everything else takes a backseat to this moment. The stresses and the worries of life melt away. I focus on the next landmark, that tree, a bench and every time I pass it, it is a triumph, a success. When another runner comes up behind me, I work harder, a streak of competitiveness absent in my normal life. Suddenly, I feel in sync with nature, as if my footsteps parallel the very movement of the Earth. Every sense is heightened. I smell freshly cut grass and the clean scent of water. I feel the wind against my face and knowing I create that wind makes it even sweeter. I hear my favorite songs thumping through my iPod or the sound of cicadas in the trees, cars passing distantly on the highway. I take in the beauty around me and taste freedom on my tongue. It could be an escape or a refuge or simply a release but I keep going back, I keep trying as if I have something to prove. Not to anyone else, but to myself. When I'm running I feel strong and powerful and graceful like you can't be when you are just walking. Feet barely touch the ground, arms pumping desperately keeping your momentum, your body moving and nothing else matters except reaching the next curve in the path and the only thing keeping me going is sheer force of will. Nothing can touch me except the breeze. Untouchable, invincible, uncontainable. So catch me, if you can.

[Thursday]

Jealousy is an odd emotion and an uncomfortable feeling to experience. The color is green, intense bubbles of anger, of envy, and surprisingly of sadness. I would believe it's almost normal to be jealous some of the time. It's human nature. You always want something you don't or can't have and it's normal, very nearly expected to feel some degree of jealousy. It's so much worse when it's a friend or family, someone you interact with on a daily basis. You are afraid to express how you feel for fear of rejection or distance but jealousy, like anger does not do well when kept bottled up. Under pressure, those feelings intensify, change, and can turn into something truly ugly. But does being jealous or envious mean you don't want the other person to be happy? Absolutely not. Well, not most of the time. It's easy with a stranger or an enemy but to a friend, a sister, a relative? With that jealousy will come guilt and a certain amount of shame. So who suffers? You do. But you can't help the way you feel, part of it, you might not even be able to explain. In a way, it is the worst on the list of emotions in that it encompasses every other feeling. I am jealous, envious, angry, sad, confused, hopeful, guilty, wishful, shameful, lustful, afraid. I am jealous. Admittance. Acceptance. Peace. Is it ever that simple? I never begruged you your happiness but can I ever be truly happy for you?

[Thursday]

Have you ever looked at something so beautiful, it hurt?

[Thursday]

I'd like to think that normally I'm a pretty happy person. I've never been good at expressing my emotions but happiness doesn't have to be described. It's visible, tangible, and constant. Little things in life make me smile and I don't worry much about things that actually matter. I am content to worry over inconsequential things like my math homework or my hair, that in the long run don't really relate to the bigger picture. Anger is one emotion I am very in touch with. I'd bargain I'm angry the same amount of time I'm happy or even more. What angers me? Many things. Injustice, mean people, stupid people, my mother, myself. However, I don't express that anger which according to psychology is actually healthier in the long run than letting it out. Because in anger you are liable to say things you don't mean. But don't you? Or are they just the things you would be too polite to say in normal circumstances? In relation to anger, I am often frustrated. It's irritating not being able to do something, to fix something, to make everything work out to your advantage. But what I am the worst at above all is expressing love. Love. I love many things and many people. But often I can't even begin to describe my feelings. For example, I can't remember the last time I told my mother or my sister I loved them. It's not because I don't, because I do, but I just can't explain it the way they do so well in books and in movies. In real life, it feels fake. I know that's completely opposite but what can I say? But I don't think that's really it. It's too real. Too much to feel and for some reason I don't know how to cope with it. We were never a particularly affection family but I wonder if that's not part of the problem. That by not hugging every time I went to bed or saying "love you" at the end of the phone call, made me forget how to act, how to feel. With my dad it's different. He always says I love you and I get a hug and a kiss before bed but he's never here. His way of making up for lost time. My friends are my constant companions. Sometimes I feel guilty that I spend more time with my friends than my family. In many ways my friends have been there for me more than my family. But that's normal. In psychology, it's perfectly acceptable for adolescences to relate more to their peers later in life. But it doesn't take away the guilt. Even among friends I often can't express how I truly feel .There's parts of me I don't share even with the people I care about most. Am I hiding something or protecting myself? Maybe it's just me, but my profound inability to express myself with any emotion seems to be a serious character flaw. One I don't know how to fix. How frustrating.

[Thursday]

Things To Do

-Pay speeding ticket
-Buy spoons
-Algebra homework, plus review
-Study for Anatomy Lecture exam
-Computer Application week 7 assignment
-Degree planning form
-Coloring book plates
-Bonus quizzes
-Get Microsoft office for computer
-Donate plasma for money
-Get a boyfriend
-Get a life

[Thursday]

I often find myself wondering about fate. It's nice to think that there's some grand design out there, every moment planned and determined but at the same time, I don't like the thought that my life is already decided and nothing I do can change it. It's so easy to make excuses for the things that happen by blaming it on destiny. "It just wasn't meant to be," is a phrase I hear frequently. But why can't it be? What's stopping you? Some preconceived notion of what you deserve and what you are capable of? Or is it the fear of actually getting what you want and the possiblilty that it's not what you expected? Fear holds you back, defining, labeling. To be fearless would be a wonderful thing. In theory, it's simple. In practice, it's a little bit more complicated. What I've been able to come up with barely scratches the surface. The best I can do, that anyone can do seems to be only to try. Life is trial and error. Mistakes are made and we learn. Hopefully. I think we sometimes forget that and waste too much time focusing on those mistakes and never learn to accept them and that's a tragedy. Moving on is the only cure but so many people are stuck in the past, never grasping the bigger picture. Maybe fate isn't completely responsible, maybe we aren't completely responsible, maybe it's both. Maybe there is a plan but maybe it could change if only we worked hard enough. I do believe there's something greater out there. I can't name it. Be it fate or destiny, a grand design or God, it's there, unseen and unheard but present all the same. Maybe we're not meant to understand. We're only human after all.

[Thursday]

Have you ever had a moment when you couldn't believe what somebody just said? I have. Everyday of my life it feels like. I'll admit I'm a pretty private person. I don't advertise my problems to people I don't know. For one reason it makes for an overall awkward situation. Honestly, most people just don't care anyway. Secondly, that's just not how I roll. However, I've discovered most people are not like this. In my psychology class we deal with some pretty intense stuff. Suicide, teen pregnancy, child abuse, bulimia. Any controversial issue you can think of, my freshman psych class delves into it in detail. What inevitably results are some interesting class discussions. My classmates often share personal stories about one of the above topics and I can sympathize, but I don't really understand. I don't see why they would feel the need to tell a class of almost strangers their personal and usually traumatic experiences. I don't think any less of them, in fact I admire them for their courage to speak up but maybe because this is so different from myself, it always shocks me a little bit. For a less serious example, I give you Facebook. Yes, the one and same. I enjoy reading people's statuses though I rarely post my own. Others post dozens a day and sometimes I wonder why they would put some of the things they put up there. It's public. Shown to probably hundreds of people, few of whom you actually speak to regularly yet still. Why would I want to know every single insignificant detail of your day or try and decipher the cryptic little notes people post about their personal lives. I can't really relate to the people who do this. Maybe because as I said before I'm a private person or the fact that I'm not really particularly good at expressing emotion. So why do they do it? My mind swims with possibilities. Maybe to make a point. Maybe to evoke sympathy or maybe for the simple reason that they just need someone to listen. And that is something I can relate to.

[Thursday]

P.S.
The above post refers to none of the people on this message board.

[Thursday]

My head is not a very restful place. My mind is always swimming with ideas, feelings, hopes, and dreams. I am constantly thinking (obviously) about what's happening, what has already happened, and what is yet to come. Sometimes my brain just feels like it is going to explode because I'm trying to absorb so much at one time. I play out scenarios, fantasize, and try desperately to understand everything and anything and I know, I know that it is impossible but I still try. Maybe because I'm a writer, I sometimes think things in third person, trying to think of a way I could put it in a story. I'll make up stories in my head even if they never see paper. I'll analyze a situation, something I said or someone else said, trying to create meaning out of nothing. I'll admit I over think things far too much. I get myself worked up over nothing and cause unnecessary stress. But I can't really help it. That's just the way my mind works. Literally. I'll build up something so much in my head that the real thing cannot possibly live up to the expectations or I'll dread something so much but then find it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I always welcome sleep for that sweet oblivion even though sometimes my dreams are so vivid I awake with a headache, not feeling at all rested and I'm ridiculously grateful I'm the only one who can hear my crazy thoughts, indescribable swirling of words and pictures and emotions. I don't have to edit my thoughts and can just let myself feel whatever I want to without repercussion or judgment. It's not restful but it is private.

[Thursday]

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference

In psychology, there is an age old debate concerning whether or not people change. Was the person I was born the same person I'll be in ten years? In fifty years? Do life events influence our personality or are we genetically programmed in the womb to be argumentative or passive, outgoing or shy? Is it nature or nurture? Research reveals little in the way of answers. The data contradicts itself. True in one situation but not in another, leaving the general population still wondering. Many, I think would like to believe people do change. It's comforting to think that a murderer could repent, a sinner could find God, or a cheating spouse will learn faithfulness. But sometimes holding on to the belief that people change can allow us to overlook more serious character flaws. Cheating, Immorality, infidelity, lying. Is a cheater always cheater? Kelli Pickler thinks so and so do I. There are endless instances of women and men returning to a cheating spouse on the grounds that "They've changed!They really have." But does that change consist of faithfulness or learning to not get caught? We'll probably never know. Personally, my thoughts are split. I do believe a cheater is always a cheater. A murderer is a murderer no matter how much repenting they do. But at the same time there is that endless human capacity to learn and by learning we can change for the better. Life changes us to a certain degree no matter how much we try to believe it doesn't. Our struggles, hardships, and blessings affect us just as much as our genetics do. Nature cannot exist without nurture. It seems to vary from person to person. Some learn from mistakes and life events and adjust their personalities to be a better person or adapt to a new situation. But others, the weak, blame hardships or shortcomings on other people and allow all the bad stuff to devolve them into someone you would hardly recognize. The only thing I know for certain is we grow up. Maturity lets us see things differently. Experiences grant us wisdom and humility, and our family and friends help shape us into the people we will become. And then there are those who never grow up. The ones who never learn, remain immature despite the years that pass and I pity them.

[Thursday]

A fundamental part of being a musician is the ability to perform. Unfortunately for me, performing, especially in front of other people is not something I can do well. From an early age, I was shy and quiet and unlike most children, I did not enjoy being the center of attention. There was a time in first grade when we had just learned the recorder and we were supposed to play Mary had a Little Lamb. I cried and but only the threat of a bad grade kept me from not playing at all. As I got older and music became a bigger part of my life the performing became a little easier but I was never completely comfortable with it. I believe my fear held me back from my true potential. I knew I was good and no matter how prepared I was, I inevitably made mistakes. Playing music is more personal than most people think. Musicians pour a little bit of their soul into the music, into their instruments when they play. It's like being on a stage and stripped naked, exposed. Vulnerability. There is a trust between the performer and the audience and if it's violated, it is hard to recover. We make music to be heard, and it's certainly a challenge when that one simple fact is what you fear the most. Am I afraid to be heard? It seems unlikely but I wonder if that's not eaxactly the case. When it's just you and the music in front a crowd, one that judges and one that you know probably won't understand what is it your trying to say, it's easy to decide not to bother at all. What's the point if no one will listen? Despite all of this, something kept me going, kept me trying even when I was nervous as hell. And I would shake and turn red and skip notes and squeak and after it was over there was enormous relief. But I was heard. By someone.

[Thursday]

If you know me, know me well, you know I am a woman with strong opinions and low self-esteem, clearly defined (at least to me) morals and a unique sense of humor. I'm a hopeless romantic, a bookworm, and by all definitions a dreamer. I blame the books for this. From the moment I learned to read, a new world was opened to me. I read about romance and history and magic. I devoured books like candy and gained knowlege as well as a stunning vocabulary. As a result of this or maybe of my own natural inclination, I came to crave adventure. However adventure is in short supply in Texan suburbia. My days are routine and simple. A quest is nothing more than a trip to Walmart. I knew the path my life was to follow. Finishing high school, college, a career, family. But I felt like there should be something more. I felt like I was waiting for something extraordinary and wonderful to happen. A great love, an adventure, travel. The travel channel was the closest I ever came to exotic and historical locations. And I was content. For a while. An oppourtunity arose, a school trip to the United Kingdom, and it ignited a spark in me. I loved being somewhere new and surrounded by history, places that existed only in my books. It was like being in a dream, a fantasy. But it was just a taste of everything I wanted to do, everything I wanted to see. As I've grown older my passion for traveling and adventure has only increased but with this longing comes the realistic restrictions of time and money. But I am ever hopeful. That spark long ago turned to a roaring flame. So I'm still waiting. And burning.

[Thursday]

A Day in the Life of Kaitlin Murphee

Six o' clock rolls around and the first of several alarm clocks sounds annoyingly loud in my ear. I hit the snooze and pretend to sleep until 6:45, then with great reluctance I drag myself out of the warm comfort of my bed, forgetting as always how high the crappy dorm beds are, so I trip over myself a little bit. Candice is in the shower but my bladder is about to burst. Torture. When I finally get the chance to relieve myself, the day is already starting to look up. I put my make-up on (minimal on Wednesdays because racket ball is my first class) and get dressed. No chance to wear something cute, sweat pants and sneakers are my haute couture today. I then proceed across campus to the gym, narrowly avoiding the golf carts whose only purpose seems to be to try and run me over before I'm even fully awake. In racquetball, I embarrass myself by getting paired up with the most athletic girls in the class and manage to get hit by both their serves and my own. Cheeks burning, I am grateful to escape and head back to my dorm, picking up some breakfast burritos on the way. Not as good as Whataburger of course but they are covered on my meal plan and therefore free. In Statistics, we are in our second week but still not talking about anything revel ant to the course. Instead we talk about the Saints (Aints) and Brett Favre as well as pondering complex questions like why if women are such terrible drivers are our insurance rates lower than men? Then *mental slap* I suddenly remember I need to check my petri dishes for microbiology. I race to the science building and then take the stairs into the creepy basement. It feels like descending into the bowels of the Earth. The temperature drops a few degrees and the lack of windows makes me feel a little claustrophobic. In the lab I meet a girl I know whose name for the life of me I cannot remember so I nod and smile and try to look at her paper to see her name. I check my cultures and then get the hell out of dodge. For lunch I meet Rachel and we gossip about her various boy toys and complain about the food (today it was spicy turkey tacos). My third and final class, Abnormal Psychology is a fascinating subject and throughout the fifty minutes I am able to convince myself I am suffering from every psychological disorder we discuss. I go back to my dorm with every intention of changing clothes and heading to the gym. However it is cloudy and gloomy and my bed looks oh so inviting. It couldn't hurt to take a quick nap. Like a kinder-gardener and I am in college. Not much has changed. I end up sleeping through dinner and then the guilt forces me to go to the gym, where the women wear basketball shorts and the men wear obscenely short shorts. I get out of breathe climbing the stairs and the 70 year old man next to me on the treadmill is kicking my ass. But all the male eye candy helps me forget how out of shape I am. Back in the dorm I piddle around, procrastinating not yet ready to do homework hence my monologue and this exciting look into the day of Kaitlin Murphee. Your welcome.