people I consider or have considered a closest of friends at some point in my life

Gray Madden
Mary Beth Madden
Grace Jefferys
Catherine Jones
Michelle
Timothy Decker
Lydia Hall
Ashlyn Batten
Kara Cecil
Sarah Blocker
Taylor Johnson
Anna Gabrielle Etheridge
Laura Catherine Etheridge
Allen Coin
Ryan Kirk Hemingway

D

I am not a good Writer.

ugh.

Today

I walked along. my hand in my love's, trying to memorize each tan colored rock. Water flowed steadily through only half its bed but the sand that touched air held damp traces of recent rain. Cars whizzed by on the bridge above us non-stop creating a predictable rhythem of sound. I couldn't see completely around the giant concrete columns that held up the bridge; I wouldn't hear if someone approached from behind. I shivered. He squeezed my hand and the pressure traveled up my arm. I felt as if he held all of me instead of just a few fingers. I looked ahead. We would leave the bridge's shade soon. A green trashbin with a black liner stood out from some concrete steps in the sunshine.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, looking up into his blue eyes.

He pulled me closer to himself and shook his head. I looked around and jumped. A man sat quietly on the steps, grinning in our direction. I had missed his presence during my earlier inspection. I looked away quickly clinging to my love's hand. The only thing I remembered of the man was he held a paper bag.

page 80 of my journal

I wrote this while I had a migraine last January.

"Pain. Ever on the edge of my concious, waiting, for me to surcum to its plea. Striking me through hunger. Sadness. A bitter battle always lost by myself. The cost of losing is the pain, the cost of winning, my own restraint.

Today I lose.

Sweet delicious tootsie rolls melting in my mouth, giving me the appearance of chocolate. The endorfines of love. And I collaps having taken 800 miligrams of Ibprophen and slip into [his] large warm gray hoodie before letting my dreams take me away from this pain."

Self Awareness

What do chickens gather at the seashore?

Sometimes I don't know what I think. The times I do know what I think I don't know what it means.

Tonight I said my vice was shoes; I have over thirty pairs. My vice is truely spending too much money I think. Shopping in general. Last night (or a couple nights ago, I don't remember) my love said I'm not as bad as I used to be when we first started dating. But when I am sad and I don't feel like doing anything I can motivate myself to get out of bed just with the thought of walking through a store and purchasing whatever strikes me as beautiful. Another vice that I'm trying to vanquish is eating too much. I hate that my muscles are so covered with a layer of fat that you can't even tell when I flex. I eat when I'm bored, when I'm with people, when I'm hungry... sometimes I live for the feeling you get when you are so full of food that you think if you eat one more bite you'll expload. It's not healthy.

I'm not who I want to be. I am not perfect yet. I do know that the testing of my faith produces patience, and patience, when it's had it's perfect work, will make me perfect.

I am in love with my boyfriend. I don't often enough tell people how wonderful he is to me. He puts up with all my mood swings and never leaves me when I am in pain. He truely cares about me beyond what physical pleasure I give him. He is selflessly interested in my interests. He doesn't try and change me or manipulate my feelings. He admits when he's wrong and tells me he's sorry. He is my first boyfriend. We have been together for 2 years 5 months and 26 days. I love him more than anything else in this world. I miss him right now.

I dislike migraines.

My head hurts.

Eggshells.

For now we see imperfectly, as through a glass.

Sometimes I am self absorbed. Most of the time I am self absorbed. I am not the least bit charitable for where other people are in life. I am not like Jesus; I wish I were.

Dear one of my closest friends,
I am sorry for being angry with you. It was not right for me to expload especially when you gave me fair chance to discuss what was bothering me. I have not been a good friend this week. I haven't offered to be there for you when you're hurting. I have most likely added to the list of things that went wrong. I feel horible.
Please don't stop loving,
Kathleen

No Longer

I hate foul language. I don't use it. I don't use substitutes. I don't cuss. I have used the F word only as a word to mean the act of sex, never as an adjective. I don't want to be with people any more because all they do all the time is cuss. That and talk about sex. Sex is beautiful. It shouldn't be talked about in a frivolous demeaning way. I am tired of people desecrating what is sacred to me. I will not make excuses for the people whom I have been making excuses for before. By all means cuss away if you like, use every bit of sexual innuendo you can think of, but I just might stop listening to every single thing you say. I do not care if this offends you or makes you uncomfortable. You can stop hanging out with me if you like, I'll understand. I love you but I will not condone your bad speech.

Sincerly,
Miss Kathleen Louise Madden

Sparkly High Heeled Shoes

Sometimes I think this is completely pointless.

Sometimes I want to write something down and know that someone is reading it, even if it's not worth reading.

Dear Friends of Kathleen,

You are worth far more than you know. Without friendships it is so easy to let my heart become troubled. With friendships I think my GPA has suffered but my overall emotional health grows stronger.

I got an unexpected text message last night that truely blessed me.

I feel like making everyone random Valentine's again. I will include you this time Sagan!

I feel like writing letters to everyone I love telling them that I love them.

I feel like kissing my boyfriend some more. except he's gone home so I have to wait till tomorrow. I don't like waiting. I'm not a patient person. I'm working on it though because the testing of my faith produces patience and patience once it has had it's perfect work makes me perfect. Can you imagine? a perfect Kathleen. I know it will not happen in this lifetime but the closer I get the easier it will be for you all to put up with me, and the easier it will be for you to love me.

I changed my mind back. I do think love is a decision. My reasons, however, are probably not going to be considered good enough reasons by some. That's okay with me. I don't always have to agree with the people I love.

<3 Miss Madden

P.S. I wore my silver sequined high heels today and I danced all over Preston's house in them and I felt like a princess even if I was wearing blue jeans and a long sleeved T shirt. One should never underestimate the power of a beautiful pair of shoes.

Then Snape killed Dumbledore. The End.

I entered a story I wrote into a contest last December and they just announced the winner today. Her name is Anna. I am sad. But why. It’s not a big deal. Everything is in God’s hands. I didn’t even want to enter the story contest in the first place. I haven’t even read the winning story. I need to focus on Chaucer and Malory. Some guy just angrily slapped a plant. It was weird. I am not sure what I am trying to show about Malory and Chaucer. I relate things to writing fairly well I think. At least I did last semester. How about.

Both Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales and Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur have a lot to teach us about the nature of fiction and intermixing stories with real life.

There. That is a fairly good sentence I think. I should have gone up to the stacks. The library is noisy down here. I hate papers. I can’t write. I need to stop thinking about grades and about what people think of what I think and just put it out there as best I can and pray people think it’s insightful. Ps. I like typing with my eyes closed.

I just saw Graham walk in the library with Courtney and he was talking looking straight ahead, not at her really. He’s still scruffy and that definitely works for him. He was smiling the most I’ve ever seen him smile at one time. I think that Graham is sort of neutral looking until he thinks about Courtney and then he’s more alive. I may just think that because I’m a hopeless romantic. AHH! Back to my paper. I’ve only got 4 more hours. And I really should try and go to my classes. But I probably won’t be able to. Stupid papers.

Mr. Hemingway isn’t on IM. Allen isn’t on IM. I’m typing to a stupid word document in order to keep my thoughts in order. Sometimes I think I’m pathetic.

Then Snape killed Dumbledore. The End.

If I had a quarter for every time I heard a college student say that he was having the worst day of his life I would have a lot of quarters. “I know I just cussed a lot but,” *shakes head around and flips hand in a gay manner* “I had a reason for it.” I really feel like ranting about how this stupid guy thinks he’s the cat’s meow and thinks it’s his professor’s fault he was only able to attempt 1/4th of the test he had to take today in the amount of time allotted. Dude, he actually just said, “Sainthood should be given to me.” because he didn’t go out and get martinis last night.


I moved up to the stacks. It’s amazing how silent it is up here. The only noises are the turning of pages and my keys as my fingers hit them, creating words on the page. This is beauty.
I have a head ache. My pain medicine is in my other bag. All I have left to write is the conclusion. I don’t know how to conclude anything other than what I started out to prove in the first place. I am, however supposed to be insightful about things.

MY HEAD HURTS!

=(

03.10.10

I stayed up all night last night, mostly just talking. I thought about working on my paper that's due tomorrow at 4:30 but I didn't even pull up the word doc. it's saved on, so I'll be doing that tonight. I should probably make some coffee.

This is a really strange way to write. I'm just putting down my thoughts and they really aren't worth anything but Kirk and Allen and Sagan can read them. Unlike when I write in my journal, and my Love reads it eventually but probably months to a year after the fact.

I gave my brother a massage, and now my hands hurt.

I got the dress that I ordered from Macy's. I'm wearing it right now, with the tag still dangling down my back. I think it's prettier on me than it is on her, but that's just cause I'm vain.

I hated fiction writing today. As much as I adore my friends and writing notes I just cannot stomach peadophilia.

Love

I call my boyfriend Love, or Mr. Hemingway. I used to call him Darling, but I stopped because I caught myself calling other people Darling. I want his name to be special. Sometimes I only tell him how much I care about him and I keep it from other people. Partially because I don't want to be the annoying girlfriend that writes on his wall every five minutes to say that she loves his cute little smile and super sexiness. I guess by writing this I am being that annoying girlfriend but I think it's okay, in moderation.

Stories

Stories are serious business. They can take you in and out. Slide you into the depths of all there is to know about a thing. They can lie to you like that one did to me. In the book I read it worked. The girl, I can’t remember her name at all, she wrote letters back and forth with a guy. And in the end he loved her. It doesn’t work that way in real life.