waiting for the relative
January 27, 2009
i feel like i am writing to you from my deathbed, waiting for a favorite relative to arrive so i may leave him my fortune and die in peace.
a few coins fall from my purse, what i hope is enough.
-katche
12 books for 5 classes
January 21, 2009
Hey honeys, so something that I realized this past week is how freaking expensive college textbooks are. I need 12 books for 5 classes, and if I don’t hurry up and snag the cheap books from amazon or half.com, then I could have to pay up to $460. Ridiculous.
On the upside, when I told JD about my book situation he took my list and began searching for “digital copies.” And this, ladies and gents, is why it’s good to be alive in 2009. Computer versions of textbooks that can generally be found for free. I think the only thing I’ll have to get used to is reading on my computer, but it’s doable. And I think JD is just the greatest for going through all that trouble for me…awww.
In conclusion, my congrats go out to Prez Obama, with a plea. I think college should be affordable for anyone who wants to attend; and that there needs to be a better book exchange out there! I mean, reselling my books last semester added up to $20 at most. That’s pathetic! Most of those books were used to begin with, and now, I need even more books. So please, Mr. Obama, if you want to see this girl in school for four years, send me a check.
Love, Katche.
Poem: Sweet Letter
January 18, 2009
Sweet Letter
Hollins University, 2009
I am pulled from beneath the inside,
through the mouth, the lips, the eye.
Holding a black ballpoint pen that seeks a correlation between home and the
shouting, rushing of water through showerheads and sinks.
I am in a rocking chair listening to the fables of women,
where the grass breaks in places, a path like a cross,
with four unremarkable, swollen pieces. Stories I’ve picked up, noted, surrendered.
I am the womb, holding onto the hills and the mounds of the hips of the body
writing a story. But this is not home.
The crisp click-clacking of heels, stretch across chipped floorboards for hours and,
tumble down stairs that taste like whicker space.
The grain in the wood is worn, like the spine of a book creased and un-creased; like the lines on the side of your face when you smile.
Here, I see trees (I count eight large and three small). Here, I am not you, am not,
the city I left behind.
Nothing shouts or keeps or bends like the contours of your body,
of you on top of me. Our fingers interlaced like
wind and leaves—and your arm, secured around my waist.
The sun, the beginning, the delicate time, I belong
tracing outlines of somewheres we might go together.
Along your back, while you sleep;
hushed breath moving in a pattern that wrinkles the sheets.
How do I define my home to you?
I am reminded of it, in every step of eager ground,
soft dirt, bare legs resting on an argyle fence.
Across the field of open letters—home is an unlocked window, warm.
My bed is just an imprint of your body,
wishing wishing.
-Katche
The Act of Being Alone
January 17, 2009
Nothing quite captures the feeling of being alone like a room without a roommate. There’s an extra bed, and a drawer in the fridge. And even though the fridge is mine, this drawer does not belong to me.
My roommate is gone for two days, one evening. My best friend is out with her friends, and I am glad that she is having fun. Sometimes an all-girl environment is just too much, and I miss the old familiar smells of my mother’s cooking; fusilli, meatballs, old italian recipes you don’t write down. Things like that.
It’s just cold enough to bundle up but you can’t enjoy the snow. There is none.
You’re just, Alone.
-Katche
Feist, My Moon My Man
January 11, 2009
Feist is a recent find of mine, so please enjoy.
The BarackMobile?
January 9, 2009
So I was purusing CNN.com when I found a picture of what I take to be a revisited version of the Batmobile. Upon further investigation I found that the new, hybrid, “going green” limo was really for president-elect Barach Obama. What a sweet ride, Mr. Prez. Gotham shall be safe tonight…
http://blog.wired.com/gadgets/2009/01/obamas-presiden.html
-Katche
like a door in a house
January 6, 2009
the air of a disgusting day overwhelms me. but as i place the pads of my feet on the floor i know i must get up. this wretched day cannot win.
the looming gray is just a phase, i know this. but my ankles, hips, and abdomen do not. they are sore from the hour and a half of ballet that i took last night. my friend here, the dancer, has been teaching us. well, almost re-teaching me. i danced for about 13-years before quitting, and i miss it terribly.
yesterday was my first class. i felt out of shape if anything. my leotard was unforgiving from the side, and my old ballet slippers are losing their inner lining. but my posture was good, my arms and even my thighs remember what to do. it was very basic, though some of the more dreaded moves caught me up in a sweat.
but the barre is my old friend, someone that has no idea why i left dance 5 years ago, and misses me. i feel like i have kicked a puppy, and as punishment my body screams in protest as i find my socks and move slowly from my bed to my desk. it’s a good kind of groan, like a door in a house, that is loved.
it’s still cold and gray outside, i did not make that up. and i am still getting over not being in the city. my dancer friend reminds me that the first few days are the toughest, and it gets easier after this. i am not sure if she’s talking about ballet or school or long distance relationships, but i apply her advice where i see fit.
tomorrow i dance again. but today, i am dragging my feet through soggy leaves, and whispering when i talk. i am cold, but i will win this day.
-katche
relish the challange.
January 5, 2009
and then? who knows…
back to school, excited to get back to writing but sad leaving everyone back home. i am not sure how to function without a city.
i think i have to get used to this place all over again, but i can do it, and i am excited to.
this time a year ago, i realized Chick University was the best place for me. and i have to trust that.
sometimes things are hard but if you keep moving through them instead of around them, you’ll relish the challange–and you’ll make it.
and your people and your city and your home, will be enriched with what you have taken away by being brave.
just be brave, and share the light.
-katche
don’t publicize your misdemeanors!
January 2, 2009
just because your cups are ambigous, in vibrant shades of red, blue, or green, and they are plastic, and easily disposed of, does not mean that taking photographs with said cups is a wise decision on your part.
we know you may be wasted, and hell, you probably already are if you are letting your underage self being caught in illegal acts but you figure, ‘meh. no one will know what’s inside of them…’
but when said photos are tagged on facebook, and you suddenly realize there is a series of pictures featuring you, your glazed eyes, your uncontrollable mouth either in freakish positions kareoking, or attached to some guy you’d rather NOT know the name of, a little ping pong ball, AND aforementioned mysterious plastic cup–We get it.
we. your employers, your bosses, your financial aid advisors. all these people that were once in college too, and are grateful that the internet was not around to immortalize their every ill decision. we also includes all your friends and distant relatives who judge you ever so slightly, especially with that lei around your neck.
just so we are clear: plastic cups in primary colors does not equal immunity for your party last night. don’t publicize your misdemeanors.
-Katche
