Sleepyhead

I'm neither shocked nor concerned that I find myself blogging away on the eve of my first full week of class. In the past two weeks, time has defied the established laws of the natural world. It almost feels like each day is longer than 24 hours, each hour is longer than 60 minutes, each minute is longer than 60 seconds and so on and so forth. I'm not suggesting that I'm withering away in what seems to be "eternal damnation"...that isn't the case at all. Rather, I find that my days are filled with an excess of action, leaving me with tired feet and an equally as tired mind. Perhaps it's the fact that I got around three hours of sleep last night. Or the fact that I trekked over 50 blocks across Manhattan today. Either or, I desperately need some rest. But the thing is, I'm afraid to rest in the city that never sleeps.

"There's a story in which my eyes shut. Could you bag me up?" 

Set Fire to the Third Bar

This is 9th grade Karen. 9th grade Karen wore ghetto fabulous clown outfits to school and still managed to make friends. She rocked the zebra accessories, forever 21 tutus, anthropology-inspired aprons, and pearl headbands. She was an aspiring Princeton student, whose room was decorated with a literal roadmap to college and a handmade acceptance chart (if her Princeton dreams failed, she knew she could always count on UPenn). She strove to be the ideal student, joining four clubs, class council, and band! She stayed up late, into the wee hours of the night, stressing over Dr. Garg's HONORS physics and Ms. Beardslee's HONORS english? Was the word "honors" emphasized enough for your liking? 9th Grade Karen would have to vote no. In her leisure, she decided to become well versed in great American literature. Her favorite novel, you might ask? None other than Dear John. She carried it everywhere, stained it with her tears. She was unreal... still is unreal. 

Letters to Juliet

I was surprised at how long it took me to write this letter. With so much that could be said, it was constantly being rewritten and revised: 

Here's the letter I was referring to. Its still pretty ratchet, so you'll have to look past that. I just wanted to thank you for a memorable year. You were my first kiss, my first reckless (within reason?) nighttime adventure, my first trip around 3/4 of the baseball field, and my first part-time male modeling friend with benefits. It was all an experience and I remember it so vividly... Everything from my heart racing to my heart breaking. But like I've said before, despite everything that's happened, I still care about you. I know that underneath your "I don't like commitment" exterior, you want to fall in love. And I really do mean it when I say I hope you find that in college. You just need to let yourself let go and open up (not literally, pervert). You're fun, outgoing, smart, and potentially the funniest guy I have ever met. There was a time when I wanted to give you so much, and maybe I was a fool for wanting to do so. I remember you would talk about us, telling me how you "wanted to make me feel". And since then, I've probably felt more than I ever thought I would. Perhaps that's why everything was so memorable. It was all so incredibly exciting, nothing short of the "senior-esque" experience I had wanted. You were a story, and with my based/rare writing abilities, maybe even a best seller. 

Hopefully college isn't an ending, but a sequel. Keep in touch... I mean it. 

Karen

The Art of Being Happy

This is a summer for reflection, self-betterment, and forward thinking. That being said, here are the morning musings of you average college-bound gal: 

"The Art of Being Happy"

• It's easy to become discontent with an empty heart. When searching turns to wandering, that's when we really become lost and confused. The moral of the story? Stop searching and let things naturally happen. 
• When modern modes of communication fail, write a letter. Spend lazy summer mornings scribbling in notebooks and drying out pens. There's something extremely cathartic about it. 
• Think realistically, dream idealistically. The concept of "eliminating expectations to remove disappointment" is complete bullshit. Expectations are important, they keep us from accepting less than we deserve. When we completely remove that, we're letting go of our dreams and settling. 
• Exercise in the morning. Seriously, the endorphins will kick in mid-day and it's nothing but smiles, love, and laughter afterward. (Unless exercise involves cardio kickboxing...in which case, be prepared for intense back pain, muscle soreness, temporary paralysis, uncontrollable whining etc. etc.)  
• Do things for no apparent reason. Wander around New York City without an agenda. Swim in library fountains and jump into canals. Walk around entire towns without shoes. Live every day with a dose of excitement, stupidity, and spontaneity. 

Vermont

 Highlights -

She and Him

He was a boy who craved love in its truest form. And She was a girl who grew completely numb to the subject. In the 9th grade, He fell for her best friend. Hopelessly, He searched for love in a heart that belonged to someone else. He was falling, and not in the way He had wanted. And She watched him fall, so desperately wanting to help him back up. She wanted to offer him a different kind of love, the kind He stopped intently searching for. She wanted to be his friend. So in the 10th grade, She embarked on a conquest. They had biology together, but lacked chemistry. Yes, their relationship had progressed. But it was cordial, it was friendly, and She was left unsatisfied up until the end of 11th grade. It was then that a quick game of jenga and a trip to a bounce house solidified their friendship. They had genuine fun, carelessly laughing and getting high in the most innocent of ways. But this time, a part of him was left unsatisfied. He had jumped and He had fallen. It was a midsummer nightmare which slowly evolved into a made for TV drama. In the 12th grade, He was passive, never saying anything directly to her. She was just as passive, secretly allowing herself to develop feelings for his best friend. Ironically, they grew out of their passivity together. She pushed herself to be up-front with his best friend and He allowed himself to openly pursue her cousin. While She found recurring rejection and heartache, He finally found love in its truest form. And She was genuinely happy for him, genuinely happy for them.

Transition Lenses

This is my internal monologue: 

1. I find myself in a state of constant reflection. Some of life's smallest details bring back fond memories from not so long ago. And looking back, I can't help but acknowledge how much has changed. The memories make me happy, but I'm struggling to figure out how I feel about the past/present comparisons. 
2. It's sad because we grew up and grew apart at the same time. 
3. I've said this before and I'll say it again: There's a big difference between doing things that make you happy and actually being happy. And right now, I don't know where I stand. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just going through the motions. I make plans and I have fun. But at the same time, I have lingering thoughts/emotions that make me question if I am actually "happy". 
4. Ignored and insignificant. Yep, thats me. (Shout out to the "seen"/"read" options for making me feel this way)   
5. I can battle anything with a seemingly indifferent attitude, but the fact of the matter is I still care. I'm willing to put in effort when other people could give less than two flying fucks. And I absolutely hate that about myself.
6. If anyone ever casually says "lool kk" to me in conversation, I might chop their head off. 
7. If I hear "Clarity" on the radio one more time, I might chop my head off. 
8. If #6 and #7 were to happen simultaneously, I honesty do not know what I would do with myself. Perhaps hire someone to do the chopping? 
9. I'm beginning to feel that this blog post is the equivalent of a really obvious subtweet. Thank God for my virtually nonexistent fanbase, because I'm really not about those online fights. 
10. I need sleep. Adieu for the time being.