<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916</id><updated>2012-02-16T01:07:00.803-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Rooms Behind My Mind</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>78</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6467398770620335300</id><published>2009-09-11T16:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T16:56:16.428-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I wear my heart on my sleeve and can hardly keep anything to myself, everyone in my life knows that. I'm like a radio, constantly broadcasting how I feel about everything and always, always communicating. So it's funny to read back on this blog, because I was feeling &lt;em&gt;so much&lt;/em&gt; while keeping up with it, and I'm really so much more mellow now. I'm moving to Hawaii on Tuesday. I am really, actually and finally over him. I'm 100% single. I'm surrounded by wonderful people, and always busy, never bored. Basically, my life is really really good and I'm an incredibly lucky girl. I have this huge adventure that begins next week, and I'm so excited and good-kind-of-scared and ready for it. I'm blogging over at KatieinKona.blogspot.com, and it reads more adventure and less heart broken girl keeping public diary. Check it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6467398770620335300?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6467398770620335300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6467398770620335300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6467398770620335300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6467398770620335300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve-and-can.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3295535690909135501</id><published>2009-07-12T00:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T00:29:35.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It's like love lite, it's the substitute for the real thing. It never tastes as good, and in the long run it will give you cancer, but it will do when you have a craving and the real thing is too risky. Tonight I'm not giving in, because I get there and I'm with him but I'm not really there, because he's nowhere near good enough. I'd rather take the night in, the bit of loneliness, than have the fake version. It just doesn't really do it for me anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3295535690909135501?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3295535690909135501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3295535690909135501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3295535690909135501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3295535690909135501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/07/its-like-love-lite-its-substitute-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-5440599493622625438</id><published>2009-06-16T00:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T01:01:18.949-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am constantly knocking on wood, lately. Everything in front of me looks beautiful at this point, everything involving who I am is cool. Great family, friends and perfect doggy. I am so lucky, so happy, so in love with my life and excited about where I'm going... it seems so perfect some days I'm afraid I'll jinx it. But I think I'm finally due some happiness, and the best part is that the happiness isn't because of a someone. I'm just good now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-5440599493622625438?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/5440599493622625438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=5440599493622625438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5440599493622625438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5440599493622625438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-am-constantly-knocking-on-wood-lately.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1103834877935538814</id><published>2009-06-10T23:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T00:20:29.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Can't sleep! I'm turning all of this stuff over in my mind, I've been ansty lately like you wouldn't believe, just all over the place. I feel like too many people are staking claim of me and pulling me in all sorts of directions, and then I can't wait to leave. I'm an easy scare, a flight risk when it comes to too much closeness. I know I know, and I'm working on it. I recognize that these days, at least the times when I'm not working, are golden. And I am working all the time now, it's exhausting, but the evenings are with a group of people I have loved for a very long time, and we all recognize how fleeting it is for us all to be in the same place at the same time. Everything feels fleeting lately, it's part of the magic of summer. I should be asleep now, I'm so tired, but every time I try to sleep I'm wide awake and once I start thinking about something too intense I'm done for. Last night I fell asleep with an old best friend on the phone- it was so comforting. Him and I were always doing that when we were younger, hours on the phone into the night, and randomly it happened again last night. We have this connection I can't explain, we're so similar and like I said, it's comforting. Maybe I can find my way into sleep now, my room is the perfect temp and I've had a glass of wine, I'm going to put a movie on and maybe pick up the phone again. It sounds like perfection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Au Revoir&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1103834877935538814?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1103834877935538814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1103834877935538814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1103834877935538814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1103834877935538814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/06/cant-sleep-im-turning-all-of-this-stuff.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3213587748668091711</id><published>2009-05-25T23:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T00:02:18.832-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm gonna steer clear, burn up in your atmosphere</title><content type='html'>I've put the Big Emotional Writing Project on hold, let the interested party know it's incomplete and probably going to stay that way for a bit. I just can't finish it and have it be mediocre, and lately I'm not interested in turning up all of the emotional stuff that goes along with it, that the piece deserves. I've been close enough to the tortured artist and I know it's no way to live, so as long as my days are so full of sunshine I'll leave them that way. I'll finish it someday, when I find myself in a place where I feel I can tackle it all without compromising myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The past year, especially the past 6 or 7 months, have been the most progressive of my life. I've learned a lot about the world and even more about myself, about how I relate to the world. Every time I think about the future I get butterflies in my stomach, I really think that some amazing things are on the horizon. Adventure and growth and love and peace. I think I'm kind of doing this thing though, maybe pushing people away right now so it will be easier to leave. I have a genuine affection for this town and the people in, and in the summer there is nowhere more beautiful than the Pacific Northwest. Some days I want to want the suburban life so many of friends are happy with- the whole get a job get married be domestic thing- but I've always known convention wasn't for me. I don't know, maybe I'll surprise myself somewhere down the road, and that will be fine and all, but in the meantime I just want to travel to beautiful places and meet beautiful souls.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3213587748668091711?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3213587748668091711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3213587748668091711' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3213587748668091711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3213587748668091711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-gonna-steer-clear-burn-up-in-your.html' title='I&apos;m gonna steer clear, burn up in your atmosphere'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7878294068335091519</id><published>2009-05-21T00:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T00:49:12.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Except it's cool now, because finally I've gotten to a point where I'm okay with everything that happened. Not that I think either one of us really handled everything right, but I've been thinking about forgiveness lately, and I realized that I need to forgive you. It's funny because I didn't realize how angry I was with you, it was all so tied into how in love with you I was for so long, I couldn't separate it. But then I look at it starkly, and I see how we were happy, how you hurt me, and how I reacted poorly, and how you reacted poorly, and so on, and when I finally unwrap all of those arguments and late night phone calls and other stupid communications and I felt for so long after, I get it. I'm really angry with what you did, and it really hurt me and I allowed it to become an avalanche in my life. But anyway, I do forgive you. I've found that forgiveness is a continuous process when it comes to matters of the heart, so I expect I'll be forgiving you a lot in the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But like I said, it's cool now. I'm pretty happy right now, and it feels less manic than it has in the past. And my freedom... oh my gosh I can't even explain. I'm breathing fresh air, all the time. My plans for the next few years? Go to Hawaii for a bit, maybe go to Australia for a bit more, then start a career that involves me being on the road, in a different city every week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Relationships are toxic to me, they get too intense and all of a sudden I'm either so in love it's all I can understand and I don't recognize anything else (once) or I'm fully in the moment with someone and gone the next, gasping for air and pushing them away. And neither are particularly healthy. It's been a few months now that I've been really, legitimately solo, and it's nice. I'm not so heartbroken anymore, after all. I'm certainly not pining for anyone, and I have no obligations to anyone other than myself. Plus, I think I have some figuring out to do with my soul, I feel caught between two worlds lately, and I'm finding I can't fully commit to either, and I'd hate to have this decision influenced by someone else. So yeah, it's good now. I'm good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7878294068335091519?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7878294068335091519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7878294068335091519' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7878294068335091519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7878294068335091519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/05/except-its-cool-now-because-finally-ive.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2016196711931623615</id><published>2009-05-12T17:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T17:23:25.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Everything feels good and happy lately. I've been travelling a lot, and there is more in my future. I just got back from New Orleans, I'll be in Idaho this weekend, there's a possible quick trip to San Diego and Tj in a few weeks, a couple CA roadtrips this summer, then I head to Hawaii semi-permanently in September. Everything in my feels the best it ever has, and I feel like there are really amazing things on the horizon. It's good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2016196711931623615?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2016196711931623615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2016196711931623615' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2016196711931623615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2016196711931623615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/05/everything-feels-good-and-happy-lately.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6334888541234843575</id><published>2009-05-02T22:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-02T23:26:04.215-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have a headache from too much crying and not enough water. We had to put Molly down yesterday morning (I can hardly even type it), my sweet sweet baby dog I've had for 13 years, almost to the day. I'm trying not to really, you know, think about it too much because I'm so emotionally drained. There hasn't been a break, either. I work all the time now, one job or the other. But I can't complain about that at all, because I did take a week vacation to New Orleans for a PGA tourney, I love both of my bosses and both jobs are excellent work situations, and every dollar I save is another step away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been just Huck and I all evening. He had escaped into the front yard when I pulled into my driveway in the rain, he was soaking wet and I could tell he'd been roaming the neighborhood for a few hours. He was so happy to see me, we were both so happy to get inside and shut ourselves in for the evening. I dried him off and took a bubble bath and we snuggled up on my bed and ate M&amp;amp;Ms and watched internet tv. He is never allowed to die. And I keep saying I don't have any tears left, but apparently I still do. I want both of my dogs. And I don't care if it makes me seem like a 5 year old, I know Molly's in Heaven and can see and hear everything again and is running all around like she hasn't been able to in a while. It's just really hard to get used to the idea that she's not here anymore, because she's been here for most of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Death is horrible, and I don't think I'll ever be resigned to it as just a natural part of the circle of life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6334888541234843575?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6334888541234843575/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6334888541234843575' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6334888541234843575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6334888541234843575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-have-headache-from-too-much-crying.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6700108141102147395</id><published>2009-03-27T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T10:08:31.473-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Let it Be</title><content type='html'>I was watching a show about coral reefs and all of the life that is as yet undiscovered and, as almost everything startling beautiful and full of life seems to do, it reminded me of Eric and I felt that familiar ache in my chest. Does grief actually make your heart physically hurt, or is it just a psychological thing from centuries of association between feelings and the organ that pumps our blood? I miss him so much. I wish there was a more intense version of the word &lt;em&gt;miss&lt;/em&gt;, because it seems strange to use the same word for Eric that I use for a friend I haven't seem for a bit or an ex-boyfriend. Every so often I have a dream of him where he's alive and I hug him and I tell him how much I love him, how much I've missed him, where has he been because he should be with us still. I've been spending time lately with that group of friends, I couldn't for a while because it made me feel his absence too much, and we don't really talk about him but I can feel his spirit, his sense of humor, his heart, coming through everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when the hurt is particularly bad I ask "When will this pain ever lessen, when will I ever not feel this hurt so intensely?" But I know I'm hanging on to the hurt because it seems like all I have of him. Three and a half years, and even though I can still remember him so well I know that years down the road I won't be able to and it makes me panicky. So I hold on to the hurt, because then I can at least feel &lt;em&gt;something&lt;/em&gt; about him sharply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing with Eric though, and this is what has changed me, he laughed at everyone but he loved everyone too. He would make fun of someone and be silly, but then he would love them. And we all loved him. I have some moments I've froze in my mind- once I saw him at the ferry terminal, he was getting his bike and I was just getting home from working in Seattle, and he said hi and told me I looked really good. It's almost silly, but it's just a snapshot of who he was. He was, like the coral reef, startlingly beautiful and full of life. I loved him from the moment I met him. It was backstage at Oliver, he was doing the lights, and he ran across the room like a raptor and I loved him. And I was lucky enough that I got to be on the receiving end of his love, even though it was only 9th grade. And Prom was and still is special to me, not because it was the end of senior year or anything typical like that, but because I was with Eric and I kissed him in the car and held his hand and danced with him and it wasn't romantic, it was this pure kind of love that emanated from Eric and all of his friends got to experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grief is like waves, or a gong someone hits that reverberates through your body. It hurts, then the pain recedes a bit then all of a sudden it hits you again right in the face and you're left choking and gasping for air. I can't really breathe right now, and the next few days will be hard, but then it will get better for a while. Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6700108141102147395?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6700108141102147395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6700108141102147395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6700108141102147395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6700108141102147395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/03/let-it-be.html' title='Let it Be'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6347781738469642149</id><published>2009-03-19T22:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T22:48:13.078-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This process of untangling myself from you</title><content type='html'>I'm quieter now, more calm. I'm a little less manic and I really think I'm kinder. I've been curbing myself, and it's nice to see some change. I have a really great job offer for September, and I'm moving out of the state. I'm finally going somewhere warm and close to the ocean, so you should be proud. My life is still funny without you in it, you would think I'd be used to it now but I'm not. I'm an all or nothing girl when it comes to my heart, and when interesting, quirky things happen to me during the day I file them away in my mind to tell you. I really hope that someday we can be friends again. I miss you, a lot. And not even the being in love part, just the part where we got to talk and express that we cared for each other instead of pretending not to care, yet knowing that we still do. And maybe it's stupid to use this blog to communicate, but you changed the landscape of my heart and soul, and I need to have some connection to you, however public and technical it may be. I hope you're happy, but I still hope you feel just a little hint of sadness when you think of me. We'll call it a courtesy, and we don't have to tell anyone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6347781738469642149?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6347781738469642149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6347781738469642149' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6347781738469642149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6347781738469642149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-process-of-untangling-myself-from.html' title='This process of untangling myself from you'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6939982789754017160</id><published>2009-03-12T23:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T23:56:11.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lately Huck and I have this new thing- we go running on the trails at Jackson park. And I mean &lt;em&gt;running. &lt;/em&gt;As soon as we get around a few corners on the trail we go balls-out, as fast as we can, until we're too tired, and then we take off running again as soon as we've caught our breath. It's so much fun. I never thought I'd be someone who enjoyed running, that was always the part of working out I hated, but this kind of running is amazing. It's literally like being 6 years old and just running as fast as you can, it's so much fun. It's always a little bit embarrassing when we come upon other people on the trails and they catch me trying to act like, you know, I'm just &lt;em&gt;jogging.&lt;/em&gt; It's exactly like that one episode of Friends... You know, with Phoebe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring is coming, I can see it and feel it and hear it and smell it and taste it. Every single one of my senses is on full alert, waiting for the night I can sleep without my electric blanket and go out without a heavy coat. The willow tree is days away from being completely green again! These are the things that make me happy, running with my dog in the woods and the impending arrival of spring. Anything else is too much and makes me antsy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6939982789754017160?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6939982789754017160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6939982789754017160' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6939982789754017160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6939982789754017160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/03/lately-huck-and-i-have-this-new-thing.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3488321914677085758</id><published>2009-03-08T22:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T22:47:41.678-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ocean&amp;Sky</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SbSs5hiAzTI/AAAAAAAAANo/5N1eB33mMVE/s1600-h/sky.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311059964830207282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SbSs5hiAzTI/AAAAAAAAANo/5N1eB33mMVE/s400/sky.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I could've sat there all day. I love the ocean. It's the only place where I feel like I can really breath, you know?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3488321914677085758?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3488321914677085758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3488321914677085758' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3488321914677085758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3488321914677085758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/03/ocean.html' title='Ocean&amp;Sky'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SbSs5hiAzTI/AAAAAAAAANo/5N1eB33mMVE/s72-c/sky.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2840127255804078906</id><published>2009-03-01T00:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T00:55:16.299-08:00</updated><title type='text'>3 simple things I love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SapM9aZtyXI/AAAAAAAAANI/Y23lOgJY-Ak/s1600-h/amktjs.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308139728752462194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SapM9aZtyXI/AAAAAAAAANI/Y23lOgJY-Ak/s320/amktjs.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; being with friends&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308139728718045794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SapM9aRgomI/AAAAAAAAANQ/lnB95i1qFxs/s320/room2.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;coming home to this bedroom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308139731344541234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SapM9kDtxjI/AAAAAAAAANY/x6yx5A3ZpDo/s320/room3.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;getting flowers&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2840127255804078906?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2840127255804078906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2840127255804078906' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2840127255804078906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2840127255804078906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/03/3-simple-things-i-love.html' title='3 simple things I love'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SapM9aZtyXI/AAAAAAAAANI/Y23lOgJY-Ak/s72-c/amktjs.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6001923682241332068</id><published>2009-02-25T23:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T00:24:06.455-08:00</updated><title type='text'>if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it</title><content type='html'>I really hate getting hit on by married men. It really, really upsets me. Vegas kind of blew my mind because we were hanging out with all of these married men and almost every single one of them was trying to hook up with &lt;em&gt;someone&lt;/em&gt;. I seriously had to reconsider what I thought about marriage after that trip, and trust me, it's not something I take lightly. I mean really, obviously the wives of these rich and powerful men we were hanging out with have some sort of arrangement going on, I can't think they're naive, but it wouldn't matter to me if I was married to Justin Timberlake, marriage is a sacred thing. You just don't mess with it, ever. And I swear I almost said all of this to a guy with a conspicuous ring on his left hand who will not stop hitting on me at work, but I held it in. Sometimes I kind of hate being hit on in general, flattery aside, because I always feel like, "okay, you don't actually know me, you probably don't care about the same things I care about, and there is no way you would actually want to deal with my issues!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6001923682241332068?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6001923682241332068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6001923682241332068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6001923682241332068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6001923682241332068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/02/if-you-like-it-then-you-shoulda-put.html' title='if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-8802449797663271920</id><published>2009-02-20T00:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T01:37:11.495-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I see Orion and say nothing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://zuserver2.star.ucl.ac.uk/~idh/apod/image/0302/orion_spinelli_c1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 631px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 540px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://zuserver2.star.ucl.ac.uk/~idh/apod/image/0302/orion_spinelli_c1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just like the Ani DiFranco song, except I told Brad how I always do that last weekend. I can always spot out Orion, it's a comfort to me. I have some freckles on the inside of my left arm that look like Orion, maybe that's why I know it so well, I was born with a map of it on my body. But Brad's the kind of friend where you let him in something like that, so I felt okay sharing it. I dropped Melisa and Brad off at their homes in Bremerton and drove home with Paul McCartney, wondering at how I keep so many people at arm's distance and wishing I would stop having breakdowns of neediness. I hate when I get needy, especially when it expresses itself through the compulsive little mechanisms I know so well. But now I'm home, in my bedroom with my dog and my music and a candle and my electric blanket warming up my bed and oh my gosh I swear this is so close to perfection. It's a good feeling to know that I'm living life so fully, that I have friends I love and we spend half the nights together and even the being alone- I am fully my own person right now- even the being alone feels right. It's lonely sometimes of course, but I'm convinced I'm destined for pretty amazing love in my life and the moments of loneliness will only make the love all that more deep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These moments, days here and there when I feel good again. I feel good about the future, excited about who I'll be in 10 years but in no hurry to get there. Sad about some of the issues, the neediness and mechanisms but even those are part of the balance. I'm getting better and better at weathering the storms. Incomplete sentences, incomplete thoughts, incomplete life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-8802449797663271920?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/8802449797663271920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=8802449797663271920' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8802449797663271920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8802449797663271920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-see-orion-and-say-nothing.html' title='I see Orion and say nothing'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1768137148653052854</id><published>2009-02-07T23:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T23:25:11.599-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've had this dream lately of buying a motor home and living the nomadic life. Well, a bit of a modern day nomadic life. But just drive from place to place, see beautiful scenery every day... that could be a happy existence. Our show opened last weekend and I'm home from a performance tonight. I haven't spent much time by myself lately, everything has been fast and filled with friends and performing and working, but finally I have a night locked in my bedroom with a glass of wine and some music and soon some wonderfully internet-streaming-television (or whatever it is) I missed this week, and then a nice long sleep before it all starts over again. Lately the mood is light and the laughter comes easily, and soon the days will be going by so quickly before I know it I'll be waking up in my new home in September. I can't even think about the prospect too much because it all seems so magical and far away, but finally finally finally I'll be out. And the thought of it makes me absolutely giddy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1768137148653052854?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1768137148653052854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1768137148653052854' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1768137148653052854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1768137148653052854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/02/ive-had-this-dream-lately-of-buying.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3594204756798053076</id><published>2009-01-29T22:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T23:14:58.789-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SYKo5AMQV5I/AAAAAAAAANA/LKadJnSJSOc/s1600-h/CIMG2963.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296981808998537106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SYKo5AMQV5I/AAAAAAAAANA/LKadJnSJSOc/s320/CIMG2963.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Coming home has always hurt so much. Maybe it's about time to change the place I call home. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3594204756798053076?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3594204756798053076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3594204756798053076' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3594204756798053076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3594204756798053076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/01/coming-home-has-always-hurt-so-much.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SYKo5AMQV5I/AAAAAAAAANA/LKadJnSJSOc/s72-c/CIMG2963.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1680365824831797136</id><published>2009-01-10T22:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T23:41:42.602-08:00</updated><title type='text'>dreams</title><content type='html'>I wake up and keep my eyes closed, try to force my mind to stay in that sleep stage, like Heathcliff throwing up the window yelling for Catherine. "Come back to me." I am always grasping at you, always. Even now I can't recall your height or the color of your eyes, I can't quite picture your mouth but when you're in my dreams you're whole and everything is exactly as you are- apparently blocked from my mind and running about my subconscious. I can't believe how much you've wrecked me. I just really miss you tonight, and I wish you'd been more careful with my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is never peace in my soul. I wander all over looking for it- physically, mentally, emotionally. Nothing ever stays still for me, my heart leaps all over the place. It looks like this fall I'm finally packing up and travelling... I need it. I can't breathe here anymore. I'm going to be in California in a couple weeks, and I'm so relieved for a bit of an escape.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1680365824831797136?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1680365824831797136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1680365824831797136' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1680365824831797136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1680365824831797136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/01/dreams.html' title='dreams'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1802926876361521434</id><published>2009-01-04T20:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T20:22:12.682-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Years Eve</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGI0MDpzKI/AAAAAAAAAMw/qdDDzKn-uyg/s1600-h/bwkiss.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287657867680795810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGI0MDpzKI/AAAAAAAAAMw/qdDDzKn-uyg/s320/bwkiss.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Lauren, Melis, Me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIzUeMDaI/AAAAAAAAAMo/rB7j6AXpUYM/s1600-h/bwmelis.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287657852759707042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIzUeMDaI/AAAAAAAAAMo/rB7j6AXpUYM/s320/bwmelis.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Champagne&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIiTBlqsI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/IfPLrUd4Jb8/s1600-h/bwjrkt.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287657560313539266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIiTBlqsI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/IfPLrUd4Jb8/s320/bwjrkt.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Jr, moi&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIhgE75_I/AAAAAAAAAMI/gmGHd8nZUZ4/s1600-h/bwclubbbin.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287657546637371378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIhgE75_I/AAAAAAAAAMI/gmGHd8nZUZ4/s320/bwclubbbin.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Lauren laughing, Taylor peacing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287657542890792818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIhSHrp3I/AAAAAAAAAMA/tS9x32-1gck/s320/bwcayute.JPG" border="0" /&gt;I love this, my two best friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIg_B-7wI/AAAAAAAAAL4/BEjuvj6dQZc/s1600-h/bwbashie.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287657537766616834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGIg_B-7wI/AAAAAAAAAL4/BEjuvj6dQZc/s320/bwbashie.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I think we were gossipping...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It just started snowing again. I think most people would prefer it not, but I'm fine with it. The Dogwood is gorgeous, all covered with snow. I'm on an upswing right now, things are positive. Have best friends around you, listen to Jakob Dylan Pandora Radio, drink Kahlua when it snows, watch all three X-Men movies, look at dailycoyote.net, and think love. It saves your soul a bit. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1802926876361521434?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1802926876361521434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1802926876361521434' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1802926876361521434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1802926876361521434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-years-eve.html' title='New Years Eve'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SWGI0MDpzKI/AAAAAAAAAMw/qdDDzKn-uyg/s72-c/bwkiss.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2615312159145319110</id><published>2008-12-31T15:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T20:27:11.817-08:00</updated><title type='text'>From the Archives (and do we ever actually change?)</title><content type='html'>"I'm ending things with him for no other reason than I know I have to and I hate it. It's the saddest thing to look at each other and know you're too different to last, you're polar opposites and there isn't enough of the je ne sais quois to keep you happy. All of our differences that used to be so charming- his schedules and plans, my dreaming and roaming- we're so far away from each all of the time and we can't ignore that the future we never talk about is now here. There isn't even the pleasure of a fight, I can't be mad at him for something he said or did. He's jealous when I speak with so much passion of Ondaatje, Neruda, even the sea. And I can't breathe when he talks about the things he wants next year because I can't imagine myself even &lt;em&gt;in&lt;/em&gt; this town in a year. We want to want the same things as each other but we don't. And he admitted to me that I want more, am destined for more, than him and it's true and I've thought it all along but when he said it it broke my heart. The saddest thing right now is that I won't miss him wildly, I won't hurt for lack of him and that seems unfair, he's such a good man and he deserves to be missed and the loss of him cried over. And I would try to resign myself to stay with him, but the thought makes me panic and I'd start to resent him. And I'm too jealous and silly to stay friends with someone I loved. So I'm ending it, and there is no way to say it eloquently, it just really really sucks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-a few years ago&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2615312159145319110?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2615312159145319110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2615312159145319110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2615312159145319110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2615312159145319110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/from-archives-and-do-we-ever-actually.html' title='From the Archives (and do we ever actually change?)'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3728324815885757310</id><published>2008-12-30T21:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:59:52.336-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I want to remind you that you're not allowed to have an opinion about this, and you know why.</title><content type='html'>As if holding on to someone tighter can make your heart hurt less, or touching someone more can make them stay with you even as you're leaving. Like one body can replace another. But even in spite of all of this there are moments of glimmering truth and in those moments I ride the high and I can get some simplicity. Because only the two of us exist, not even floor or walls or house. Everything melts away, all of my hesitance and trepidation and over thinking... It's like a drug. It covers up the need to cope. Because it is so indescribably lonely to feel disconnected from your blood, from your home, from the people who love you, that if I can grasp a little bit of being connected to someone for a bit, even if I know it's fleeting, I'll take it. I need to fly and be free, but I need to land every so often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3728324815885757310?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3728324815885757310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3728324815885757310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3728324815885757310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3728324815885757310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-want-to-remind-you-that-youre-not.html' title='I want to remind you that you&apos;re not allowed to have an opinion about this, and you know why.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-9180920381067170602</id><published>2008-12-22T00:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T11:39:02.308-08:00</updated><title type='text'>and I would run away from you</title><content type='html'>One of the Salinger books, I think it's Franny and Zooey, whichever one takes place after the wedding that maybe did or didn't happy (I know I need to re-read it), there is this part where he talks about sitting across the table from her feeling distant, knowing she feels he's distant. That's what the phone was like tonight, we're just talking about the snow, Jason Mraz, a movie we might see next weekend... and I can tell he's upset with me because I'm doing what I always do and he should know it. He's talking to me and I'm wandering all over, away from him. And it's not fair to anyone, of course, not to him and not to me. I'm not good at being commited, and not because there's other people but because there's me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that kind of art that just trancsends? Like a movie or song that hits you heart so squarely, a painting that makes you cry, a book that you can't put down... That feeling you get in your heart when something just connects? I live for that. I want to be be inspired, I want to create beautiful things and I want to see beautiful things all around me. Melisa told me that she thinks when we create something beautiful it's how we connect with God, because he created everything that's beautiful. It blew my mind, and I've been turning it over ever since. But that is the basis of who I am, the most defining trait of my personality. I feel like that will carry me far and wide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love love, of course. Love is the most powerful force in the world and the pursuit of it drives so much of life. And I'm familiar enough with love and with falling into it to know when I'm not. And I know enough of lust and comfort and company to know them when I see them. Life would be much more simple if I could be a shallow person, but this is who I am. And I need to be free, for most of the time anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-9180920381067170602?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/9180920381067170602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=9180920381067170602' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/9180920381067170602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/9180920381067170602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/and-i-would-run-away-from-you.html' title='and I would run away from you'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7458461116353338139</id><published>2008-12-18T23:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T23:51:04.353-08:00</updated><title type='text'>two things</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUtSEV4K6BI/AAAAAAAAALw/ZQ-sHVQt47k/s1600-h/katie1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281405222567733266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 206px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUtSEV4K6BI/AAAAAAAAALw/ZQ-sHVQt47k/s320/katie1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; 1) There is a lot of snow outside and more on the way.&lt;br /&gt;2) I'm working on a new script and I think it might end up being really great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7458461116353338139?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7458461116353338139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7458461116353338139' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7458461116353338139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7458461116353338139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/two-things.html' title='two things'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUtSEV4K6BI/AAAAAAAAALw/ZQ-sHVQt47k/s72-c/katie1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6086256502228385716</id><published>2008-12-15T22:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T23:32:42.615-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas time is a cure-all, I swear.</title><content type='html'>I just want to make movies. That's all I want to do, lock myself up with a handful of similarly creative people and make beautiful, touching, expressive movies. But in the meantime the past week has been lovely. A lot of Christmas baking, Christmas cookies, Christmas love. This is my favorite time of year. After rehearsal on Saturday Justin and I went to a Christmas party in Redmond with our friend Javier-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280280614443927698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUdTPiJPyJI/AAAAAAAAALQ/kyPCeV99xO8/s320/webbbb.JPG" border="0" /&gt;The party was at this huge, beautiful home but was pretty lame (Dickens Carolers, sushi trays and free drinks notwithstanding) so we left around 10 and met up with some of our friends in Seattle for drinks and dancing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280281190627694674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUdTxEmKWFI/AAAAAAAAALY/sN4_8x2bgr8/s320/CIMG2141.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was snowing in the city, and so beautiful. I always miss living in Seattle when I'm there, it makes my heart hurt a bit whenever I come home. We caught the 2:00 ferry home, which put us about an hour from Justin's and about an hour and a half from mine and the snow was coming down pretty hard on our side of the Sound, so I stayed at Justin's. I woke up to this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280282574875048210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUdVBpUcuRI/AAAAAAAAALg/NJtPyygxUN8/s320/CIMG2149.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Justin made banana chocolate chip pancakes and we laid around for most of the morning, playing with his kitten, Madonna, and watching Love Actually, which is one of my favorite movies.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280283947918415090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUdWRkTf1PI/AAAAAAAAALo/aKQPZlhiiPQ/s320/CIMG2247.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A really lovely weekend, and the next weeks hold more of the same, so the darkness is at bay for now. And it should stay that way for a bit because I'm going to Palm Springs for a week in January for another Golf Tournament, then my show opens and that gets me through March!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Love!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6086256502228385716?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6086256502228385716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6086256502228385716' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6086256502228385716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6086256502228385716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-time-is-cure-all-i-swear.html' title='Christmas time is a cure-all, I swear.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUdTPiJPyJI/AAAAAAAAALQ/kyPCeV99xO8/s72-c/webbbb.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-4987029994275819274</id><published>2008-12-10T23:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T23:58:45.237-08:00</updated><title type='text'>my favorite boy!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUDG-pf1h6I/AAAAAAAAALA/gHvYKd_TmRQ/s1600-h/CIMG2047.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278437542871795618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUDG-pf1h6I/AAAAAAAAALA/gHvYKd_TmRQ/s320/CIMG2047.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278437807686982306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUDHOEAsmqI/AAAAAAAAALI/eHy9mzUcbIs/s320/CIMG2048.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-4987029994275819274?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/4987029994275819274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=4987029994275819274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4987029994275819274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4987029994275819274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-favorite-boy.html' title='my favorite boy!'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SUDG-pf1h6I/AAAAAAAAALA/gHvYKd_TmRQ/s72-c/CIMG2047.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-5037963767852393565</id><published>2008-12-05T19:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T20:03:50.748-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In case you wanted to know what the sky above me looked like tonight-</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5WJaPm6I/AAAAAAAAAKw/-PGevqkIYGg/s1600-h/12.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276522597319678882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5WJaPm6I/AAAAAAAAAKw/-PGevqkIYGg/s320/12.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5MK0fCXI/AAAAAAAAAKo/DbGuUDISwAE/s1600-h/9.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276522425899485554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5MK0fCXI/AAAAAAAAAKo/DbGuUDISwAE/s320/9.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5AKQw7zI/AAAAAAAAAKg/70gFF-j3knI/s1600-h/6.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276522219591233330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5AKQw7zI/AAAAAAAAAKg/70gFF-j3knI/s320/6.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn427YpXVI/AAAAAAAAAKY/aBnh2Yl-EvI/s1600-h/3.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276522060978937170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn427YpXVI/AAAAAAAAAKY/aBnh2Yl-EvI/s320/3.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STnwJZFFBLI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/b-vQ0LUKq0k/s1600-h/2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276512482582922418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STnwJZFFBLI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/b-vQ0LUKq0k/s320/2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;it was beautiful&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-5037963767852393565?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/5037963767852393565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=5037963767852393565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5037963767852393565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5037963767852393565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/in-case-you-wanted-to-know-what-sky.html' title='In case you wanted to know what the sky above me looked like tonight-'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STn5WJaPm6I/AAAAAAAAAKw/-PGevqkIYGg/s72-c/12.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-4079450089741563866</id><published>2008-12-03T15:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T15:58:19.249-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trying to work something out...</title><content type='html'>Amongst those who know and love me, my commitment-phobia is a joke akin to how I hate to have my neck touched. Both make me feel incredibly uneasy and suffocated, I get antsy and can't breathe or sleep or live properly. But I've been thinking about it lately (because I'm trying to be a little bit committed right now) and what it is... is I think that once I was with someone and he consumed me, he was all I could think about and always on my mind. I lost myself in him in the best way you can, where you're a better person for being a part of another human being and he is as well. So for a bit, and much more quickly than I had expected to, I was living my life &lt;em&gt;with&lt;/em&gt; someone else and plans for the future, whether for next weekend or next year or the rest of our lives, those were all very clear and made sense. Of course I would be with him forever. And of course I was wrong, and in the end I made the right decision and broke myself off from what would most likely end up bringing more pain than happiness, and you can judge for yourself by what I write here how over it I am. But my whole point is that I was once so enamored with someone that he was everything to me, and I haven't met another person like that so far in my life (which I know is still so short, and I would prefer to limit the amount of men who impact my life like that anyway), and after you feel that way about someone it's hard to adjust back to just liking someone. To wanting to see them a couple times a week but not every day. To wake up from a dream about the wrong person and feel your heart missing the wrong person. Maybe it's not that I'm commitment phobic, maybe it's just that my heart is not entirely free of someone else and I can't quite shake him enough to just have fun with someone who is not even close to him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-4079450089741563866?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/4079450089741563866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=4079450089741563866' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4079450089741563866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4079450089741563866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/12/trying-to-work-something-out.html' title='Trying to work something out...'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6489998854224459403</id><published>2008-11-30T20:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T00:22:34.628-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My heart, my mind and my body all want someone different</title><content type='html'>I hate the thought of biding my time with someone, but I hate the thought of getting emotionally attached even more. And I'm trying to convince myself that I'm not doing either of those things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever. Live life, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and some pictures- I took both of these this summer after a few drinks, I'm not sure why but I really love them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274732871734606818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STOdmaDRO-I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/JSCzwDArVf0/s320/784573-R1-14-10A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274732761933285778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STOdgBAmCZI/AAAAAAAAAJw/Q1RVgVi41zE/s320/784573-R1-18-6A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6489998854224459403?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6489998854224459403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6489998854224459403' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6489998854224459403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6489998854224459403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-heart-my-mind-and-my-body-all-want.html' title='My heart, my mind and my body all want someone different'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/STOdmaDRO-I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/JSCzwDArVf0/s72-c/784573-R1-14-10A.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1835092035729077154</id><published>2008-11-24T20:15:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T23:19:03.012-08:00</updated><title type='text'>walking the line between myspace pic and art</title><content type='html'>I've decided to start putting art up here- photos, scans of paintings and sketches, whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been doing a lot of self-portraits lately, less for vanity and more because there are never any willing models around when I start feeling creative. I wish this was done with my manual Minolta and that I had printed it myself, but it was taken with my Casio Exilim which is a satisfactory substitute for a bit of cathartic self expression because it's 10.1 mega pixels. The only things I altered are the contrast and color, things I would have changed in a darkroom anyway. The graininess is due to forgoing a flash and only having one lamp on in my bedroom. Click for full size.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272446198626698786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSt94g6AxiI/AAAAAAAAAJY/bbieKcqGUVs/s400/bed1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;My philosophy on my art is that I do it for myself. I take joy in creating it and in looking at it. I am well aware of my talent level and don't expect or even desire to make a living off of whatever medium I'm currently playing around with. I took a couple years of photography in high school and while I was thankful for the technical skills I learned I hated the part where my creativity, my &lt;em&gt;art&lt;/em&gt; was judged. I also hate trying to force inspiration. But I love taking portraits of people. And I love enjoying other people's art. My favorite photographers right now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Terry Richardson:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 397px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.terryrichardson.com/IMAGES/images/Skateboard_P_jpg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;My Dad:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272449646469225922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 271px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSuBBNHuncI/AAAAAAAAAJg/XbcUrnwWBjM/s400/11-24-2008+08%3B36%3B30PM.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This picture is of my beautiful Momma, circa 1980. Look for more pictures by my dad here. I've been discovering old albums and let me tell you, my dad is extremely talented. Here's to art, on any level!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1835092035729077154?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1835092035729077154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1835092035729077154' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1835092035729077154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1835092035729077154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/11/walking-line-between-myspace-pic-and.html' title='walking the line between myspace pic and art'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSt94g6AxiI/AAAAAAAAAJY/bbieKcqGUVs/s72-c/bed1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-409961621555574735</id><published>2008-11-23T20:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T21:28:17.372-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Decided to Name the Owl Henri &amp; Some Other Things I've been Wanting to Tell You</title><content type='html'>I name the critters I see running around the backyard. Actually, I would say they name themselves- I see an animal and a name pops into my head. There is Robin the robin, of course, Willow- the squirrel who lives in our willow tree, Woody- a woodpecker who taps on my window from time to time, and now there is Henri- the owl who swooped over my head when Katie O dropped me off at 2:00 AM last Friday. By the way, the willow has lost most of his leaves and so have the rest of the trees, I can see the valley a few miles behind my house now. I like it when a car drives on Salmonberry through the valley because it looks like it's driving on the air. It's been so cold here lately, tomorrow I'm dropping my pea coats off at the dry cleaners. The hand I broke in September is looking strange and I'm afraid it was set wrong and I'll have to have it re-broken and corrected. Thanksgiving is this week and that means I get to see Kyle for a whole day, I'm happy about that. I miss you more today than I have in a while.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-409961621555574735?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/409961621555574735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=409961621555574735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/409961621555574735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/409961621555574735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/11/ive-decided-to-ame-owl-henri-some-other.html' title='I&apos;ve Decided to Name the Owl Henri &amp; Some Other Things I&apos;ve been Wanting to Tell You'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-8045367126366724972</id><published>2008-11-20T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T19:17:23.173-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSYoKPu9VFI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/dMIaz9-AQP8/s1600-h/1zyxww.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270944570371036242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSYoKPu9VFI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/dMIaz9-AQP8/s320/1zyxww.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I'm really, really excited for this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-8045367126366724972?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/8045367126366724972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=8045367126366724972' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8045367126366724972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8045367126366724972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/11/im-really-really-excited-for-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSYoKPu9VFI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/dMIaz9-AQP8/s72-c/1zyxww.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2281853456054024418</id><published>2008-11-19T14:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T14:53:29.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>silly babies</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYX1iNPRI/AAAAAAAAAJA/D-SrZpEXdpM/s1600-h/CIMG0565.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270504999205289234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYX1iNPRI/AAAAAAAAAJA/D-SrZpEXdpM/s320/CIMG0565.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Huck waking me up (super cute of me)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYH_ijMgI/AAAAAAAAAI4/Fx6yq7ydBEA/s1600-h/mollbw.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270504727013175810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYH_ijMgI/AAAAAAAAAI4/Fx6yq7ydBEA/s320/mollbw.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Molly looking like a cartoon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYA39Ei7I/AAAAAAAAAIw/M73S7gCJui8/s1600-h/truluv.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270504604717845426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYA39Ei7I/AAAAAAAAAIw/M73S7gCJui8/s320/truluv.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My cats, life partners for the past 11.5 years. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2281853456054024418?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2281853456054024418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2281853456054024418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2281853456054024418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2281853456054024418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/11/silly-babies.html' title='silly babies'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSSYX1iNPRI/AAAAAAAAAJA/D-SrZpEXdpM/s72-c/CIMG0565.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-8030208592761670307</id><published>2008-11-19T01:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T20:30:00.206-08:00</updated><title type='text'>and stared at a million stars and thought I could touch the sky</title><content type='html'>The Deep-Sea Pearl&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The love of my life came not&lt;br /&gt;As love unto others is cast;&lt;br /&gt;For mine was a secret wound --&lt;br /&gt;But the wound grew a pearl, at last.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The divers may come and go,&lt;br /&gt;The tides, they arise and fall;&lt;br /&gt;The pearl in its shell lies sealed,&lt;br /&gt;And the Deep Sea covers all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By Edith Thomas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found an old journal today. I read the pages where I was hurt by a best friend, I read where I dreamed of Brazil every night. I read the pages before and after Eric died, before and after I moved to Seattle. I read the pages where I was falling in love, where I made plans to leave, where I thought my life was so close to perfection I couldn’t breathe. And I read where I knew my heart was about to break, and I read where it was broken. And I read through those horrible months after. My heart became very conscious of you while I was reading. I can’t really explain it, it was like I was realizing our separateness in a very clear way, and it was not entirely bad. I’m very aware of the fact that we are now completely separate lives, and its okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also realized today that I met a person recently, who I think I could feel the same way I felt for you about, but I don’t think I can handle getting over someone of that magnitude again so soon. I hate feeling like my heart is consumed with someone, that my self esteem is wrapped up in a man, that I want someone for more than a just a while. I just want to be my own person for a time, my absolute own person. I don’t know that I’ve really done that in my adult life. There have been a couple men who have taken up the last handful of years of my life and I resent that. And this guy, I can tell he would be one of the 3 or 4 really great guys I’ve met in my life, but I don’t want to fall into someone else right now… I just want to live completely as myself for a while. I need the air, and I need the healing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-K&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-8030208592761670307?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/8030208592761670307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=8030208592761670307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8030208592761670307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8030208592761670307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/11/and-stared-at-million-stars-and-thought.html' title='and stared at a million stars and thought I could touch the sky'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3493344294429333772</id><published>2008-10-28T23:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T23:45:27.684-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;So there had always been and perhaps always would be a maze of unmarked roads between her and others. That emotional map of France was still true in the present, full of subtexts, social intricacies, unspoken balances of power. One still needed to move warily, with hesitance, within it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Michael Ondaatje (&lt;em&gt;Divisadero&lt;/em&gt;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3493344294429333772?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3493344294429333772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3493344294429333772' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3493344294429333772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3493344294429333772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/10/so-there-had-always-been-and-perhaps.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6572273612189338992</id><published>2008-10-26T22:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T23:00:51.152-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>has it really been three years? because nothing feels any better than it did three years and two days ago. I still dream that it could somehow be a mistake, an elaborate hoax and he'll come riding up on his bike with a big grin and a hug and we won't even be able to be mad at him... but I know that's not real and I wish I could say I felt him in the wind but I don't. I miss him every day, all the time. all the time...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6572273612189338992?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6572273612189338992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6572273612189338992' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6572273612189338992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6572273612189338992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/10/has-it-really-been-three-years-because.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6802221651843303202</id><published>2008-10-21T15:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T16:14:45.845-07:00</updated><title type='text'>never mind treading water, never mind swimming towards your shore</title><content type='html'>The way that people get songs stuck in their head I get poetry. All weekend in Vegas I had Yeats running through my mind-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That crazed girl improvising her music.&lt;br /&gt;Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,&lt;br /&gt;Her soul in division from itself&lt;br /&gt;Climbing, falling She knew not where,&lt;br /&gt;Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,&lt;br /&gt;Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare&lt;br /&gt;A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing&lt;br /&gt;Heroically lost, heroically found.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is one of those days I just want to be near the ocean. The past few weeks have been crazy and fast and bad and good and heavy and fun and I need a few days to process everything. Today I want to be an island, and it's not sad or happy or lonely or anything extreme, I just want to be surrounded by sea water and feel free and that is the best I can describe how I feel right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Vegas was a blast, stories to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6802221651843303202?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6802221651843303202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6802221651843303202' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6802221651843303202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6802221651843303202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/10/never-mind-treading-water-never-mind.html' title='never mind treading water, never mind swimming towards your shore'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1405219442148793258</id><published>2008-10-11T23:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T19:36:30.354-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a wise man told me</title><content type='html'>It's strange to find that sometimes the only thing that makes me feel connected to humanity is reading &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ondaatje&lt;/span&gt;. Things have been so blurry and hard lately, for the past week. It is hard to be in the best group of friends I've ever been in and feel so disconnected. I guess to feel surrounded and alone at the same time. There are times when the pain in my heart gets so bad I can't breathe for a moment and I realize, before burying it again, how deep these certain wounds go. It's sharp lately, not an ache like it was last year. It's a stab in my chest at a time that makes no sense at all. It's this realization that if still, being with these amazing people who I love so much, I can't just let myself &lt;em&gt;be&lt;/em&gt; I don't know that I'll ever be able to. And I can cite all the usual for this deficit- the poor relationship with my father, the trauma of growing up with a sick brother, the guy who broke my heart, losing a friend... but I am so tired of carrying these things around with me. I resent that the mechanisms, humor or confidence or whatever, have become personality traits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, it was a painful week, both physically and emotionally. My shoulder injury has me trapped and dependent. The guy who broke my heart hurt me again. And every night I've been more aware than usual of how completely on my own I feel. And it's strange, I don't really know how to explain it but I opened up &lt;em&gt;Coming Through Slaughter&lt;/em&gt; and started crying. And it's the same with all the writer's whose words have been in my mind for so long- Neruda, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Eggers&lt;/span&gt;, Dickinson, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Foer&lt;/span&gt;, Yeats, Browning... They all just make sense to me, and their words calm me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss Eric so much lately. I can't believe it's been almost three years... I miss his spirit, his smile, I miss his kind words. I hate talking about him to people because I can't describe him to people- he was just alive. And I resent that whenever he comes up people feel the need to tell the stories of their sister's friend's brother's friend who killed themselves. I get silent and fidgety and angry, because Eric isn't a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;statistic&lt;/span&gt; or a story, he was this loud, beating heart who loved so much. Maybe I shouldn't feel that way, but it was painful to see Eric's death turn into such a sensation here. I've loved him since the moment I saw him when I was 14 years old and I still love him and I swear that every single moment I'm aware that he's missing from this earth. And I don't understand why he made the decision he did. And mostly I wish he was still here. So yeah, when I get like this I don't want to talk about it. I just want to read some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ondaatje&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1405219442148793258?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1405219442148793258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1405219442148793258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1405219442148793258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1405219442148793258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/10/never-mind-treading-water-never-mind_11.html' title='a wise man told me'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-5563390012384641876</id><published>2008-10-06T23:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T01:06:38.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't want to talk about it</title><content type='html'>I really hate my heart sometimes&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-5563390012384641876?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/5563390012384641876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=5563390012384641876' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5563390012384641876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5563390012384641876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dont-want-to-talk-about-it.html' title='I don&apos;t want to talk about it'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2353019334865852504</id><published>2008-09-29T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T13:06:38.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On nature, injury and quests for knowledge</title><content type='html'>After spending time in Wyoming, after driving across Montana, after another weekend at the cabin on Lake Riley, I'm convinced that the longing in my heart to live as closely immersed in nature as I can is here to stay. Whether it's a summer home, decades into the future, or a move in the next few years I don't know, but I just think that I could be very happy living in some one room cabin perfectly situated near water and open sky for an extended period of time. So there is another dream to add the huge pile already under my pillow (&lt;em&gt;Want everything. If you break break going out not in. &lt;/em&gt;-Ondaatje).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Wyoming trip was remarkable. The whole drive there went by in a blink for me, the combination of the scenery I couldn't take my eyes off of, Justin's company and his xm radio made the two day journey fly by. Tuesday night we arrived just in time for dinner and I was overwhelmed in the absolute best way possible by the flurry of an extended family sit down dinner. I will always be comfortable in a home full of kids and love, family. I wrote in my journal that night how after just a few hours with the Carrel family they had my affection. Justin had all of these plans for us, hiking and fishing and spelunking and more, the first thing we did was to go 4 wheeling in the badlands. Because I've already recounted it so many times I'll give you the short of it- I flipped and rolled (sideways and forward) my 4 wheeler, broke my right hand and separated my right shoulder, have a cast and a sling and a lot of vicodin. The healing of my shoulder will take an indefinite amount of time, for now and for the next few weeks I can't do anything that involves putting weight on or raising my arm (work, drive, do my own hair), I'm in pain all of the time, and my constantly on the go life has slowed dramatically to spending the weekday alone in my house and my weeknight depending on my friends (who have been wonderful). I'm saying this here not to garner pity or well-wishes, but because I'm sure this event and it's effects will be necessary knowledge to understanding future posts here. ANYWAY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the injury the trip was still so wonderful. For one thing I fell even more in love with his family. They were incredibly kind and accommodating and are these impressive people to get to know. We managed to do some fishing and hiking anyway and I got to see more beautiful scenery and Justin proved to be a great tour guide and nurse. In fact, after I returned last Sunday I felt a little bit lost without him knowing exactly how to give me my pills, help me put on sweatshirts, adjust my sling, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've tried to keep the discouragement at bay by stretching my mind and intellect. Last week was a great week for constantly refreshing cnn.com and reading up on the basics of economics, it's been 5 years since I took econ in high school. Also, after a few years of somewhat passively disagreeing with or being unsure of some of the concepts of the modern American Church I am confronting and researching these things. I am conducting this 'journey' under the knowledge that in my heart, soul and spirit I know that God is real and good and loving and infinite and a judge of absolute truth, that Jesus came to earth and was Divine, that the Resurrection was atonement and mankind's saving grace, and that even if I have a question or objection that I can't wrap my mind around I will, and actively do, choose my faith over a logical roadblock. I've been reading A Case for Faith (Lee Strobel) which has been answering questions and inspiring new ones and once I can get my thoughts in order I'm sure some musings while on vicodin will appear here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reference to the last time I wrote, I was cast alongside several of my best friends in &lt;em&gt;Company.&lt;/em&gt; It's going to be a great show and great cast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amor,&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2353019334865852504?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2353019334865852504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2353019334865852504' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2353019334865852504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2353019334865852504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/09/on-nature-injury-and-quests-for.html' title='On nature, injury and quests for knowledge'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-4332915595032761049</id><published>2008-09-07T11:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T12:53:08.999-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I need time to stop. Right now please, for about 12 hours. That way I could get some sleep, filter out the bottle of wine I drank last night, take a shower, practice practice practice, and be ready for this audition in 1.5 hours. Instead I'm sitting here being nervous. I overdid my makeup trying to make myself feel better about the dark areas under my eyes that for some reason can't be washed away. But, I am refusing to dwell on my train wreck-ness right now. Listening to Jakob Dylan (as I have been constantly since last Saturday [that's how you can tell it was such a great show- loving the music that much more after seeing it live]), loving on the Huckleberry (dog), drinking water, all trying to make myself feel calm and like myself. Because that is what I have to offer (and what I have to believe I can contribute) at this audition. SO. So so so I will sing my song, then I will read my heart out, and whatever happens happens. This is the pep talk I've been giving myself for the past week. It wouldn't be so nerve wracking if all of my incredibly talented friends weren't also trying out... but no. I am not dwelling on that. Because I can contribute something to this show, I can, and that is what I need to show today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay. So. I'm good. I'm good I'm good I'm good. Where is Charity? I need to be speaking this someone not typing it on the internet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-4332915595032761049?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/4332915595032761049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=4332915595032761049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4332915595032761049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4332915595032761049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-need-time-to-stop.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-4442125170994841859</id><published>2008-09-03T14:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T15:00:35.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'>what have you been up to</title><content type='html'>There are a couple blocks on 2nd Ave that hold so many memories, walking through I see so many ghosts. I see all of these versions of myself; being 16 standing outside Singles with a couple boys with black hair who held my heart in their hands, Mel sneaking me drinks at the Crocodile, Darrin and I waiting for a table at Wasabi Bistro, that show at 2nd Ave Pizza the day before Thanksgiving when I told my mom I was staying at Melisa's but I actually went to Seattle, dinner with Aqui at Saitos, seeing Mack play at Tula's... All of these little moments packed into about two blocks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Justin invited me to go to Wyoming with him to visit his family. I'm really excited about it. I love roadtrips, and I love going to new places. I'm excited about driving through Montana. That state captured my heart last time I was there. Also Justin's parent's dog just had 13 puppies! We leave a week from Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bumbershoot was last weekend, Char &amp;amp; I did all three days with Robbi &amp;amp; Jose and a couple more people joined us for one or two of the days. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around everything I saw and heard and otherwise experienced, but it was a great year. Highlights~ Jakob Dylan (maybe the best live show I've ever seen), Beck, Sondre Lerche, Pacific Northwest Ballet, and The Power of One exhibit (especially Nina Berman's work).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always feel a bit melancholy after Bumbershoot because it signals summer is over. It was a good, good summer. I'll miss it. But I have adventures to come and I don't think that everything that made this summer so lovely is over yet. So yeah, life is still really good. I'm generally a happy girl lately and it's nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-4442125170994841859?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/4442125170994841859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=4442125170994841859' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4442125170994841859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4442125170994841859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-have-you-been-up-to.html' title='what have you been up to'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6844698088562184804</id><published>2008-08-08T23:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T00:14:56.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I'm getting at... What I've been getting at</title><content type='html'>(how you live your life I don't care, but I'll sell my arms for you, hold your secrets forever) Ondaatje is always in my head. You must read The English Patient, and you must read Coming Through Slaughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I'll come swimming&lt;br /&gt;beside your ship or someone will&lt;br /&gt;and if you hear the siren&lt;br /&gt;listen to it. For if you close your ears&lt;br /&gt;only nothing happens. You will never change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is what I believe, that my life... that your life, we're intertwined. There are some moments when I swear, I swear that we are connected through thoughts and soul and time, distance. My best dreams that I have are about you, every wish on every star, all of it. And those moments, little looks and words and all of that, the vagueness and things you said (I didn't have to say anything), that they are beads on a necklace- next to my heart always. I have this recurring dream where I'm running after you up stairs and you are always just out of the frame but I can still feel your presence, I know you were just there. I wake up and I swear you were just there. And through time zones we still have the same thought at the same time, through rain gutters, monsoon (this is how you touch other women /the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.) And intertwined as I believe our lives are, I've learned to be happy with our distance, with our different lives. You there, with her, and me here, with him. Or him. Or him or him or him but the point is, I'm okay with our separate lives. And this proves to me that I love you, and this proves to me also that I'm not in love with you. And everything, all of the moments that we think about, that we replay in our minds, those are absolutely sacred to me. And I keep them close, I keep you close. So we can keep our secrets, we can hide the moments down in our souls, deep in our memory. But when you see a certain sky, catch a certain scent... if someone talks like I do (when someone stands like you do) pull out one of our diamond moments (like the first time you took my hand) and float through it, and I will too. And after years we'll see each other and not tell anyone. I won't tell her and you won't tell him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just don't tell her, or anyone. I haven't. That was ours. This is ours. The other truth is that my heart is still mending from you, sometimes a love lost song or movie catches me off guard and I can't breathe for a second. But time is going by, and that's good. I expect to be completely over you in another two years time and you will just be an old friend, a memory. So let me be your old friend, memory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we swam once&lt;br /&gt;I touched you in water&lt;br /&gt;and our bodies remained free,&lt;br /&gt;you could hold me and be blind of smell.&lt;br /&gt;You climbed the bank and said&lt;br /&gt;this is how you touch other women&lt;br /&gt;the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.&lt;br /&gt;And you searched your arms&lt;br /&gt;for the missing perfume.&lt;br /&gt;and knew&lt;br /&gt;what good is it&lt;br /&gt;to be the lime burner's daughter&lt;br /&gt;left with no trace&lt;br /&gt;as if not spoken to in an act of love&lt;br /&gt;as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.&lt;br /&gt;You touched&lt;br /&gt;your belly to my hands&lt;br /&gt;in the dry air and said&lt;br /&gt;I am the cinnamon&lt;br /&gt;peeler's wife. Smell me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the words that are constantly in my head. You don't have to understand them or like them, but I do. You must read The English Patient. You must read the chapter entitle Katharine. You don't have to even read the book, just read the story ("I don't miss you yet." "You will.") Just read it, okay? (How does this happen, to fall in love and be disassembled?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me. Will you call me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6844698088562184804?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6844698088562184804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6844698088562184804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6844698088562184804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6844698088562184804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-im-getting-at-what-ive-been.html' title='What I&apos;m getting at... What I&apos;ve been getting at'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1614539344336637890</id><published>2008-08-07T00:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T01:49:00.314-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On Men, Movies and How Epsom Salt Has Changed My Life</title><content type='html'>I've never subscribed to the belief that you shouldn't date someone who you wouldn't marry. I don't think that the success of a relationship is defined by how long it lasts, but more how you grow as a person, how you change. I look back a certain amount of time in my life, a fraction of what my life will be, and I see all the beautiful discoveries I made about the world and myself with the help of this other person and it is success. The point of the dates I go on, or the men I spend my time with, or how I live my life in general is not to find someone who I can plan a big party with and then attempt to live together and reproduce and find comfort and companionship. Not that I don't believe in marriage and I'm sure I'll take my walk down the aisle some day, but it's not this huge thing that must happen for me. You could argue that I'm only (almost!) 22 and I will feel that way in 5 years, and maybe I will, but while I certainly don't feel the desire to tie myself to someone for the rest of my life as soon as possible, I do strongly feel the desire to become a stable enough person to provide a home for children who need one. I realize that the whole family thing works best with two parents, but one is infinitely better than none. Anyway, what I'm getting at here is I feel quite solitary in my firm belief that it is okay to date and otherwise spend a great deal of time with someone who know you are never going to marry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had several people say to me lately, "Oh Katie, you should meet SoandSo, he's in his mid 20s and nice looking and wants a girlfriend" and when I hear this I want to run away from and certainly never meet this man who is looking just for a girlfriend. What that says to me is that this man has set up in his head a certain set of requirements and if I, or some other girl who happens along first, meets those requirements he will desire her to be his girlfriend, then fiance, et cetera. And I suppose that that is enough for most people, but it is definitely not enough for me. I just feel as though all of society, especially those who are in my age range, are spending most of their time in search of this person who will meet their requirements. Maybe it's the whole years and years of societal pressure that says you're nothing if not neatly married and tied with a ribbon before your 30th birthday. And especially for women! I feel like for all the Jane Austens and Carrie Bradshaws in the world it is still frowned upon to be an unmarried woman at any age. And that is why, when I tell someone that I'm dating someone but I would never marry them, I'm asked why I'm wasting my time. First of all, any relationship with any human being is time well spent, secondly there is no giant clock ticking over my shoulder. I do not plan on having children biologically and I don't feel a husband is necessary to raise children. I sound so bitter here, but I swear lately I've been questioned on my dating life incessantly and asked, and I quote, about "marital prospects" (like I'm at a horse auction or something- "oh sorry, this one's teeth look bad, offer withdrawn, show me the next!"). It's kind of funny to hear the questions from my friends who perhaps married a little quickly because I hear the accent of jealousy, for all their declarations of happiness you can't deny how fun it is be entirely your own person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(For all of this I'm saying here, go back to my March 6th entry, I do believe in true love and I do believe that I am destined for it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now briefly on movies and Epsom salt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've watched Atonement and Becoming Jane lately. Both beautiful period pieces. Both heartbreaking. Both inspiring me to get my act together and &lt;em&gt;write&lt;/em&gt; so I can finally, finally really try a shot at making movies. I just want to write movies and create characters and stories and show them to people. Every single molecule in my body just wants to be making movies with people who share this passion. There. That is something I feel incomplete without.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I injured my leg a few months ago in the big dance number in the last play I did and since then have been dealing with a calf muscle that wouldn't stop cramping. And by cramping I mean pain on a level 9, wake you up from sleep crying, all of a sudden can't walk, getting in the way of watching The Dark Knight cramping. On the advice of a Chiropractor I've been taking muscle relaxers (thanks to my mom who horded leftover meds from a car accident last December), but obviously that is a temporary fix and I prefer to live my life fairly substance free. Enter Dr Teal and his Epsom salt. I swear 30 minutes in a hot tub with 1 cup of the stuff has improved my situation hugely. Score one point for nature!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So sleep now. The next week I'll be with friends constantly, Hello Birthday!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1614539344336637890?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1614539344336637890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1614539344336637890' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1614539344336637890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1614539344336637890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/08/on-men-movies-and-how-epsom-salt-has.html' title='On Men, Movies and How Epsom Salt Has Changed My Life'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2663386450461759068</id><published>2008-07-30T00:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T23:49:50.525-07:00</updated><title type='text'>one or two things I've been meaning to tell you</title><content type='html'>My summer has been really lovely. I've seen a lot of beautiful sunsets, I've caught that 15 minutes of gold before twilight a few times. I've kept myself in close proximity to water, felt it rush in my ears and around my body. I've been sleeping with my window open for months now, even though it gets cold sometimes. I've been reading more &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ondaatje&lt;/span&gt; than usual. There is this part in The English Patient where he talks about souls ignoring their fate, I think about that a lot. I'm working on memorizing Sallie &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Chisum&lt;/span&gt;/Last Words on Billy the Kid. It is important to me to have poetry in my head, in my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been storing up stories and little anecdotes I think you would like. My puppy, Huckleberry Finn, he is so big now. He went from a little baby to this huge, beautiful dog in about a minute. Anyway, he's not an incredibly vocal dog, he doesn't really whine or bark a lot, but he has this howl he does that I love so much. He hardly ever does it, but when he does you can see so clearly by the expression on his face that he is feeling &lt;em&gt;emotion&lt;/em&gt; and the only way to express himself is this deep &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;throated&lt;/span&gt; howl that is somewhere between a cry and a laugh. He never does it for food or to be let outside or anything, just when he wants one of us human beings to take him seriously or hurry up and get inside or reach down and give him some love. I hope you get to see it someday, it's adorable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The country has been calling my name lately, which seems random given my love for the city, but all I can think about is buying a little one room log cabin next to a lake. I want to wake up and swim in cold, clear lake water. I want to wander through meadows and climb up mountains. I want to feel the calmness of being surrounded by nature. I want to learn all the stars and live somewhere I can actually see them. Maybe this will pass, maybe not. I feel constantly stuck between city and nature, entertainment and humanity, art and service. I'm banking on living the oxymoron, believing that none of these things are mutually exclusive. Trying not to feel like two different people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm young and ridiculous and a little bit manic and so incredibly flawed, I know that. I never think before I speak, I don't keep my emotions in check and I laugh too hard, cry too often, get angry too quickly, and am apathetic when I should care. And I am okay with who I am, because I'm working on it. I'm never going to be ordinary, and that is also okay with me. This is who I am, and I suspect that this is also who you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more thing I wanted you to know- I am doing really, really well right now. And I don't mean just in this moment, or just tonight. I mean for the past few months I've been happy. So, I just wanted you to know. Thanks for your note, I'm proud of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2663386450461759068?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2663386450461759068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2663386450461759068' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2663386450461759068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2663386450461759068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/07/one-or-two-things-ive-been-meaning-to.html' title='one or two things I&apos;ve been meaning to tell you'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1440261669099142386</id><published>2008-07-15T00:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T00:28:43.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I am different now than I was a week ago</title><content type='html'>I feel quiet and close to God. I realize (for the hundreth time) that these weeks I go away to serve God are the only times I feel good, and the rest of the time I am filling my life with distractions to forget that. I feel sad and lonely in this moment right now and I'm not sure why. I feel amazed that while I look at myself and see so many flaws God looks at me and feels love. I feel ready to hope again that something could come of my life in the near future. I feel ready to listen and ready to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was lovely. A talk with Mom about John 14 (&lt;em&gt;I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you&lt;/em&gt;), the lake with seestors and Mom, Thai food and a nap on the deck, then waking up to one of the most beautiful twilights I've ever seen in my life and "randomly" opening up to 2 Peter to read "&lt;em&gt;So then, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election certain, for if you keep on doing this you will never fail." &lt;/em&gt;Something has changed in my heart. Something has changed in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1440261669099142386?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1440261669099142386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1440261669099142386' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1440261669099142386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1440261669099142386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-am-different-now-than-i-was-week-ago.html' title='I am different now than I was a week ago'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6254989365889826003</id><published>2008-06-29T09:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-29T09:59:51.447-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You &amp;amp; I&lt;br /&gt;this night when it gets too cold&lt;br /&gt;we come inside to sleep&lt;br /&gt;and whisper secrets under covers.&lt;br /&gt;I put my hand to the back of your head&lt;br /&gt;fingers in your hair&lt;br /&gt;and breathe in smells of campfire smoke,&lt;br /&gt;your skin marked with ash&lt;br /&gt;(and I am also marked)&lt;br /&gt;I taste the cold air in your mouth,&lt;br /&gt;feeling out of place indoors.&lt;br /&gt;We tangle up together&lt;br /&gt;You &amp;amp; I,&lt;br /&gt;like the evergreens that bend together in the wind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6254989365889826003?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6254989365889826003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6254989365889826003' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6254989365889826003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6254989365889826003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/06/you-i-this-night-when-it-gets-too-cold.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-8064213075114296345</id><published>2008-06-18T13:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T13:16:09.690-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Twenty-One and Three Quarters</title><content type='html'>I'm anxious to turn 22. Not in the way I was anxious to turn 16, 18, or 21, which was to not have my age &lt;em&gt;matter&lt;/em&gt; anymore (besides Melisa, Lauren, and a handful of other girls I've known since Jr High every single one of my good friends are at least two years older than me, most of them about five, it's been this way with all groups of friends I've had) and have my age validated in the eyes of the law; be able to drive, vote and drink (three things that very important to me). I just want to leave this entire gloomy year of being 21 behind me. It sounds like it was all extremely depressing, and it wasn't, but I look at it as a year of heartbreak and I don't want to be in that place anymore. I always divide up my life by how old I am, it came naturally in categorizing the school years and summers because my birthday is in August. The year of being 12 was an awakening. The year of being 15 was a metamorphosis. The year of being 16 was first love and first heartbreak. The year of being 18 was becoming my own. The year of being 20 is too delicate and hopeful and a million other things to really speak of or even categorize yet. The year of being 21 has been dark (with random bursts of sunlight thanks mostly to Melisa and The Pajama Game). So, in keeping with my Declaration of Ignoring (see previous entry) I am making a second declaration, which is that since April 25th I am labeling this few months of my life as Twenty-One and Three Quarters. I'm in the light for the first time in what feels like forever. I told my mom a few days ago that if someone told me a year ago that it would take a year to finally feel like myself again I don't know how I would have been able to deal with it. I truly feel like a darkness came over me and clouded my senses. You can call it depression, sadness, loneliness, whatever. They tend to come altogether. Some people have a predisposition for melancholy and I know I'm one of those people and I know that I'll deal with it again and again in my life, but the whole point is that I'm not drowning now, I'm floating and feeling the sun on my body and it is glorious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I took this picture yesterday and it captures I feel lately:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213335817361721858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SFl9TfCqigI/AAAAAAAAAFk/gGvcz78_2-U/s320/4592440-R1-049-23.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-8064213075114296345?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/8064213075114296345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=8064213075114296345' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8064213075114296345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8064213075114296345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/06/twenty-one-and-three-quarters.html' title='Twenty-One and Three Quarters'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SFl9TfCqigI/AAAAAAAAAFk/gGvcz78_2-U/s72-c/4592440-R1-049-23.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1329162305108613573</id><published>2008-06-10T16:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T16:52:31.207-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today I decided that I am ignoring my broken heart. I no longer have the need to feel it all out, to open my heart to every single emotion and memory and dream that never materialized, to examine every aspect of all the events that transpired in the past x amount of years. I am metaphorically bandaging it together, putting make-up over it, and trying to forget it. And (to keep the metaphor going) hoping it doesn't get infected but just heals while I'm focusing on all of the fun days I've had lately and the fun days to come. I felt Melancholy come over me today and felt my entire body and soul start to shift to sadness, but then I had a thought that I would just ignore Melancholy, pretend I don't see or hear him. So instead I thought about how much fun it would be to throw a Mid Summer's Night Dream party this summer and if I was going to practice riding my new scooter later. So that is my new tactic. I'm not dwelling on my heart, not thinking about my sadness or lonliness. I'm thinking about my sisters, friends, my puppy, and the sun. Wherever it is (Seriously, Washingto? Seriously!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amor&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1329162305108613573?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1329162305108613573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1329162305108613573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1329162305108613573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1329162305108613573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/06/today-i-decided-that-i-am-ignoring-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7212416225208755609</id><published>2008-06-02T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T10:39:09.408-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I just don't think I'll ever. Get over you.</title><content type='html'>Sometimes it comes like a tidal wave. I was sweeping at work, sweeping, and out of nowhere it's a message being sent through wires in my brain. "He's not here anymore. Stop. He's gone. Stop. That beautiful red headed boy. Stop." I remember every day that he's not walking this earth, that I'll never see him again. In the two and half years it's become a thought I carry with me always, but every so often it's a gong someone hits right next to my head and for a few moments it's all I can hear and see and think and understand. And I miss him, I miss him more achingly than anyone else because even with &lt;em&gt;him&lt;/em&gt; or&lt;em&gt; him&lt;/em&gt; (both of whom I do not see ever speaking with again) there is that thought, that possibility, that somewhere down the road (be it decades, after marriages and children and everything else) we could get coffee and express a mutual, heartfelt, appropriate love for each other that is too buried to possibly express healthily right now. But I know that I will never be able to see his face, feel his presence, hear his ridiculous jokes, shoot some meaningless shit, see him disappear into the night on his bicycle, all of the million other things that made him so uniquely himself. And this sense of loss, this missing of a being, drowns out all other feelings of loss and takes over all the songs, all the lyrics written for someone who isn't around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am terrified at the thought of losing anyone else. There are people I haven't spoken with in years, but knowing that they are breathing, walking, talking, laughing, crying,&lt;em&gt; feeling&lt;/em&gt; somewhere is a comfort and it would be very hard for me to exist in a world where they don't. I believe in Heaven and Hell. I believe in judgment. I believe that once someone passes from this world they go to one place or the other by one definite law, and before I find myself eternally perfect, as close as possible to God and completely fulfilled I will be completely, staggeringly and heartbreakingly aware of the fact that several people who I love fiercely I will never see again for all eternity. And there will be accountability, which swerves into another topic (or sub-topic) entirely. (Hardly)Suffice it to say, I miss him I miss him I miss him to the most extreme extent of the word and it broke over me again suddenly on Saturday, the healing scar was ripped open and the wound is burning still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7212416225208755609?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7212416225208755609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7212416225208755609' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7212416225208755609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7212416225208755609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-just-dont-think-ill-ever-get-over-you.html' title='I just don&apos;t think I&apos;ll ever. Get over you.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2793493255773391325</id><published>2008-05-29T11:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T13:16:10.076-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In case you were wondering how amazing I am, I'll tell you. Yesterday I made homemade strawberry ice cream, and it is fantastic. And because I am so obsessive I'm already plotting the 79 other flavors I'm going to make in the next few weeks. Chocolate &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Peanut butter&lt;/span&gt; (at the request of Char), Mocha, Dark Choc &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Raspberry&lt;/span&gt;, Honey Lavender (I swear that will taste great!), etc. I think I am going to have a tasting/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;BBQ&lt;/span&gt; so everyone can &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;experience&lt;/span&gt; my skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The play closed on Sunday. I thought that I would be very sad, but I am mostly just so excited about the great new friends I made through it, and knowing that we will still see each other often. It was the best cast I've ever been a part of, everyone was so down to earth and mostly so much fun. Tuesday some of us saw Prince Caspian (wonderful, loved it so much more then the first), and hopefully there will be much more hanging out in the near future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Char, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Amiriah&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Ri&lt;/span&gt; &amp;amp; his friend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Jerin&lt;/span&gt; &amp;amp; I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Folklife&lt;/span&gt; on Monday. It was a very nice day, we stopped by Kyle's apartment after and played many rounds of my new favorite game (courtesy of Rachel) "I am thinking of someone who is in the circle in my mind and you all have to go around the circle and ask questions such as 'If this person were a tree what tree would they be' and then you have to guess" (note: this is a working title).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;House and Grey's Anatomy finales were so excellent. House was heartbreaking and I was still sniffling for an hour afterwards, and Grey's was so exciting! Both left me craving the next season- what will happen to House and Wilson's friendship? Will Alex and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Izzie&lt;/span&gt; finally get together? I've been wanting them to get together for so long. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I am really into right now? Besides making ice cream:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Listening to Matt Duke (listen to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Rabbit&lt;/span&gt;) &amp;amp; Brenden James (listen to Green)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Currently watching Australia's Next Top Model. It blows the American version out of the water, all of the girls are gorgeous and actually look like real models, the judges have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;impeccable&lt;/span&gt; taste, and the girls are put in real model-life situations. Plus I like the accent&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Melisa gave me Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert that I have yet to get started on, and actually I have a huge stack of magazines to get through and ever since my Lord of the Rings dream (see a few entries back) I've been wanting to re-read all three books. So yeah, not actually reading anything at the moment (a first for me) but next sunny day I'm not at work I am laying outside with music in my ears and a huge, cold drink and I'll get through some things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Camping soon soon soon I hope. Oh and Huckleberry is adorable. I tried to take a cute pic of us and these are the best I could come up with:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205887839661648642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SD8HaH-O6wI/AAAAAAAAAFI/6sFN_m82l2M/s320/S5039712.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205887955625765650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SD8Hg3-O6xI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/aY2fP9VWsJ8/s320/S5039714.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He doesn't like taking pictures with his mom &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;apparently&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2793493255773391325?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2793493255773391325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2793493255773391325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2793493255773391325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2793493255773391325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/05/in-case-you-were-wondering-how-amazing.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SD8HaH-O6wI/AAAAAAAAAFI/6sFN_m82l2M/s72-c/S5039712.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3036383957099766268</id><published>2008-05-19T13:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T13:36:16.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lately I feel like a giant burden has been lifted off, like I'm breathing on my own, like I'm finally in the light again. And it feels so good. This past year has been the hardest year of my life, I've felt so stretched and so sad and now, now I finally feel myself. Luckily I have my best friend, Melisa, who felt like the only person I could talk to about it all. And now it's almost summer, and everyone knows summer is magic. I finally feel like my life is some sembelence of what it was before, and that is so signifigant to me. Okay, time to start being productive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just really happy right now, and it isn't all wrapped up in someone else. And that is really, really nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3036383957099766268?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3036383957099766268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3036383957099766268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3036383957099766268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3036383957099766268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/05/lately-i-feel-like-giant-burden-has.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-8518276428959988246</id><published>2008-05-07T14:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T14:47:39.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I really want to go camping, soon. I am a camping expert, I can put a tent up in like 30 seconds flat. I don't mind being dirty, I can deal with not looking too cute, I love hiking, sleeping in tents, waking up early with the sun, all of it. The only thing is, I don't really have anyone to go with. Jonathan is so busy with being a fire boy (plus Maria obviously is so cool with our super close friendship [we've been friends since we were born] but I feel like just the two of us going camping would be pushing it a little bit, a little disrespectful to their relationship), Char has school and work, I'm not sure how down Melisa would be, etc. I need to recruit some camping/hiking/outdoorsy friends! My mom is all about hiking, but we never seem to be able to coordinate the same days off to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Making new friends is a challenge for me. I'm not one of those people who is immediately loved by everyone, and I try to be nice and open but apparently I don't come off as completely warm and welcoming. It's frustrating because I'm sure that's on account of all of my weird little issues and self doubt and everything, but I can tell that sometimes my being reserved is read as being snobbish. When I try to curb this I just feel fake, which is worse than feeling standoffish. And it's not that I really care about being liked by the general public, I just wish I had more people in my life to hang out with. Melisa is really my only close friend in Kitsap who is single and childless and otherwise in same general phase of life as me. Really I just want a group of laid back people who would be down to drive out to the coast and go camping for a few days about once a month throughout the summer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to leave for work in an hour, and I would much rather just stay here and play with my puppy. Amor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-8518276428959988246?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/8518276428959988246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=8518276428959988246' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8518276428959988246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/8518276428959988246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-really-want-to-go-camping-soon.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-9044353510025718387</id><published>2008-05-06T17:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T17:36:43.493-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Last night I had the most random dream. I dreamed that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gandalf&lt;/span&gt; gave me the One Ring to take to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Mordor&lt;/span&gt;, and several of my Pajama Game &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;castmates&lt;/span&gt; were the Fellowship. Shane was the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Samwise&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gamgee&lt;/span&gt; role, and Amy, Rachel, Justin and Matt were all there. So we were all in my little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;bmw&lt;/span&gt; driving through Port Orchard to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Mordor&lt;/span&gt; and it was very scary, I had to keep hiding from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Ringwraiths&lt;/span&gt; and I could hear them sniffing around for me, and then all of a sudden we started getting attacked by Transformers! It was completely frightening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, more on my day later, I promised my mom I would go with her tonight to feed the homeless in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Bremerton&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-9044353510025718387?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/9044353510025718387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=9044353510025718387' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/9044353510025718387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/9044353510025718387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/05/last-night-i-had-most-random-dream.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-892738967114587573</id><published>2008-05-03T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T12:29:36.565-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It is impossible to settle now, when you've stood next to someone and felt naked, your soul completely exposed to their eyes in the best, most honest kind of way. And now I feel so my own person in a way I haven't felt for years and I am not willing to give that up. It sounds strange to explain it, but I feel like my arms are my own, I feel like my hands and legs and every other part of my body; my heart, mind and soul only belong to me. Because there was always someone, usually the same person, who I felt my hands (et al) missing, or my eyes looking for. Now I just look for the sky and the water. Anthony told me I'm a fire sign, and that just proves to me that astrology is a crock because if I'm anything I'm a water sign. I think of the ocean constantly. I hate to be away from sea water, it makes me very uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel outside of people, and not in a negative way. I've had all of these thoughts bubbling and rolling around inside me and I'm so content to just keep them to myself and think through them. And honestly, it's all a little bit narcissistic, but being that I'm 21 and my only responsibility is a puppy I guess that's okay. I go through these slightly reclusive periods of time and all of this art comes out of me. Most of it is mediocre, but it makes me feel better and gives me a release.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jessica is on her way over and we're going to get coffee and run some errands together. I am so thankful for the girlfriends in my life. I am surrounded by this group of amazing women and it saves me. Amor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-892738967114587573?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/892738967114587573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=892738967114587573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/892738967114587573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/892738967114587573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/05/it-is-impossible-to-settle-now-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2256794522972872484</id><published>2008-04-30T23:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T14:11:13.009-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I feel it all the wings are wide</title><content type='html'>Its like little birds are flying back and forth between us, carrying little messages. I just mean that you're one of my soulmates, wherever you go and whomever you're with. You would be happy tonight, because I'm doing really well. I remember this one time in the back of a cab, we'd both had too much wine, and I told you I was always afraid that everyone would stop loving me. You were quiet, but I knew you meant that you wouldn't stop. I have a list of the five perfect moments in my life and one of them is sitting next to you at Uptown Cinema during Friends with Money. I save remembering that day for times I especially need a smile. I know it wouldn't mean a lot to you, but you were an answer to pray. You ended up kind of being my guardian angel. It's funny to me that so far in my life, a gay man has been the man who has been best at loving me. I just saw my soul reflected so much in you. I miss you so much, I miss our mornings and evenings. I miss being understood by people when I speak to them. I miss that on my worst days you always knew and would bring me homemade macaroni and cheese. I miss the day you came over and put my bed together. I miss my old life. I miss Seattle and music and movies and going out to dinner and all of my friends and not being around so much history, so many ghosts. I miss feeling anonymous. You're the thing I miss the most out of all of it though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Living here is easier sometimes and harder others. Right now it's easy. Pretty soon it will be warm enough to spend all day floating on the lake, summer is this county's redeemer. I went through such a metamorphisis and I'm sad that not being close with you is part of that. We used to know where the other person was every minute of every day. I hope you're happy. I bet the past few months have been hard for you, they've been hard for me. The past year, actually. You were always so protective of my heart, and now I don't really have anyone doing that for me. And I guess that's good, I've learned to look out for myself better. Anyway, I just really miss you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2256794522972872484?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2256794522972872484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2256794522972872484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2256794522972872484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2256794522972872484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-feel-it-all-wings-are-wide.html' title='I feel it all the wings are wide'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3691299077434731339</id><published>2008-04-27T23:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T15:08:15.043-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On acting, puppies, and the symbiotic relationship between the sun and my psyche.</title><content type='html'>All of the rehearsals and costume issues and general busy-ness (how do you spell that word so it's different from business??)/needless drama in my life the past few weeks has been completely consuming, but this weekend, once I finally got down to just &lt;em&gt;acting,&lt;/em&gt; has felt so good. Stage acting is something very unique, it's this whole experience between actors and audience that creates this moment that can't be captured again. I mean it can't be watched over and over or extensively dissected and each performance feels a little bit different. It is probably, for me, the most cathartic form of art.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday was an especially nice day. I woke up and had a lazy morning, talked with mom and Char about opening night over coffee, then Char and I decided to go tanning. On our way there we see a boy selling border collie puppies for $30. Our family has been talking about getting a puppy for a few months now, specifically a border collie, and I had planned on rescuing one from a shelter, but once I looked at this little black and white boy I couldn't stand to think of him going to bad home. So Char and I made some pleading phone calls, Char ran to the ATM, and 15 minutes later we were back at home with Huckleberry Finn! I am so in love with him. As I type this he's curled up at my feet and every so often he wakes up and licks my toes. Look how adorable:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o136/awhh/love3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;He loves his baseball! Jonathan is going to be so proud. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I have felt so aware of myself lately, I think that for the first time in my life I am living as completely my own person. There is no toxic, ongoing and unhealthy relationship, no stressful and hated job, no huge obligations. I have a low key job and spend most of my time doing things I love. My mind has been so free to create. I want to get these scripts done so I can start sending out queries to agents. And the sun!! The sun being out is huge for my psyche! I hate to be too quick to say it, but I feel so in repair. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Current obsessions: &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Lateday Sun by Lower Lights Burning (myspace.com/lowerlightsburning). It is my favorite song, it's been on constant repeat lately.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Watercolors- I've been doing once piece a night before I go to sleep in a little notebook.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Galway Kinnell poetry-&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So what if we groan.&lt;br /&gt;That’s our noise. Laughter is our stuttering&lt;br /&gt;in a language we can’t speak yet. Behind,&lt;br /&gt;the world made of wishes goes dark. Ahead,&lt;br /&gt;if not now then never, shines what is.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am dreaming of the camping that will happen this summer, debating on a summer play, and certain of being more myself than I have been lately.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;K&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3691299077434731339?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3691299077434731339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3691299077434731339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3691299077434731339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3691299077434731339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/04/on-acting-puppies-and-symbiotic.html' title='On acting, puppies, and the symbiotic relationship between the sun and my psyche.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2147347649053914239</id><published>2008-04-18T23:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T23:38:38.685-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In case you wanted to know&lt;br /&gt;(I hate to speak it out loud)&lt;br /&gt;with you gone, I am languishing here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some mornings I get up too early and&lt;br /&gt;some mornings I get up too late but either way&lt;br /&gt;I’m still getting up without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I still make enough coffee for two,&lt;br /&gt;I guess my hands haven’t heard that&lt;br /&gt;only one person will be drinking it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the newspaper I’ll say out loud,&lt;br /&gt;“make sure you read this article about Bosnia”&lt;br /&gt;and when the only answer is silence- I remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can’t take a breath without feeling you,&lt;br /&gt;and I can’t open my eyes without looking for you,&lt;br /&gt;because you are solidly a part of everything I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I’m locked in myself with all these memories,&lt;br /&gt;like the time you kissed me in that doorway.&lt;br /&gt;This isn’t freedom, this is hell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2147347649053914239?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2147347649053914239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2147347649053914239' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2147347649053914239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2147347649053914239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/04/in-case-you-wanted-to-know-i-hate-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-9015374132943245320</id><published>2008-04-09T23:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-09T23:51:13.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I haven't said yet, but I'm acting in another play. It's The Pajama Game, and I am really, really enjoying it. It's a fun show and I love my character. I get to be sexy and flirty and drunk and get my heart broken, all fun things to act. I really would like to do a drama though, musicals are fun but they are not my forte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also I've started working on a new script. It is proably my favorite so far. I was describing the main character to Charity- one of her things is that the smallest things will completely freak her out and turn her off of something/someone and Char listened to me and said, "Hmm, that sounds like you." It was a funny moment, because of course there are peices of myself in every character I create, but I didn't realize that was one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My psyche has a direct correlation to the weather, and I notice that as the Sun stays in the sky longer and the air smells fresher my mood is lighter. And although it makes me feel a bit manic I feel better, like some things are changing. Par exemple, there are two different guys asserting their affection right now and I know that the Katie from a year ago would jump at that, but now I'm looking at them and I know that they are no where near good enough. I think that meeting that other guy, that really great guy, has a huge hand in this. I feel like every few years or so when my standards have slipped a little bit God sends someone completely amazing and worthwhile into my life to remind me not to settle, and that there are men who are good and talented. Artistic without being tortured. Smart without the pompousness. Charismatic without entitlement. Not that I need, or really want, to be with anyone. Anyway, I'm just saying that the tides have changed a little bit and I'm feeling better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cat is sleeping on my bed and I can hear her snoring, it's so cute. She's making little cat sleep noises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-9015374132943245320?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/9015374132943245320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=9015374132943245320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/9015374132943245320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/9015374132943245320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-havent-said-yet-but-im-acting-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-3320387178888213796</id><published>2008-04-01T23:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T00:19:50.399-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Everything has felt out-of-body lately. I feel like I'm watching my life, and it isn't necessarily bad, I just feel that I've changed. It's very noticeable in my thought process, and in my esteem and the way I act towards people. I've felt sad, and small, and not quite good enough lately, and I hate it, and it is so unlike me. I feel like I should apologize to all of the people in my life and say "I'm sorry I've been such a basket case, thanks for sticking it out, and I swear I'll be better soon." It is just very difficult to reconcile who I was, who I am now, and who I wanted to be. There is this weird and vicious cycle where some nights I swear I would die to hear someone tell me I'm worth something, but when it is said I can't hear it because it's from the wrong person, or I know I shouldn't need to hear it. You'll have to excuse me, because I've never felt this way before. I've never really gone through these feelings of self doubt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met this guy, and he is so great. He is a good person, he has all of these amazing qualities and I've tried but I can't find anything in him I don't like. I mean really, there is not a thing about him that bothers me. And I can tell that being with him would be like breathing fresh air, but whenever I think about him too much I start feeling like the most undeserving person, and I get very panicked and start thinking about everything that's wrong with me that he'll discover or that he's already noticed and I feel so self conscious. And even this much thinking into something is so heavy, and so unlike me. The last person who had my heart did a number on it. And it's stupid, I mean, I get it. My value should only be determined by me and God. I know that, and I've always felt that way. And I'm tired of this, I hate being a shell of the person I usually am. I hate that I let someone, especially a man, make me feel like I am not a worthwhile person and not as good as &lt;em&gt;she&lt;/em&gt; is. I can see myself feeling this way and it's annoying even to me. I am so, so thankful to the people in my life for weathering this storm with me. Especially Melisa, my best friend. And I swear I'll get through it soon. And I'll sing Here Comes the Sun and feel it in my soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amor amor amor,&lt;br /&gt;Katie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-3320387178888213796?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/3320387178888213796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=3320387178888213796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3320387178888213796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/3320387178888213796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/04/everything-has-felt-out-of-body-lately.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1911265187048144927</id><published>2008-03-15T23:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T00:03:37.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The truth is that I wanted to grow up to be someone else. I had better plans for myself than what these past few years have turned up. And now I feel like I can't even think to make any more plans, get my heart set on anything else, because I can't deal with another disappointment. Like I am so paralyzed by fear and a broken heart that I can't even take a step forward. Everything hurts now, every word has some connection to something I dreamed about that never materialized and it is too damn painful to let my thoughts go there. I've become so guarded with everything, I've strung all of these safety nets and put up all of these walls and I never thought I would be this girl. I thought I was stronger. And I keep looking for you in all of this. It's so strange, I know, but I have these hard days and it seems so unnatural for me not to be telling you all of this... my heart doesn't understand why you're not there for me and why you don't care that everything has been dark for me lately. And this isn't who I am. I'm orange and yellow and happy and I live and breathe in sunlight. And why don't you care? Because you should care. Someone should care that I am drowning and flailing and that I can't figure anything out. I feel like I can't be eloquent anymore. I wish I wasn't like this, that I didn't feel everything so deeply and live so manically. I just can't breathe lately and everything feels worse than it's ever been before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1911265187048144927?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1911265187048144927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1911265187048144927' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1911265187048144927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1911265187048144927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/03/truth-is-that-i-wanted-to-grow-up-to-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7629755846669089065</id><published>2008-03-06T23:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-06T23:03:37.933-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Each year, the Edge Foundation (&lt;a class="snap_shots" href="http://www.edge.org/"&gt;www.edge.org&lt;/a&gt;) poses one question to elite scientists and leading intellectuals from around the world. This year it asked "What do you believe is true even though you cannot prove it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;David Buss, psychologist, University of Texas, Austin; author of The Evolution of DesireTrue love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I've spent two decades of my professional life studying human mating. In that time, I've documented phenomena ranging from what men and women desire in a mate to the most diabolical forms of sexual treachery. I've discovered the astonishingly creative ways in which men and women deceive and manipulate each other. I've studied mate poachers, obsessed stalkers, sexual predators, and spouse murderers. But throughout this exploration of the dark dimensions of human mating,&lt;strong&gt; I've remained unwavering in my belief in true love.While love is common, true love is rare, and I believe that few people are fortunate enough to experience it.&lt;/strong&gt; The roads of regular love are well traveled and their markers are well understood by many—the mesmerizing attraction, the ideational obsession, the sexual afterglow, profound self-sacrifice, and the desire to combine DNA. &lt;strong&gt;But true love takes its own course through uncharted territory. It knows no fences, has no barriers or boundaries. It's difficult to define, eludes modern measurement, and seems scientifically wooly. But I know true love exists. I just can't prove it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7629755846669089065?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7629755846669089065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7629755846669089065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7629755846669089065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7629755846669089065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/03/each-year-edge-foundation-www.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-5077496958031522560</id><published>2008-03-02T00:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-02T01:10:07.350-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've felt so strange lately. I had this moment in my car the other day while I was driving home from work where I realized how badly I wanted something and tapped into this emotion I've been ignoring for years... it was quite staggering. I've felt very delicate I guess. I've spent the better part of the past three years feeling like my heart has been dragged through the dirt by the wanting of something and then not getting it, and I don't feel strong enough to go through that again so soon. It is completely overwhelming. And I don't want to feel this way. I just want to stand in the ocean without anyone around, especially people with all of their histories. I want to go somewhere I can be anonymous, somewhere without ghosts... I guess what I am saying is that tonight, all today and last week really, I've felt very sad and alone. Like the only people I can relate to are Ondaatje and Neruda. I'm sure this will pass soon, but it would just be nice to feel like I had some more stability in my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-5077496958031522560?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/5077496958031522560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=5077496958031522560' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5077496958031522560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5077496958031522560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/03/ive-felt-so-strange-lately.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7362796915199728946</id><published>2008-02-22T00:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T00:06:37.612-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=89L86yWdWkg"&gt;http://youtube.com/watch?v=89L86yWdWkg&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7362796915199728946?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7362796915199728946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7362796915199728946' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7362796915199728946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7362796915199728946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/02/httpyoutube.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2865258067298777431</id><published>2008-02-16T21:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T22:42:00.452-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blood never forgets but who protects the memories when we bleed each other from the vein</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;I wish that men could be better men. I wish that, as a gender, they would all just put a little more effort into being better people, into treating women with more kindness and respect. Be better friends, better dads, better boyfriends, husbands, lovers, uncles, brothers etc. Of all of my girlfriends I only know one who doesn't have issues because of her father. I don't think men realize how much they can screw up their daughters. Or how much it could make their daughter's day if they just listened to them and at least acted interested in what they had to say or even better, they initiate the conversation on their own. Just saying "Hi. How was your day?" every evening and then listening to their answer and the shrink business would be cut in half. Fathers leave, or they abuse, they yell, they don't protect, they don't provide, they provide but they don't listen, they love but they don't like. They are experts, licensed to tell other people how to work out their relationships but they never say a word about the girl in their own home whose heart breaks every time she tries to tell him something about herself and he brushes her off for the television, for work, for someone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish that men understood how difficult it is to be a female. How it feels to be constantly and publicly critiqued for the way we look and act. How it feels to walk down a street and have men yell obscene things, look you up and down, follow you, touch you. I wish that the men who don't do these things could understand that these kinds of things do happen every day to women. And I don't just mean every day to some woman somewhere, I mean to each and every woman, every day they walk outside. I wish men had more respect for the fact that our gender has more crime against us than any other minority in America and that leaves us feeling scared and defensive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a strong female. I have lived, traveled and worked by myself. I can, and do, stand up for myself and for others. But I can't be okay in certain areas of my life because of certain men's actions. Girls are petty, and we hurt each other and we hurt others, but none of my girlfriends have ever been hurt so much and so deeply by each other than they have by men in their lives. Some of the women closest to my heart are absolutely crippled by that pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know many good men, let me say that clearly, but they are few and far in-between. And you can just tell that they are good, that they are compassionate and kind and honest and protective. They've been family, friends... I've even dated some. And when things don't work out with them you get that sinking feeling in your chest and your head hurts and you can't breathe for a few seconds and sometimes you cry that very quiet, watery, painful cry because you know that one of the few truly good men in your life has left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could say this all a little more eloquently. And it is nothing new... I just wish that men would step it up a little bit and take some more responsibility, or even give a little more recognition to my gender and their effect on us. I wish I wish I wish.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;K&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2865258067298777431?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2865258067298777431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2865258067298777431' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2865258067298777431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2865258067298777431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/02/blood-never-forgets-but-who-protects.html' title='Blood never forgets but who protects the memories when we bleed each other from the vein'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6181277236514668006</id><published>2008-02-12T00:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T00:39:30.127-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Only to say...</title><content type='html'>Adventures are surely afoot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6181277236514668006?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6181277236514668006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6181277236514668006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6181277236514668006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6181277236514668006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/02/only-to-say.html' title='Only to say...'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7734436664989807948</id><published>2008-01-22T00:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T13:16:11.991-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Charity-- by Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WvwxrzVLI/AAAAAAAAAFA/dMunJSZS9sU/s1600-h/808489-R1-22-22A_023.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158222200728409266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WvwxrzVLI/AAAAAAAAAFA/dMunJSZS9sU/s400/808489-R1-22-22A_023.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WvHxrzVKI/AAAAAAAAAE4/e0EhD6FQeRg/s1600-h/808489-R1-33-33A_034.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158221496353772706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WvHxrzVKI/AAAAAAAAAE4/e0EhD6FQeRg/s400/808489-R1-33-33A_034.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5Wu0hrzVJI/AAAAAAAAAEw/8dMG09A3_pE/s1600-h/808489-R1-17-17A_018.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158221165641290898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5Wu0hrzVJI/AAAAAAAAAEw/8dMG09A3_pE/s400/808489-R1-17-17A_018.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WujhrzVII/AAAAAAAAAEo/pOilfatuW_8/s1600-h/808489-R1-08-8A_009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158220873583514754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WujhrzVII/AAAAAAAAAEo/pOilfatuW_8/s400/808489-R1-08-8A_009.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WuShrzVHI/AAAAAAAAAEg/kaa8maOR5aU/s1600-h/808490-R1-32-31A_033.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158220581525738610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WuShrzVHI/AAAAAAAAAEg/kaa8maOR5aU/s400/808490-R1-32-31A_033.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WtlxrzVGI/AAAAAAAAAEY/vGXfIl33VrA/s1600-h/808490-R1-05-4A_006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158219812726592610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WtlxrzVGI/AAAAAAAAAEY/vGXfIl33VrA/s400/808490-R1-05-4A_006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WtKxrzVFI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/nhhZUBUvDFk/s1600-h/808489-R1-27-27A_028.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158219348870124626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WtKxrzVFI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/nhhZUBUvDFk/s400/808489-R1-27-27A_028.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I really love taking photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;K&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7734436664989807948?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7734436664989807948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7734436664989807948' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7734436664989807948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7734436664989807948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/01/charity-some-photos-i-took.html' title='Charity-- by Me'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R5WvwxrzVLI/AAAAAAAAAFA/dMunJSZS9sU/s72-c/808489-R1-22-22A_023.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7455217749951702338</id><published>2008-01-16T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T11:18:38.041-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Should I do this to my hair? &lt;a href="http://www.umich.edu/~ece/student_projects/female_journalism/satc_carrie_s5_396x502_033020041903.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.umich.edu/~ece/student_projects/female_journalism/satc_carrie_s5_396x502_033020041903.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I need hair guidance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;K&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7455217749951702338?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7455217749951702338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7455217749951702338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7455217749951702338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7455217749951702338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/01/should-i-do-this-to-my-hair-i-need-hair.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-922485988857678424</id><published>2008-01-13T22:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T00:54:42.315-08:00</updated><title type='text'>life of the party and she swears that she's artsy</title><content type='html'>Today I made a perfect brioche! I realize that I am overly excited about a loaf of bread, but it's absolutely perfect. When I lived in Seattle there was this great little French bakery about 3 blocks from my apartment that Darrin and I used to go to all the time, they had the most amazing chocolate almond brioche. Today I attempted only the basic brioche, and I had my doubts along the way, but it came out so beautifully! The crust is hard and sweet and golden-brown and the inside is light and springy and only slightly sweet. I think that only Darrin will get as excited as I am, but that's why he's my soul mate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shot a couple rolls of Char today. I'm excited to get them back. They're really great photos, very pretty of her (not that she could be anything else) and very artistic. I'm trying to get some sort of portfolio together so maybe I can book a couple jobs. And anyway, I love photography.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been listening to a lot of John Mayer's not so popular stuff lately. I think that anyone who wrote him off after hearing "Your Body is a Wonderland" should listen to Comfortable, Lenny/Man on the Side and all JMtrio songs. I've also been listening to Brandon Heath a lot. Despite the complete sham that Young Life is, Brandon Heath was one good thing to come out of it all. Early Stuff is a really great album.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched Waitress this weekend, it is one of the best movies I've seen in forever. It is completely quirky and funny and sad and hopeful and witty in all of the right places and ways. It is so tragic that Adrienne Shelly died, and especially in such a horrendous way. The movie is lovely though. I wish I was making movies right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amor,&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-922485988857678424?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/922485988857678424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=922485988857678424' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/922485988857678424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/922485988857678424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/01/life-of-party-and-she-swears-that-shes.html' title='life of the party and she swears that she&apos;s artsy'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6789603614730680721</id><published>2008-01-10T00:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T00:48:12.945-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Every so often a girls is allowed to be pathetic</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;I spend the day in this home and it seems perfect. Husband and wife who are smart, attractive, love each other, buy all organic food, have a beautiful house and two even more beautiful children. I carry a baby girl around in my arms all day and when I come home I smell like the good smells of a baby. Driving home I listen to The Last 5 Years soundtrack "If I didn't believe in you I wouldn't be standing here now", then curled up on the couch with a bowl of cereal watching Sex &amp;amp; the City and Carrie is in love and Miranda has a baby... it gets to me! Not that I want any of it now, or soon even, but I do want it eventually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have this picture in my mind of how it would all be. He would be very, very smart and extremely literate. We would quote poetry together and read the same books. When I get confused and overwhelmed (which is often) he would stay calm and clear-headed and fix the situation. He would have to have some sort of artistic endeavor, career or hobby, so that we could understand each other. Most importantly he would have to vow to be best father he can be, and together we would adopt children who need parents and raise them to be wonderful human beings who are kind and compassionate and strong. And I would write and make movies and he would do whatever it is he's passionate about and we would live this happy, chaotic yet gentle life together. And of course it wouldn't be without sadness and pain and tribulation but in the end I am convinced that my life, for the most part, will be happy and fulfilling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can dream about these things as I sit here in my bedroom with the snow falling outside my window and my life unfolding in a way that I didn't expect... reclaiming my heart from broken dreams and the person who is the love of my thus far life (who I know will not be THE love of my life). I can dream about these things just like I dream about my writing, and my traveling, and the move to California that will take place a year from summer, and the herb garden I will plant this spring, and the photos I will shoot this weekend. Things I want so badly, and things that can happen, but I am no longer naive about dreams. I don't buy into that mentality that my work ethic can make these things happen. Obviously it helps, but I also need a little bit (or a lot) of Divine Intervention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear that these feelings are out and will be tucked away for a good while now. I'm content, for now, with my youth and my freedom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon Soir!&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;PS: I am aware that I switched tenses about twice a sentance... that is just how my mind works.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6789603614730680721?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6789603614730680721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6789603614730680721' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6789603614730680721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6789603614730680721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/01/every-so-often-girls-is-allowed-to-be.html' title='Every so often a girls is allowed to be pathetic'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1825596593468657553</id><published>2008-01-09T00:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T00:51:00.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Something is happening to my voice! I have an audition in 2 weeks so I've been working on this song and I just can't sing it. Like, halfway through my voice just goes out. I'm afraid I damaged my vocal chords during I'll be Home for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've felt completely irritated and restless lately. Especially, and I know how shallow this sounds, in regards to my hair. I'm very vain about my hair. I was so proud of my long, blonde, wavy hair and then this fall for some insane reason I decided to cut it and dye it brown and I am so embarrassed to admit the effect it's had it on me. I'm stuck now between cutting it all off and going very blonde or letting it grow out and going dark, dark brown. My indecisiveness is the only reason I still look like I do. I'm aware of how awful this sounds, but I don't care... having great hair was always something I could count on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To balance out how terrible that paragraph made me sound I feel like I need to talk about my intellectual pursuits. For Christmas I was given What is the What by Dave Eggers and Atonement by Ian McEwan. I'm part way through Atonement and while it is a wonderful book I can't agree with the back-cover claim that "no one now writing fiction in the English language surpasses Ian McEwan". Michael Ondaatje, Dave Eggers, Jonathan Safran Foer. Those men are brilliant in a way that makes me feel like it would be useless to write another world- nothing I write could come close to what they do. However, being as writing is really the only thing I can do I will try anyway. I don't set Resolutions, but I do have a goal of landing a literary agent within the year, which made me set another goal of finishing the current script I'm working on by Easter (I tend to divide my life by Holidays- it makes more sense to my mind).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up this morning to snow and on account of the schools being closed and my lack of faith that my little bmw could safely get to me to Bainbridge I took the day off. I spent the entire day in my worn out "I Don't Do Mornings" shirt and sooo comfy AE sweats. I'm almost done with Atonement and, although above opinions still stand, I like it more and more. I also got through the pile of December/January magazines I haven't had a chance to read yet and finally cleaned my room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm going to put on Hendrix and read Atonement in my warm bed (electric blankets are the best invention) until I fall asleep. Beunos Noches!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1825596593468657553?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1825596593468657553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1825596593468657553' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1825596593468657553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1825596593468657553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/01/something-is-happening-to-my-voice-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-4644692757250958751</id><published>2008-01-03T01:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T00:25:34.465-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I heard she was asking questions&lt;br /&gt;About the picture of us together at the home game&lt;br /&gt;It ran in your local paper and you were smiling like she had never seen&lt;br /&gt;You said “What do you mean?&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking of you the whole time, I swear&lt;br /&gt;You were the only girl on my mind”&lt;br /&gt;So you had to tell her all the bad things about me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You told her I was younger&lt;br /&gt;You told her I was rash&lt;br /&gt;You told her I didn’t know what I wanted, ever.&lt;br /&gt;Like that was something bad.&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I heard what you said.&lt;br /&gt;You forgot to mention the fact that I&lt;br /&gt;Never wished for you to be in my life&lt;br /&gt;And yes, that is a fact.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-4644692757250958751?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/4644692757250958751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=4644692757250958751' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4644692757250958751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4644692757250958751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-heard-she-was-asking-questions-about.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-1789357983217306788</id><published>2007-12-18T23:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T00:16:36.049-08:00</updated><title type='text'>to whom it may concern</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;How long are you allowed to keep on loving someone, years after you last really spoke? It is a tough way that I feel. I don't care anything about rumors (and oh I hear them. I hear them all the time) because nothing is true or everything is true. Someone told someone told someone who told me. I hate it. Or, try grieving by yourself, not really having anyone to talk about it all with, for two years. I can't believe it's been two years. Having this weird feeling you sort of had to add some validation to your grief. I could always tell him that I loved him, and he always answered when I called. I know that if he was still here... Anyway. It's not that I miss people in my life, I have no lack of people who I love more and who love me more, it's just the people who you love when you're 16,17,18... before all of that crap happens that jades and hardens you, that teenage love for your friends is intense and consuming and the memory of it hangs on for years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, there are people who I pray for all of the time and I know that it wouldn't mean anything to them... but I do anyway. "God please don't let this person die today. Please protect him today." I hate drugs. And I hate that sense of the poor troubled depressed misunderstood artist. Every 20-something living in Kitsap feels troubled and depressed and misunderstood and it is not special or unique and it doesn't give you an excuse to turn to drugs.  I would never tell someone how to live their life as it pertained to music or clothes or career or sexuality but chemical drugs are a vile, vile thing, which is a point I could never concede on. And maybe there is a consensus that because I've grown up in a stable household with good men and women all around me I don't know what it's like to be in the depths... I know what it is like to not understand how you are going to live through the next day. I've fallen asleep and not wanted to wake up. I’ve felt like my heart hurt so much and everything was so blurry there was no possible way I would ever be okay. My deficit is on the inside, but it is there none the less. I don't even know why I'm writing this here. I feel like I am not allowed to call someone and say that I love them and I hate to contribute to the sensationalism... I just want to leave some fingerprints somewhere that I love and respect certain people and I don't know how to act in this situation, but my heart feels very involved. Once I start loving people it is very hard for me to stop just because we all have new friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, I care nothing for rumors and I don't want to add to the sensationalism that these things turn into, I don't even know details, nor do I care to know them, I just want to put it out there that I care and that I've been caring for some time now, that I've been praying for you these past few years every time I talk to God. You and you and you. And every time I hear something it hurts my heart a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I meant for this blogspot to be light hearted, but chemical drugs are an evil and prevailing presence in my life right now and I felt this was a place I could address it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-1789357983217306788?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/1789357983217306788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=1789357983217306788' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1789357983217306788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/1789357983217306788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/12/to-whom-it-may-concern.html' title='to whom it may concern'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-6496393426642026520</id><published>2007-12-15T17:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-15T17:47:56.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who says we don't have any friends?</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://a47.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/28/l_899924fe765f1477b6e8e86e93805136.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://a120.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/8/l_210a84afc68a7f79e6426c92e6683ae7.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://a892.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/81/l_a53eebd24e264c9e0ae3da5f0698660b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://a892.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/81/l_a53eebd24e264c9e0ae3da5f0698660b.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got the message that no-one else was dressing up in time to stop another Romy&amp;amp;Michelle type of situation (story of our lives!), drove around Tacoma for an hour trying to find the place, found it, took pictures with Marilyn and Elvis, got completely bummed out on the lame party, went dancing &amp;amp; hung out at Rob's house. In a few hours we're going to another party. I love my best friend for so many reasons; her sense of humor, her unyielding loyalty, her huge heart and her love of MTV reality shows. All so important. Melis and I can have a conversation and go from completely shallow to intensely deep and back again. And we laugh &lt;em&gt;all the time.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Watch This: &lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=P7BvLVLVY8g"&gt;http://youtube.com/watch?v=P7BvLVLVY8g&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a small part in his next video and I trust it is going to be hysterical.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amor amor amor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;K&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-6496393426642026520?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/6496393426642026520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=6496393426642026520' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6496393426642026520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/6496393426642026520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/12/who-says-we-dont-have-any-friends.html' title='Who says we don&apos;t have any friends?'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7482464938030230329</id><published>2007-12-12T00:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T01:13:35.421-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On Costume, Christmas and Ex-Boyfriends.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are so many reasons why I love this time of year, and one of the more superfluous is all of the great parties. Last weekend Melis, Anthony &amp;amp; I went to the first of the season, Friday I'm going to Melisa's company Christmas party with her. The theme is "Era's"- you can choose any era and theme it up. Melisa is going 80's: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://images.buycostumes.com/mgen/merchandiser/19224.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://images.buycostumes.com/mgen/merchandiser/19224.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I can't decide between British Mod 60's:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.iagsdc.org/hotlanta/photos2/sixties34.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and American "Summer of Love" 60's hippie:&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.lesblank.com/images/flower.GRU.GIF" border="0" /&gt;Char thought I should go 1500's...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.sirbacon.org/graphics/lizatgrays.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Hahaha! I know no one funnier than my sister.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Saturday we might go to Bri's Christmas Sweater party. I don't really have any Christmas sweaters, but I was thinking a big bow taped to one of my normal sweaters would suffice. Next weekend at my home my family is having a "Good Old Fashioned Piano Christmas Carolling" party. Then, THEN, is New Years. I'm not sure what we're doing except I know that whatever it is will involve a dress with sequins on it and a lot of dancing and toasting to the New Year.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Not so superfluously, Christmas is the most wonderful day of the year. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;And in despair I bowed my head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;“There is no peace on earth,” I said,&lt;br /&gt;“For hate is strong and mocks the song&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men.”&lt;br /&gt;Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:&lt;br /&gt;“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;&lt;br /&gt;The wrong shall fail, the right prevail&lt;br /&gt;With peace on earth, good will to men.”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I think about that all the time lately. While I enjoy so much the parties and the shopping for people you love and all of that, I have never had trouble remembering the whole point of all of it. The love and the beauty and the tenderness of Jesus that, without any doubt, sustains and saves me daily. Christmas Cards came out beautifully! I did 5 original watercolor and inks that will go to very special people and the rest will get limited copies, I'm only making 3 of each. Hopefully I'll get some scans up soon.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;There is this interesting phenomenon that happens across the board with all girls I know: Ex-Boyfriend Week! Like, one contacts you and then you hear something about another one and then you run into yet another and it all happens in the space of a week. I hate it. You finally start feeling like your heart is your own again and then you realize that maybe someone still has a little piece of it (at least with one, the others are just kind of awkward and annoying). I don't understand how all of that time of making yourself okay and "getting over" disappear so quickly. Anyway, this has all gone on too long. I only meant to talk about costumes. I think I'm leaning towards the Mod look, I'd get to wear my favorite boots!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;amor,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7482464938030230329?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7482464938030230329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7482464938030230329' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7482464938030230329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7482464938030230329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/12/on-costume-christmas-and-ex-boyfriends.html' title='On Costume, Christmas and Ex-Boyfriends.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-7266246847489315967</id><published>2007-12-11T12:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T13:16:15.483-08:00</updated><title type='text'>All you need is</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;Breathing. The past month has been good for my soul. I have a job that I love and comes quite naturally to me. I've been on stage a lot. I've spent time with my family and best friends. I've danced a lot. As a result I've been incredibly inspired and creativity has been pouring out of me. I wrote a poem for my Mom that I'm going to incorporate into her Christmas present in some artistic way. Today I'm baking biscotti and painting some Christmas cards and I need to come up with some kind of era comstume for a Christmas party on Saturday. Since the past week has been rehearsals and performances I haven't had that time that has become so important to me to read a little Sherlock and cook up something nice for my family and then b r e a t h e. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Pictures now, because I am not feeling particuarly smart or funny today. I have never been good with endings, and Sunday was the last performance. So we'll start with some photos from the play this weekend:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R17_CYvS55I/AAAAAAAAACg/ojEdTb-R2FI/s1600-h/PC090428.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142828240969328530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R17_CYvS55I/AAAAAAAAACg/ojEdTb-R2FI/s200/PC090428.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R17-P4vS54I/AAAAAAAAACY/npJGqAL-k04/s1600-h/PC090427.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142827373385934722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R17-P4vS54I/AAAAAAAAACY/npJGqAL-k04/s200/PC090427.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Jonathan &amp;amp; I, we took these for his Mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142828777840240546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R17_hovS56I/AAAAAAAAACo/0mEEWNB2r-o/s200/PC090438.JPG" border="0" /&gt; Backstage Artistry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142830147934808002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R18AxYvS58I/AAAAAAAAAC4/DbVv40W6Tv4/s200/PA300370.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Baby&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142830693395654610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R18BRIvS59I/AAAAAAAAADA/jHXgPX9FP38/s200/PC090415.JPG" border="0" /&gt; I love this, my two favorite people in the Universe.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/jackandi.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Jack &amp;amp; I a few months ago. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/S5036498.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;My absolute favorite picture of 2007, me and my two best friends.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/9459635-R2-008-2A.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/9459635-R2-008-2A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/9459635-R1-016-6A.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/9459635-R1-016-6A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/9459635-R1-018-7A.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v59/suchaprettyvoice/9459635-R1-018-7A.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; At the Ocean. &lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Love, love, love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;K&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-7266246847489315967?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/7266246847489315967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=7266246847489315967' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7266246847489315967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/7266246847489315967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/12/all-you-need-is.html' title='All you need is'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/R17_CYvS55I/AAAAAAAAACg/ojEdTb-R2FI/s72-c/PC090428.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-5552669956656874118</id><published>2007-11-27T12:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T13:56:41.748-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have a new love of my life: Pomegranate Martinis, sometimes called "The Oprah" (she steals my books for her reader's club, it only makes sense that she steals my drink). Now, usually I'm a beer girl on account of being able to drink pretty much all you want and never end up puking outside the bar, but beer really packs in the calories so all of that dancing in 3 inch healings gets canceled out. Anyway, a few months ago Melisa and I went to the One10 Lounge downtown and I ordered the Pom for the first time. So good! Seriously, the best thing I've ever put between my lips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recipe:&lt;br /&gt;2 oz Pomegranate Vodka (I like 3 Olives)&lt;br /&gt;2 oz Pomegranate Juice- make sure you use 100% pure pom juice&lt;br /&gt;1 oz Lime Juice&lt;br /&gt;splash of Grenadine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shake with ice and pour it in a chilled martini glass, your life will change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rehearsals are going well, only 9 days until opening night. Last night we had a hair and makeup meeting and technical rehearsal. I had a very expensive face full of makeup and had to sit and listen to a Mary Kay makeup artist "teach me" about makeup. Since my return to the suburbs I've had to endure many conversations like this. I've heard all about Mary Kay, Olive Garden, Ross and even WalMart. Such is the life outside of the city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-5552669956656874118?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/5552669956656874118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=5552669956656874118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5552669956656874118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/5552669956656874118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-have-new-love-of-my-life-pomegranate.html' title=''/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-2111341187300139011</id><published>2007-11-08T12:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T12:01:21.823-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On the WGA strike</title><content type='html'>Who was it who said that the artist's eyes are like a camera? Mine are. Ever since I was little I've seen everything as a movie. I would use looking my vision and imagine other people were seeing what I was, and I would control what they saw- making movies with my eyes. Around 4th grade I wrote my first story, it was about a horse that had a baby and died while giving birth, then that horse grew up and had a baby but died while in birth, and then that horse grew up only to suffer the fate of her mother and grandmother. It went on for a few generations, but they all had wonderful names (I've always been funny about names. It takes me months to name my characters). So throughout high school I wrote a lot (mostly angsty free verse and Salinger style short stories- but I was always writing) and took photo and painted pictures then all of a sudden the year I was 18 I had an epiphany about putting those things together. I could write movies! I could tell stories and show them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family was never a huge movie watching family. I discovered Casablanca on my own. And of course I'd seen Moulin Rouge, but then I learned about Baz Luhrmann and Strictly Ballroom and how to appreciate his version of Romeo &amp;amp; Juliet. Then I met Darrin and he taught me about Wes Anderson and Pedro Almodovar and Ang Lee and more and then, in my obsessiveness (and IMDB.com and NetFlix as my enablers) I started finding one actor or director or writer and watching everything they've done. I did the whole Anderson &amp;amp;CO, meaning Jason Schwartzman, Luke &amp;amp; Owen Wilson, Bill Murray, Sofia Coppola etc etc, then Kate Winslet, then Gael Garcia Bernal, M. Night Shyamalan, Joaquin Phoenix, Joe Wright (I loved P&amp;amp;P and am greatly anticipating Atonement) the list goes on and on. I learned about Zach Helm and how inspiring he is. I'm still learning all of the little connections and there are so many classics I've never seen, but learning to appreciate the rare movie that is beautifully written, acted, produced and a million other things changed my heart. So I started to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have all of these stories I want to write and show people. I have a script almost done right now about a group of friends dealing their friend's suicide, how they all uniquely handle their grief and how it changes them. I have an idea about a girl who with a huge imagination and a huge heart who goes through a dark time. Last Sunday I wrote out a couple ideas about a man who learns he only has three months to live. I started writing comedy sketches as well, little parodies or situations. Things that captured my heart. I want to finish and polish a few of these and then I fully intend on trying to "break into the business". I know how hard it is, I know what my chances are but I just can't see doing anything else with my life. That is what passion is, you don't pursue such an unstable profession for the money or fame, you do it because nothing makes you feel so good, nothing else would work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the Writer's Guild of America is on Strike. I am so in awe of these people who quit their jobs and fight for their rights, for my future rights. It is the most patriotic I've felt in years to see people who are risking their careers stand up to major corporations and protect their art. Writing is so emotionally draining and intimate and these people who are, quite literally, putting themselves on the line... it inspires me as an American and as a writer. Quite obviously, I am pro-strike and pro-union and all of the reasons that I am can be found much more intelligently and eloquently explained elsewhere (try UnitedHollywood.blogspot.com). Mostly I am uplifted and inspired by and hurting for all of the writers on strike. I'll miss House and the Office and all of the nightlies and I hope that strike is resolved soon in a very pro-WGA way, but for the moment, for the week, I am so proud and enamored with the Industry that all I've been doing is writing, writing, writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-2111341187300139011?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/2111341187300139011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=2111341187300139011' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2111341187300139011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/2111341187300139011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/11/on-wga-strike.html' title='On the WGA strike'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578529817455546916.post-4492608618903372695</id><published>2007-11-07T10:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T11:16:28.661-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I love Jimi Hendrix</title><content type='html'>Since moving from the city to the suburbs I've held tightly to my aversion to wearing any kind of sweat style clothing in public. I do not wear tennis shoes! I do not wear sweat shirts! I do not own any type of cargo pant! I can hardly wear jeans and a t-shirt. I just can not be comfortable in comfortable clothes in public. And then yesterday happened. I spent the entire day writing in my favorite black sweats. I'm not talking bunched at the ankle (think more Paris Hilton style), but sweats none the less, complete with paint stains. Soon 5:00 rolls around and, you know, I'm feeling pretty comfortable, I decided to "not care what people think of my appearance" and I go to play rehearsal in these pants and a hoodie with my hair up and no makeup. I'm feeling very "okay, I can do this. I can live in this town and go to rehearsal au natural". Of course, this was all shattered when I arrived and found out the photographer for the Port Orchard Independent was there for an image to accompany our press release. Being that I have an ironic and very Larry David like life, it of course makes complete sense and luckily only 7 people read the Port Orchard Independent, but call it a lesson learned. I will never again try to fit in with suburbanites and lazy people everywhere by wearing home clothes outside of the home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of calling it a lesson learned,  the John Mayer/Alicia Keys collaboration is phenomenal. Her whole album is heaven, listen to it. And as always John is brilliant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have some really great thoughts on the WGA strike boiling, they're coming soon I swear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4578529817455546916-4492608618903372695?l=upfromtheskies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/feeds/4492608618903372695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4578529817455546916&amp;postID=4492608618903372695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4492608618903372695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4578529817455546916/posts/default/4492608618903372695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://upfromtheskies.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-love-jimi-hendrix.html' title='I love Jimi Hendrix'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09839576972131349518</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0dfDjF5LLnE/SSNN5VQmGII/AAAAAAAAAIY/O7UNT8XyCgo/S220/blog.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
