February :: Juan Ramon Jimenez quote
"If they give you ruled paper, write the other way". -Juan Ramon Jimenez
She bops along to the beat of her own tamborine - because percussion isn't her style, and she feels drums are overrated. She's more than quirky, but not quite to the level of certifiably insane. She's not far from it though. Not lately.
She's always been a little... off. Even before the vampires and other things that go bump in the night. Her socks never matched - hell, it was always a wonder when she managed to put outfits together that didn't look like some kind of got-dressed-in-the-dark and my-closet-threw-up-on-me monstrosity. She'd bounce around in her weird hippie-meets-punk-divorces-boho-ends-up-drunk style with her messenger bag that'd seen a few too many years filled with journals, each of a different theme and mood and feeling.
Sometimes she changed with the scenery. She was a different Kat in each city. The fun Kat. The spunky Kat. The athletic Kat. The artistic Kat. But, sometimes they all would roll into one weird piece of a girl. But, she left pieces of herself everywhere they lived - she drew on her walls, even made friends sign it, and though it would be covered in paint, it would still be there, forever. Or, she'd scrape and stratch until she removed a tile from the bathroom floor, only to hide notes beneath it for the next owners just to say hello if they should ever discover it.
She's strange. She knows. She works two jobs which fill most of her time. In the record store, she listens to cheesy pop albums and sings along loud and offkey, occasionally declaring throughout the day that she'll be the next American Idol. And at the coffee shop, she names drinks after herself and makes little designs in the frothed milk with caramel and chocolate syrup - she feels bad for people who don't like their drinks super sweet, but she has to make each drink and artistic experience otherwise they'll continue about on their dull, uneventful days. And when she's finally at home, she spends a great deal of time reading books aloud to her houseplant, Steve, because she heard on the radio that plants are healthier if spoken to. She chats with Steve sometimes, but mostly she reads to him.
She has a journal in her stack with ruled paper. She's never been a fan of lined paper. She writes in the direction opposite of the lines, because she can. That's how she lives, always walking down the road instead of on the safety of the sidewalk. She does her own thing, and she doesn't care. Because she's special. And because she wants to have an interesting story when she has her own Behind the Music special on VH1.
She bops along to the beat of her own tamborine - because percussion isn't her style, and she feels drums are overrated. She's more than quirky, but not quite to the level of certifiably insane. She's not far from it though. Not lately.
She's always been a little... off. Even before the vampires and other things that go bump in the night. Her socks never matched - hell, it was always a wonder when she managed to put outfits together that didn't look like some kind of got-dressed-in-the-dark and my-closet-threw-up-on-me monstrosity. She'd bounce around in her weird hippie-meets-punk-divorces-boho-ends-up-drunk style with her messenger bag that'd seen a few too many years filled with journals, each of a different theme and mood and feeling.
Sometimes she changed with the scenery. She was a different Kat in each city. The fun Kat. The spunky Kat. The athletic Kat. The artistic Kat. But, sometimes they all would roll into one weird piece of a girl. But, she left pieces of herself everywhere they lived - she drew on her walls, even made friends sign it, and though it would be covered in paint, it would still be there, forever. Or, she'd scrape and stratch until she removed a tile from the bathroom floor, only to hide notes beneath it for the next owners just to say hello if they should ever discover it.
She's strange. She knows. She works two jobs which fill most of her time. In the record store, she listens to cheesy pop albums and sings along loud and offkey, occasionally declaring throughout the day that she'll be the next American Idol. And at the coffee shop, she names drinks after herself and makes little designs in the frothed milk with caramel and chocolate syrup - she feels bad for people who don't like their drinks super sweet, but she has to make each drink and artistic experience otherwise they'll continue about on their dull, uneventful days. And when she's finally at home, she spends a great deal of time reading books aloud to her houseplant, Steve, because she heard on the radio that plants are healthier if spoken to. She chats with Steve sometimes, but mostly she reads to him.
She has a journal in her stack with ruled paper. She's never been a fan of lined paper. She writes in the direction opposite of the lines, because she can. That's how she lives, always walking down the road instead of on the safety of the sidewalk. She does her own thing, and she doesn't care. Because she's special. And because she wants to have an interesting story when she has her own Behind the Music special on VH1.