I told you I was going to do it. You thought I was kidding. I’m dedicating this blog post to one of my most faithful and loyal companions: my backpack. That’s right. My good ol’ L.L. Bean backpack has had my back (ha!) since I was just a wee lass. I don’t think I have one other singular item in my life that has taken so much abuse and still spent so much time with me. Since middle school it has seen the cold dark insides of numerous lockers; been stuffed to breaking point with more weight than a small child; weathered the cold, the rain, and the blazing heat; been stepped on, thrown around, and cast aside; had a multitude of liquids and foods spilled in it, on it, and near it; and after all that, has sat idly and forgotten when it hasn’t been needed. It has carried everything from books, clothes, and food, to giant posters, hundreds of tongue depressors, and loads of other things I probably shouldn’t broadcast on the internet. Looks like the Kat’s out of the bookbag! Yes, I was dying to use that pun. It’s been to middle school, high school, and college. It’s been to sleepovers, day trips, and vacations. And now, it’s here with me in Ireland, serving me loyally, and enjoying all of the sights. I think it deserves it. I bring it on all my trips even when I don’t think I need it. I’ve found that often times I’ll leave the house with it empty and come back with it filled to the brim. You never know when you’re going to need a place to hold your delicious sun-dried tomato and cheese bread, or your huge handmade tapestry, or all your friends’ lunches. Quite simply, my backpack is the best. I love it. And I’m pretty darn sure it loves me too.
Since I’ve decided to air that train of thought to the world wide web, I’ve decided I’ll vent a few others as well. If you have any respect for me that you might want to hold on to, I might stop reading now. Nah, just kidding, it won’t be that bad. Ready?
So the other day I was on the treadmill which faces a big window that overlooks the pool. I could see a kind of partial, ghost-like, headless, reflection of myself in the window, which provided me with an entire work out’s worth of imaginative entertainment. I thought about how, since I was an almost headless ghost, I could probably move into Hogwarts. I could be Kind-of-Headless Kat and get married to Nearly Headless Nick, and we could live in the most magical place on earth for all eternity. Nick and I could have our wedding “scarimony” on the front grounds and the reception in the Great Hall. It would be great!
Welcome to my brain, everyone!
Here’s another train of thought: Time, and the way we think about it, is completely bizarre. I realized this the other day when I had “time to kill” on my walk class (I usually get a of of great thinking done on this walk). Why do we “kill” time? If we’re killing it, does that mean it’s alive? If it’s alive, then killing it is criminal. Obviously, we can’t actually kill time, because it’s infinite and never ending. But isn’t it funny how there’s infinite time in the world and yet we all complain how there’s not enough time for anything? We’re too busy killing time to have time to do anything else! So where has this left us? Well I, for one, will never again kill time. I will live time. I’ve got time to live.
Ready for one more?
I, as some of you may or may not know, am involved. I’m involved in the advocacy and awareness of Women’s and LGBT issues. I LOVE being involved with these causes (shout out to my Women Willers and SHEPARDians)! They get me going in the morning and keep me going until the wee hours of the night. However, I’ve been struggling to find this kind of involvement here in Ireland. It’s not because I haven’t been looking! That’s one of the first things I did after stepping foot in the homeland. The way the clubs are run over here are very different from those at PC and I haven’t been able to find a place to play an active role yet. I’ve taken to reading Gloria Steinem’s essays at night as a way to curb my surging feminist activism.
My roommate and I were chatting about her preparation for an upcoming marathon she might run in. She was reading about a strategy where you start out running, then force yourself to walk for a few miles, even if you want to run. The idea is that the walking will recharge you so that when you start running again you can finish strong. So, I am forcing myself to walk right now. I am walking, even though I don’t want too, so that when I get home I’ll be ready to hit the ground running in all my activities. Those women’s and LGBT issues better look out, because I’m going to be barreling towards them come next semester!
So there you have it. A look into my mind. After reading this post, if you no longer want to read my blog or be my friend, it’s fine. I’ve got Nearly Headless Nick to keep me company for the rest of my time, which I will be living, not killing.
Cheers, friends!
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