To be Ed Sheeran…

I have now become obsessed with Ed Sheeran. I don’t think it is in an unhealthy way: like, if I met him, I wouldn’t tackle him and try to marry him. I’d just want to be his friend. And see his sword. His two swords. I recently learned that not only did he write that song at the end of the hobbit but pj (Peter Jackson… my sister and me had an UNhealthy obsession with Lord of the Rings, so pj it is) GAVE ED A FUCKING SWORD. That right there is true love. And then. He was appearing at a radio station and they knew about Ed’s sword and that he likes Game of Thrones. AND THEY FUCKING GAVE HIM JON SNOW’S SWORD.

So, I’ve now had the realization for the first time in my life that maybe there are positive things to being a famous person. And now I must become famous so people gift me awesome weapons. Preferably, some katanas. The ones I bought for myself a few years back are broken…

Oh and here’s some citation stuff:

A little something

A poem, a journal, and an unfinished story. Help me finish it, won’t you?

I was thinking about poetry slams
I was thinking about politics and saints
Left to right and front seats
Wishing the window was open
Suffocating with cats and birds

Normally you hear about people reading or seeing or whatevering and being inspired. Well, a lot of times I see or read or whatever and am uninspired. You know, I’ll be browsing the blogosphere one moment and find all this beautiful, full of life, truth, love, whatever stuff, and then I’ll find some article written full of pride, anger, hate, or just stupidity, and I think, “If that can be posted online… then everything I write is probably worse.”

And then other times I’m like, “I’m freakin’ awesome ’cause I write way better than that.” and all my grammar and english skills and everything just end. cause I set lower standards for myself.

So, I decided, that I think I’m going to reread Lord of the Rings. Because that is some good writing there. No idea where I’m going with any of this. I just felt like writing a simple little post after sifting through random stuff on the internet.

So, back to the here and now. I’m gonna force myself to write something somewhat creative, so I can feel a lot better about myself for having at least written something. Ultimate question of the last few months: How long does writer’s block last before you are no longer a writer? I’m not responding to that with some, “Being a writer is simply part of who I am (whether or not I’ve been practicing at all recently)” bullshit. I don’t typically give myself leeway on things like this. Thankfully, I got really drunk the other night and actually wrote something in the midst of emotions involving family affairs and missing my boyfriend that was decent. And decent is stretching it. The first few lines of that freewrite started this post. So now. Imma shuddup and see what can be typed. Because, even though every first draft is worse than manure cat pee skunk sweating dumpster smell, what makes me a writer is fucking writing.

In the rain she could feel at home, and could is the key word. It didn’t always hold her with warm summer arms and remind her that the feeling of tears–even if they are only the sky’s–can be peaceful. When either she or the rain couldn’t capture that perfect caress (maybe the wind interfered: ice shards piercing instead), the rain became a perfect hell. It was the disappointment that meddled. If the rain would have been more kind today, maybe heaven would be there instead, but the anticipation of that comforting caress had been ruined.

However the rain was ruined, it didn’t matter. She looked to her feet, which shuffled in a puddle on her gravel driveway. Life was always to be lived. With a breath of water and air, she opened her car door and let the dry enclosure purge her of the disappointing rain that clattered on her rusting car.

And that’s all I’ve got for right now. Tell me, where should she be heading? What is the life that she must live? I’d like some help with this story. Thank you!

-Katherine Z

No Title

It’s like I came back to life when I saw that site
“Beep Beep Boop”
You know it.
The one that tells you to cleanse your mind
Start anew
Start fresh
Let go.
What an overused phrase these days. But how I adore it. “Adoration” holds a special place in my heart. It is almost an obsession. In most respects, it is unhealthy: as all emotions can by categorized as. Adoration intertwines love and respect… but, because pride somehow comes with my personality as much as depression, respect is painful for me. Saying I respect or adore something is a rather large statement.
Now that I got that out of the way, back to let it go.
I adore this statement because it encompasses everything that I am being challenged to do right now. I like to be in control. Whenever I feel like I am losing it, I either grip tighter or run away. Really bad reaction. I cover it up with sarcasm quite well, but as the date for leaving the country gets closer I start to want to plan. I want to know where I will go. How I will be secure. How each event will play out. But I can’t ever know these things… and God is trying to get that through my head. Letting go… I don’t want to. But if I want to truly live to my fullest-aka, fully follow in Christ Jesus’ footsteps-I have to be willing to let Him control my steps… not me. It is something I know He is going to get me to learn how to do in my travels.
The first step to this was the simple fact that He closed the doors to Semester at Sea for me. This… is possibly the best thing that could have happened. Instead of being constricted to a schedule, classes, and a cruise ship, I am now backpacking Iceland and setting a base up in London, from where I will travel Europe. I then plan on somehow making my way to China or something. I actually have no fucking idea what the hell I’m doing after my plane lands in London, but… that is part of the “letting go.”

You know what I just thought of? “Closing doors” is a really stupid phrase. I was trying to make a door out of a cement or maybe metal wall. I don’t think a window or some other door was opened… Instead, I just realized that I was kind of an idiot and was wasting time walking into corners and walls and shit.

I know this is a bit of a strange “re-entry into the blogosphere” post… but it needed to be something. Anyway, before I sign off for however long, I want to post something that I thought after traveling to the Dominican Republic for a missions trip. I wanted to save it for when I was “more-traveled” and supposedly wiser, but then I realized that that statement contradicted the very point I was making and everything about the honesty I would like to convey. So, here it is:
You can travel the world in search of a story, but only when you can return home for the finale will you understand what is most important.
And so. In one month I am leaving the United States with no plans of returning. But… I will when it is time for the finale.