Writing For Yourself

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I’m actually writing a non cooking thing right now. Sound the horns. No, but seriously, I was thinking about this earlier last week when I found myself writing something I’ll probably never show anyone. When do you write for yourself?

As a writer, everything is for myself, to some degree, however, I do consider who the reader might be. I am a poet, so I think poetically. I’m an essayist, so I consider the form. I write fiction for who might read it within the genre that it fits. At some point, everything is written for the reader. But what about writing just for yourself? Something that will only be for you to look back on. Be it essay, poetry, fiction, flash fiction, even non fiction.

I had a very vivid dream the other night that was one of those ones where you sit going, damn I wish I didn’t wake up. It was that good. So I am turning it into something just for me to enjoy and read again. There is no prerogative other than just writing down an event. But I feel kind of guilty that it’s only for me. I’m sure I could turn it into something for fiction, but I don’t plan to. But can you just write just for yourself?

I’m sure all my writer friends would say yes, but tell me honestly, do you ever just sit down and write for just your eyes only? Or do you have a prerogative of some point?

I kind of wonder if this is why I have that writer’s block problem, which currently I do. I’m worried so much about who the finished product is for, that I’ve stopped writing for myself. The irony on this post comes after picking up Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg.  I need to stop coming to the page with this plan to write something specific. I need to just write. I wanted to write a poem about the snow falling today, but I didn’t want to write a poem about snow falling, because it wasn’t working. Then I thought, why not just write down the words that fit what I was thinking

snow     needles     sun globe     marshmallow      shadow      lemon fuzz      reflection       gray     blue     ice      water       glitter      mist     metal    cold      Shakespeare      Dante     Nathan     Chicago      friends      lonely     walking     family     Colorado     western

I am sure I could file all of those words and thoughts crashing through my head as I walked with my mom into a poem. Something that might not mean much, but turns out into something for just me, or maybe eventually someone else. But who cares if it is for someone?  That was why I wrote the character sketch that was the previous post. It was just something that I could get out for fun.

Is anyone else getting stuck writing lately? I spend more time writing in my head. As I sift flour for cakes, toss a round of pizza dough up, stoke a fire, look out a restaurant window, lying in bed at night, listening to a Billie Eilish song…. (Bad Guy is playing right now). My writing is stuck in my head. How do you get it out?  I wish our writing ideas were like the stuff in Harry Potter where the memories are pulled out to view. Only onto the page. Ha! Wouldn’t that be fun?

Kate

When Control Does Not Abound

This, this right here above is the only controlled part of my life. And that was taken yesterday. Today, it’s not. Chaos, overwhelming everything, threatening storms are in the air. August is always an unstable month. The hot weather threatens to overload us, yet the nights are cool, and the winds begin. Storms may float in, wildfires start. Unsettled moments. It’s all very nerve wracking.

I feel out of sorts these days. The transition of a new boss is taking it’s toll on my mental and physical being. I’m tired already to begin with, but learning a new person’s flow, it can be exhausting. Especially, if at times, you don’t agree.

“Keep your head up, stay strong, keep working hard.” — Coffeeman

I’m losing Coffeeman. I might sound quite cavalier at times about it. I’m not. Far from it. I can’t go one moment talking or thinking about it that it doesn’t make me want to cry. I never, never thought that I would be this affected by it. I’m trying to suck down as much time with him I can get my hands on. Which currently is about 10 minutes when I get into work before he’s leaving. I actually got a whole half hour last week on one day. I don’t want him to go. I really don’t want him to go.  And this not wanting him to go has started making me rethink things and changes, and changes I might or could make in my life. It’s nothing even definite, but it’s realizing that when things change, sometimes you have to as well.

“When it comes to things you can’t control, keep your head down.” —Coffeeman

I’m not ready for the summer to end. That’s not even fair to ask, but I feel like it just started. I’m not ready for fall. I am enjoying this interim period of late summer, not fall, when the berries are ripening, or are loaded ripe, and everything is just slowly creeping it’s way to fall.  It’s rather lovely. They sky and light, clouds, moon, stars. It’s all so rather pretty.

There are a lot of changes that are going to happen this fall. I know it. Some good, like next week I take my driver’s written test. I have never driven, had a license… But life changes, and I have to move with the times. It’s been a 20 year journey in the making, this driving thing. I’m slightly apprehensive about the test. I’m excited about the driving.

I’m gonna repeat it because this is kind of where the post all started in my head. I’m gonna miss Coffeeman so much. I wish I could pause time. Pause this moment right now where I have one of the best coworkers of my life. Sure, I liked him as my boss, but meeting up with him each work day and going over the mise en place is the highlight of my day. It is the very best part of my work day. And I can’t control a single other thing right now.

“If it’s not affecting you, don’t get involved.” — Coffeeman

So, uncontrolled me, overwhelmed, transitioning, and trying to not get involved with anything that doesn’t affect me. Yeah, this is gonna be a hard fall.

Kate

Lack of Tact makes me Bite Back

Photo by Mitchell Orr on Unsplash Stupid uphill climb…

Just as I think I’ve made progress in one area of my life, something else seems to derail everything and I feel like I’ve slid back down the ever upward climbing slope. Sisyphus and his boulder. This was a very stress induced week; pardon, the last two to three weeks have been stress induced weeks, where I feel exhausted beyond belief and unable to make any rational decisions. In fact, I’ve made several rash decisions that have made the stress even higher. Mr. T (renaming  Tomcat for personal reasons) and I went through a whirlwind of a thing that created family problems and drama that made me take a step back from it all and reevaluate some decisions and life choices.

It’s never easy to have to deny what you want for the better good. I really, really hate doing that. Mrs. B said that you can’t always do what you want, but what is right. I really hate that sometimes as well, because she’s right. What I want isn’t always what’s good for me. I want to stay up late. But I should go to bed. I want to drink numerous cups of coffee, but I need to drink water. I want to date so and so. But who do I want to end up with in life.

Tomcat and I are in this weird work/coworker relationship that was closer than that. Lucifer and I had the same issue. Don’t date coworkers. It will screw you up. It’s all too personal. And now we are clashing with each other. I don’t think it helps that Tomcat and Lucifer are friends. I think they feed off of each other too much. And currently, after a run-in with Lucifer, I have my feisty nature exposed. I’m tired of being pushed. I’m tired of people telling me I’m lacking passion, that I don’t know anything, that I’m too distracted, that they can whip me into shape. It’s not that I even disagree with all of that, but I’m just tired of the arrogant boys, boys 10-15 years younger than me, thinking they are God’s gift to the human race and they can teach me a thing or two. Honey, just because I have some naivete and haven’t been out in the world sleeping around, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. Push me so far and I might just snap and then like hurricanes wreaking havoc, you won’t like the end result. You will get burned, stabbed, eviscerated, yes, Mels, I know if someone was ever murdered with a knife, I’m the first suspect…..

Tomcat and I clash when he tries to boss me around, this boy, and I say it with complete and total snark and sarcasm and stabby looks in my eyes, thinking he’s my boss. He’s not. Lacking tact, trying to act like he’s the new sous chef (Lucifer is no longer with us) and just being an all around a**hole at times, I could easily slap him so hard. Last night was one of those nights where I wasn’t going to be pushed. He’s been doing it for the past month since he joined and I had it. I outright defied him and ignored his bossy tone. So he went and got Coffeeman. Fine, I don’t care if Chef has to come in and deal with it. I’m tired of being pushed around by people who think they know everything. This goes back to even a few of my even younger coworkers who are half my age. Children. They are children. I may not have kids of my own, but whatever happened to respect your elders and superiors?  It’s like it just doesn’t exist.

Lucifer was 10 years younger than me and my boss. I get that he got to boss me around, but still, it can really irk when ‘children’ are bossing you around. Because they have no tact. Tact, Tomcat. You have no tact. No diplomatic skills. Brag about you being a person with manners and all, but seriously with me,  you have zip. And you are getting even less. You want to see me bite back, well, honey, there is how I will start fighting. Even if it isn’t for a good, valid reason, I will bite back if you are rude.

Clearly the drama and issues are not out of the water. Clearly I haven’t simmered down. It probably doesn’t help that Tomcat and I had a private message late last night and it still irked me. I still feel he thinks he’s in charge of me in the kitchen. I could use Coffeeman’s advice. I just hate to bother him now that he’s having to take on more with Lucifer gone. I’d really like to be his girl Friday, but I’m so tired right now, I feel I can’t take on any more than he’s already put on me. Not that I’m complaining, I’m looking forward to it. A lone kitchen and baking and experimenting. Now that’s kind of fun. I hope.

Pardon my vent. I had plan to talk about making and baking and experimenting but the issues of the kitchen have clearly frustrated me more than enough.

Bare with me. I might be able to tone down a little today. I had some good advice from various things and people in life and now it’s just applying them.

Kate

Entering Into the Work

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Life has been incredibly hard these past two weeks. Hard and sad. So sad that at times I wonder what the heck I’m even doing and I don’t even know what to do. Losing my dog has been one of the hardest things I’ve gone through. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to not have him around and to want desperately to be holding my puppy. I miss him so much that it really is an ache that hits out of nowhere.

I’ve also lost the camaraderie of someone I would have classified as a close friend. That person is still a part of my life, but I don’t trust the person, per se. I struggle what to tell this person and how to act around them. It’s all gotten very challenging. It’s led to lots of crying and lots of moments where I am really not sure what the heck I’m doing. I can honestly say I don’t know what to do. I really am at a loss.

I stress about work and succeeding, and today was one of my first days back after a tiring schedule last week. This week is bound to be tiring as well, but at least I have a general schedule. Today, for the most part, I killed it. At least I believe I did. Sure, I had a few scattered moments, and times when I thought I wouldn’t make it through the day, but I did.

Mels asked me what I was going to do to deal with the anger I have inside. Because it’s there. A lot of anger, deep anger. Sad anger. My reply was, “write. And cook. Do the best to my ability to make it happen.”  Cooking has kind of flowed into my blood. Duh,  of course, it has.  I wake up thinking about baking and improving recipes, I finish out the day looking at cookbooks, watching Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown, and just today my new book to read is Sous Chef by Michael Gibney. Lucifer has it in his car and told me he would loan me his copy… I didn’t want to wait, so Better World Books delivered.

I don’t know what I want to do with my life, other than being a poet and published writer, but this cooking thing gives me a bit of passion that is so hard to explain, but I like it. I read this Sous Chef and I drool about the luxury of a well-organized kitchen. I think in kitchen terms: deli containers, 9-pans, cambros, half sheets, whole sheet pans, mis en place, roux, the line…..   I want to yell ‘behind’ at home. I slide my hand along the backs of people to let them know I’m there.

Photo by Caroline Attwood on Unsplash

Today there was this flow that was actually the best I’ve seen in a while. To the point where I was doing things, my head down, but I could duck out of the way as things went past my head to land in the garbage. As pans were passed off and handed off, pots caught as they dropped, things shifted back into place with a well-aimed hip, pilots lit, ovens restarted, butter melted, luxurious sugar-free lemon mousse that went out to a diabetic guest. (I did not make said mousse, Lucifer did, but I did zest the lemons) I like being able to get whatever it is someone asks me to get. To be able to put out a lunch dish that is not my responsibility, and know that it went out looking the way it was supposed to. I’m rather proud of that. Not sure Lucifer actually noticed, even those D-man told him I sent out an awesome burger. (Okay, so it’s not super fancy, our lunch menu, but a burger at our place is an art. I felt pretty proud of myself)

My pies have finally leveled out to looking gorgeous and elegant enough for my tastes. I like that I can make pretty food. I’d like to do more in that department. I want to work with Lucifer in updating and revising our desserts menu. I am classified as the pastry chef. I want pastry to look damn good. I want it to be something you come in and drool over. I may not want to nibble on many sweets these days, myself, but I want you, the guest to fall in love with it and when you see me on the street, think back to that luscious dessert you had.

I may not have any classical training, I may not have a culinary degree behind my name, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be the best at what I can do… all while being a runner, and a closer and a prep chef. I have too many hats right now. I like closing, and I can do that well, but whew, it can be exhausting.  I’m getting off topic.

I hope to god I am important in my hierarchy within the kitchen. I’d like to be invaluable, though not so invaluable that if I need time off they panic without me… Okay, well if they panic without the chef, why not the pastry chef? I’m being silly, but still, I want to be valuable in my job. I like my job. Despite all the stress, all the inconsistencies, all the crazy, all the moods, the romantic interests, the betrayals, the turn downs, the frustrations; despite all of that, I like my job. So I am trying to deal with life by ‘entering into the work.”

All of this came out of reading Sous Chef today and this lovely prompt above from Dona. I want to think the best ideas are going to come out of the work, the process and work itself. So. Okay then, now that I’ve rambled on long enough, I’m off to read more of Sous Chef, and I think I need to pick some rhubarb for work. If there is one thing I have found, you can get the sexiest moan out of Lucifer when food is involved.

Kate

Comfort Zones

Photo by Owen CL on Unsplash

Just the other day I was off to see one of my doctors, a three hour drive away. Now I love this doctor. he is a dream, he is so sweet, nice, good at what he does, good looking…. married. <– Total bummer.

Anyways, one think that I have found over the years is I need comfort zones and surprisingly, I don’t need much to put me in it. For the doctor’s visit, all I needed was one of my favorite shirts, a necklace and a pair of earrings. That was it! Granted, my metal crow feather necklace is pretty unique and I use it lots of Saturdays when I write. It’s kind of my statement piece of jewelry. My earrings were my ‘silver’ square columns that are about  two inches long and a quarter of an inch wide. They have heft. They are cool. They are not silver despite ebay saying they were, but I love them anyhow. They give me comfort.

I have comfort books too. Those books you know you need to take with you even if you don’t ever plan to read it, but you know you could pick it up in a flash and you are okay. For me it’s my paperback copy of Here Comes the Sun by Emilie Loring (there Patty, I’ve mentioned EL after a dry spell of not bringing her up at all!) That book will always make my life more relaxed. Sometimes I put it in my purse (it’s more of a bag) even if I have another book or two in there just because I want that comfort zone. I know, weird, but I always take too many books with me, especially to doctor’s visits. This last week I took three books and my kindle… which has a ton of books on it.

Another comfort author is Janet Dailey’s Americana series. The books are short ish and I have almost the entire paperback collection.

I have comfort zones in my house. Sitting on the couch on the front porch, being in the blueberry plants, my chair at the kitchen table that can be pushed back to sit over the wall heater in the winter.  I have comfort clothes; that perfect pair of jeans, certain shirts, a purse I love, even socks! Gotta have a comfy pair of socks.

I gravitate towards turquoises and coral pinks for my comfort colors. Colors are a huge comfort zone thing that most people don’t even realize they have. First off, did you know that your eye color is going to determine your comfort color? Most people with aqua colored eyes, will pick that tone, or variations of that tone and wear it, or want to decorate with it. Same for blue eyes, hazel, brown. Take a look at what you would pick in an instant as your comfort color. I bet it’s close to your eye color.

Music is a huge part of comfort zones for me. There are songs that I can always turn on and just sink right into it. I keep a lot of those on my mp3 player for when I go somewhere and need a pick me up. Currently Miles Davis’ ‘Nature Boy’ has become a huge favorite. But I have had all kinds of comfort zones.

I think even in our writing we step into a comfort zone at times when we just need to write. I ramble and make short fragment statements, puttering with word sounds and rhymes or assonance. Or is it alliteration? One or the other. It just happens. I the we default back to comfort zones and what makes us feel ‘grounded’ more often than not.

I’m curious what other people find to be comfort zones. Do you have clothes you just have to wear every time you go somewhere? My friend Dona in the writing group always wears her Jane Austen ring (reproduction) and her owl earrings. I try to always have a certain pen. Some people need a specific water bottle when they go out.

What is your comfort zone? And do you need it to write?

Even the picture I used for this post is a comfort zone. Leaves in the early fall when they days are still warm but are changing…. oh yeah, the entire fall is a comfort zone.

Kate

PAD Day 7 – Urban – Urban Country Girl

Urban Country GirlCountry Girl

Stand me out on Fifth Avenue
dressed to the nines in heels so high
And a short skirt poofed out
But I have a wicked pocket knife
tucked into my purse.
I know how to butcher a pig
though my hands are girly
with a pretty pink manicure
and a couple flashy rings.
I’m a country girl in a city package
or maybe it’s the other way around
as I live in jeans and boots
mucking out the chicken coop.

The mountains call me home
but stick me in the city, I’m fine
till I’m bored from stale air
the song of birds replaced by horns.
I’m adaptable and ready for dirt or sidewalks.
Here in the country I’m more city than not
being mocked for being prim in a rural town.
Clearly I’m a priss walking down asphalt
country roads in flashy heels on a summer day.
In the city I’m country all the way, as I wear boots
not tennis shoes, those worthless things.
I want sturdy and strong walking the streets.
Give me the rural roads, give me the traffic lights
I’m an urban girl in a country world
or a country girl in the city life.
Country or city I’m me all the way.

I had fun with today’s prompt of Urban (blank).  I could have gone so many ways, and I might want to play around with this more, but my first thought was how I grew up for part of  my life in the Bay Area of CA, and then the central valley of CA. I’ve lived in the city, and my parents are from there. So I know the city more than if I had grown up in the country all of my life. And I’m proud of the fact that I can adapt to the city. That being said, I have some country habits now that I would have never had had I grown up in  an urban setting that is either good or bad depending on how you look at them. I love to wear boots and jeans. I tend to pick that most  often, probably because wearing a dress on a farm is unreasonable. I love heels, but choose sturdier things more often than not, and I rarely walk to town in heels anymore. (blisters) But give me the chance to step out all dressed up in lace and frippery and I love it.

I love knowing how to slaughter an animal or two, or how to fix things with hammers, bailing wire and pliers. I don’t carry a pocket knife because it’s cool. I do it because it’s a necessity when you never know if you are going to have to cut something.

Kate

Let’s Get Personal – Why Aren’t You Married

12250144_401158516759945_3998860343872336222_nLet’s get personal.

I’m thinking of making this a new segment, or category for my blog. Basically, it’s me just rambling on about more personal things in my life. Things that make me tick.

So here is the subject of today. Being 30+ and not married.

The idea for this post came after Mrs. B was at the hospital for a procedure and met her tech who is 35, not married, and as Mrs. B put it, “cute as a button.” She asked her what she does when people ask the proverbial, ‘why aren’t you married, are you going to get married, and what about kids? questions.” The tech replied that she’s had to get creative and sometimes a bit rude when going to answer that question.

I happen to understand that completely. Ever since I turned 18, or moved to North Northern CA, to this very little town where ‘Everybody knows your name’….. and your business, and your life, and feels like it’s perfectly acceptable to butt into every little detail of your life. And the mothers are always, and I stress always, asking why you aren’t married. And “don’t you want to be married?” and “Oh, you should meet my son/nephew/ friend’s son/ grandson/ my neighbor’s son….. and so on and so on. The men that are 50+ and up pretty much ask the same thing, or versions of, “Why don’t you meet some nice boy” or “I can’t believe some guy hasn’t snatched you up.”

Sigh.

It’s not so much that I mind that they want to set me up, find out why, or whatever, never mind, it does get old, and they don’t understand when you say, “There really aren’t any available men that are good men in this area.” No, seriously, there really are not any good men, that I know of, in this area. I live in a logging, ranching, meth, marijuana, strange area. So the guys are……. well not my type. I come from a city mentality. I come from city life and living and I know it even though I am a ‘farm girl’ in some ways.

So, I’m left trying to figure out how to politely tell these people to mind their own business. In a good girl way. And it happens a lot. Maybe not weekly, but it happens enough that I mentally sigh when someone asks me that. It’s about as bad as when I get asked by all these people when I’m going back to school. IE college. Even though I’m 33. And they knew me when I was 18. Like I said, strange area.

I have yet to figure out a more rude method of diplomacy. That’s an oxymoron. Sorry. There is no way to be politely rude. But sometimes you just really want to tell people to go fly a kite. And then there is the whole ‘haven’t you tried online dating? Because my so-and-so met so-and-so on match.com, you should try it….”   blah blah blah. Yep, I’ve tried online dating. It’s been a real party. Not. I have tried it a couple times, just recently I spent a year on one site without much luck and a lot of hassle. Online dating has the issue of not always being able to meet the person right away. I live in a far off north place and a lot of guys do not want to come meet me. And I expect that, partly because I do not drive. And I don’t think a woman should have to go meet the man. That’s just now how I believe it should be. So yes, I have standards.

So, online dating is tricky. That being said, the tech Mrs. B met, recommended OKcupid. So, well, I might try it. Why not. She said she has heard of more luck there.

See, cause I actually do want to be married. I am not running from marriage, but honestly, it certainly seems like I should have been married 10 times over with how often I get bugged about it. But honestly, it’s not my fault when ……’My dear partner, when what’s left of you gets around to what’s left to be gotten, what’s left to be gotten won’t be worth getting, whatever it is you’ve got left”. …….is what the guys are like these days. (for you good guys, never mind) And for those that are wondering, this quote comes from White Christmas.

Prince Charming in a treeThe guys are waiting around, it seems till they have had thir fun, and then they will settle down. So, pardon me if I decide to go have a life. But then there is a caveat. If a girl doesn’t sit around waiting to have Prince Charming fall into her lap, then she’s “Too busy to find a guy and it’s her fault if no guy is interested.” But if she sits around doing nothing, then she’s not out looking hard enough or she’s too picky… You really can’t win. It is incredibly frustrating.

So, the teck is not waiting around to meet a guy. She is living a very full life. My cousin is living her life. I am still in limbo because I’m kind of waiting around for my guy, but that being said, I don’t just not live. My life is just a little less active, but that’s how I roll.

But I’m curious…. Single ladies and men out there. How do you deal with the rude question of why aren’t you married? Do you politely change the subject, or do you tell the people to butt out?

I’d love to know.

On the Verge – Prose Poetry

I’m on the verge of being two persons, a little girl with no idea where I am going, but then He says I have attributes that in history, men would start wars over. And I think to myself, how could he not want me with words like that. I am a queen of desire and His words make me that way. Words that make me feel delicious, as he says delicious after I send a glimpse of more than he should ever see. And I wonder if I have become the naughty temptress that revels in her femininity while He stokes fires of longing deep in my belly, my spine tingling with awareness as he prods just a little more and I give in to his suggestions. I’m wicked and good and sexy and sweet. I’m so many things swirled around together to create someone I don’t even know myself. Yet He seems to get me in ways He shouldn’t. He tempts me in ways that are dangerous waters for my heart. I want more and more and more. I want to give in. I want to beg. I want to demand that He give it all to me. I want to whisper his name and toss myself at His feet in supplication. Delight me, demand from me, form me into someone I am not. Turn me from angel to demon. Let me be a *daydream dressed like a nightmare. Let me be woman, let me be Empress to you, my King. Let me sit on the golden throne of someone else and be far more free and alive than I am alone.  He gives me life I never knew and I crave more as he pushes me far more than ever I thought possible. I want to be on the verge of more than I am.

A personal experience brought on this prose. I can’t explain it all and it’s rather personal, but I couldn’t keep it in. I feel I could go on more, but I like the brevity of this.

*Courtesy of ‘Blank Page’ by Taylor Swift

Kate

A Real Character Study

Jamie is my sister’s nurse. She’s this bouncy brunette with an amazing personality that makes me want to hug her, laugh with her, and pull her into my life.  She’s like your best friend in her girlish manner as she tries to be as mature as she can be. She’s a perfectionist.

She’s a single mom. She’s an independent woman. She’s cool.

Long, silky brown hair, with hints of chocolate low lights and honey high lights, that she keeps in large , loose waves. She cut her bangs in winter and looked uber cool, but now they have grown out. Eyes are not something I have ever paid attention to, but I can say her facial features remind me of Catherine Bell.  This cute, pert nose, and the way her cheekbones sit and how her lips rest when she’s not talking. How do I explain the look? Because while she looks like Catherine Bell, at the same time she doesn’t. She’s all Jamie with her repertoire of scrubs that are fitted half the time and in various shades of brown, pink, green, black (my favorite), black and white patterned. She used to come in different outfits, but now she’s in these cool scrubs.

She’s plump and curvy, the kind where when you hug her, she’s just the perfect size to wrap your arms around and have this cushy hug. Since she’s my height, we are the perfect size of fit. Not too tall, not too short.

She has these nails that always look amazing, always done super nice and in shades and patterns I can only dream about as I try to do my own manicure. (Turns out, they are her own nails that she has done every three weeks for a steal at $10! Gel nails! Ten bucks!) It’s her one splurge.

She needs a splurge since like I said, she’s a single mom of three. A daughter that’s 20, and then two more girls that are 8 and 12, I think.  Jamie’s my age. (I know what you are thinking and that math isn’t good if you think about that, but you are wrong… like I was) The 20 year old girl is adopted. 

She’s insecure, she’s confident, she’s childish, she’s mature. She’s several things all at once. Next to her I feel like a little girl sometimes and other times, like she’s like a younger sister.

I get excited to see her. My sister get’s excited to see her. We love her. I wish she was a close friend that I could spend time with. She’s cool.

 

I haven’t done too many character studies, actually only one that I can think of and that person wasn’t real. I’m not even sure I know what I’m doing.  So….. it’s an attempt. I think I need to work a little more on this.

Kate