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Kay Dubz

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(no subject) [Aug. 13th, 2010|01:52 am]
Kay Dubz
hooooy vey. I know that I really want to be a writer, and I'm lucky in that. I know what I want to do. But it's almost worse (or maybe it's a little less worse) than knowing what you want, but not knowing if you can have it. When will I feel successful as a writer? When people know my name. When I have books in the library and the bookstores. When my name appears after a TV show and I'm on a panel at ComicCon. I know my goals are high, but that's when I'll think of myself as a writer. Which is a little silly. Coors Light is also silly. I typically prefer Budweiser if I'm pretending to prefer anything, because they put my grandfather through med school. I have a job now! A man with no teeth asked me for samples today, and I couldn't understand him but I figured it out and he gave me a fist bump, and then shook my hand and I think asked my name. I hope he asked, because I gave it to him. This is so fucking weird, I'm sleeping in my friend's bed at my apartment because my room is sublet and she's in New York and this is closer to my job and better than sleeping on the couch, but it's so weird sleeping in someone else's room without them there. I feel like I'm pretending. I want someone to be awake. I want to talk to someone.
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(no subject) [Jul. 24th, 2010|05:54 am]
Kay Dubz
I think I may have found something out about myself, but I don't know if it's true or an excuse? I don't know what it could be, because my personality is all wound up and spun down by spools of medications, three (or rather two) sisters of fate with sharp orange fingernails. Part of me wants it to be true, because it would make a lot of things make sense. Why there have been times in my life where I've lied, lied through my teeth just so I wouldn't have to leave the house, leave the couch, stay awake. For months. And why there are times where I can't stop talking, stop moving, stop standing and jumping and biting my tongue when I smile through my eyelashes because don't be stupid, I know what I do. I think. Times where all of the words I say start with the same letter and I can never sleep. I start standing on chairs because I want to know what the room looks like from there, and it doesn't occur to me that I must look just outrageously entertaining. I just want to know what I would be like without any stimulants, without TV and phone and internet and meds. I want to know what that girl is like, or if that girl has changed since the medication and I was just too doped to notice. I don't know if I'm still here anymore, which is a rather scary idea if I really think about it. The idea that I could not be here.
The mania, I don't know when it started. The first couple of times I can remember were around punk shows, weirdly enough, before or after. I think the dancing got me high. In both high school and college, my separate groups of friends noticed certain days that somehow ended up being called "fun Katie days," because those were the days that I didn't take my Adderall. And I thought that was it. But there were other days when I didn't take my Adderall, and I just didn't move all day. So there are the "fun Katie" days which are the days where I'm "on," as I've always called it, because that seemed the most accurate. It was like being turned on like a lightbulb, like a switch. Certain days or hours where everything I said was funny and clever. All of this I remember is pretty much from my adolescence. But if I remember back further, I remember turning up the volume on my static yard sale boombox in my room. I don't remember if anyone was home, they must not have been because of the noise. And I remember thrashing around my little green carpet in my little blue room, staring at myself through a maze of messy hair in the hazy window reflection. And it didn't feel fun per se. It felt desperate and necessary. I threw my head back and forth like I was trying to break my neck.
I feel like a failure every night I don't sleep. God, I wonder what I'm really like. I'd like to meet that girl.
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(no subject) [Mar. 21st, 2010|01:56 am]
Kay Dubz
I should be grateful that my problems are all so unoriginal
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(no subject) [Feb. 26th, 2010|01:28 pm]
Kay Dubz
had a dream
a lot of people lived in a house something like the cape
like all my friends from school and people from 85 n. main
where everyone just partied all the time
and in the basement a ton of people were fucking randomly
including pamela anderson
it was kinda gross
and then it turned into a reality tap dancing show to be in a movie with fred astaire
but everyone was still partying
and then a bunch of people went with me in a tiny boat and we smoked a joint and all fell off and it was a ton of fun
but then kids were playing with firecrackers outside the house, and someone shot my dog
then a fat russian man almost jumped off the scaffolding but someone went up and pogo-sticked with him and they came down, and the news announcer said "since then he's lost at least 100 pounds!"
and I though 'good for him!'
but the pogo-sticking was really scary.
then I woke up
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(no subject) [Feb. 25th, 2010|05:31 pm]
Kay Dubz
hey there blondie
i just wanted to tell you i still love you
and ask if you'll still marry me on sunday, after church

of course!
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(no subject) [Feb. 24th, 2010|01:17 pm]
Kay Dubz
When I'm in my element, I can be totally on. You can just wind me up and let me go and I'll keep it running. But when I'm not in my element, not with people I know, with people who are more professional or driven or anything, I can't do anything. I wander around awkwardly and don't talk to anyone because I don't know if they'll like me, or if they think I look stupid, because I think I look stupid so they probably do too and then it's all a mess.

Trying to get an internship sucks.
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(no subject) [Jan. 5th, 2010|06:51 pm]
Kay Dubz
I'm looking for a cure for escapism. Not a fix, a cure.
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(no subject) [Nov. 28th, 2009|02:51 am]
Kay Dubz
there's something very enjoyable and indulgent in self-destruction, and a beautiful balance in perfect control 4 days a week and spiraling madness the other 3. we really can have it all, just not for long.
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got inspired [Jul. 29th, 2009|04:16 am]
Kay Dubz
goodbye house.

thanks for the only bedroom with a lock on it, if only because it used to be the bathroom. thanks for the huge backyard, the ancient, enormous maple trees that glowed in the spring and fall and slept peacefully in winter, thanks and the swings and jungle gym. thanks for the creaky stairs and the warm fireplace when the heat went out in the winter. thanks for the rooftop right out of my bedroom window, for burning in the sun ("sunbathing") or watching meteor showers or smoking weed. thanks for the musty, useless basement that housed cobwebbed exercise machines, old furniture, dusty glassware and a black light air hockey table. thanks for the ever abundant bookshelves, groaning under the ever-growing collection of travel, gardening and cooking books as well as decorative vases from yardsales. thanks for the stifling hot or freezing attic which never turned into a hangout space despite many attempts, and thanks for the big counters to climb on and cook on. thanks for the big white sink i was bathed in as a baby that looks out onto the front yard, with the rusty broken thermostat by the window. thanks for the mysterious, damp, old barn with nails on the floor and deer heads and sleds and yellow, 30's newspaper on the walls and the chicken coop where we put our bicycles. thanks for the bathroom mirrors in which i ached and prodded and pinched myself, and crimped my hair for my first date. thanks for the big bathtub with the broken jacuzzi. thanks for the silly bedrooms, the jungle themes with mosquito netting, the midnight glade themes with stars on the ceiling and the ever burning light when i get scared of the dark. thanks for the linoleum and hardwood floors, scratched from the dog's paws, and thanks for the thread-bare oriental rugs. thanks for the treasures we found in the walls like the bird skeleton and the paper dolls and the portrait of two penguins; and thanks for the holes in the walls that we fixed and the back porch that we built, and the vines that creeped and bloomed. thanks for those old cement stairs that used to grow moss, and thanks for the brick walkway my mom put in by hand after watching martha stewart. thanks for all the mice and bats and deer in the woods out back and thanks for the gardens. thanks for the hiding places and for scaring me and keeping me safe. thanks for the back porch light every time i came in late. thanks for being everything we made you and everything we needed. thanks for the front porch on summer nights, watching the thunderstorms roll in.
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(no subject) [Jun. 16th, 2009|12:10 pm]
Kay Dubz
I like days when I'm home alone. I wake up not tired, breeze past mirrors, eat donuts and watch X-Men or True Blood in bed. Then I do the dishes and dance around the kitchen. I keep busy to make sure I don't start feeling like meat stuffed into skin. Drink coffee, read, think about going to the library, rest my feet. Maybe even write something.
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