Beauty won't pay my bills.

Don't get me wrong. I love my job. 

If I were the type of person who went out and made friends or just chatted with people as we sat at the bar and sipped beer, I'd brag about my job. They'd ask me what I did for a living and I'd tell them I was a reporter. If I was two beers in, I'd tell them I write. When they asked me what I write, I'd say, "Words, mostly."

I can't think of a better way to make a living. I write words and people give me money. It's brilliant. It's so perfect for me, I'm not sure how I got so lucky.

(of course, Chris would say that luck has nothing to do with it. In his zen Buddhist way, he'd say "You didn't come as far as you have from luck. In talent and passion and will, we are not all created equal.")

(Though I think my idea of luck comes from a combination of Chris's idea and Harvey Dent's "You make your own luck." In that sense, I've worked my ass off to be as lucky as I am.)

In any case, I'm one lucky girl to be paid to write words. 

But there is one draw back. 

I write words. Lots of words. SO MANY WORDS. 

By the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is write more words. As such, my other forms of writer have suffered as a result. I don't post on here nearly as often as I used to. The last poem I wrote was back in July. And my journal keeping has become non-existant. 

I write words for money. I no longer write them for the beauty of their existence. 

I usually don't mind this too much. It's more like a dull ache inside of me that could one day resemble regret. 

But on nights like tonight when I check in on some of my favorite artists/writers (See: Andy & Bodily), I feel like I'm not creating enough art, enough beauty. (Not to mention, both of those gentlemen are so bloody talented, I don't know whether to hug them or punch them in the neck.)

I guess that's a drawback to making words your living. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Hope I'm not bothering you

I always figured that no one wants to hear the lonely words of a depressed girl. Folks have enough shit to deal with in their lives that adding a deluge of melancholy emotions to it is just going to be a waste of their time. Not to mention, depression seems so common these days. You can't throw a rock without hitting someone who's having to deal with feelings of depression. It's nothing unique. There's nothing remarkable about being depressed so really, what's the point in sharing those thoughts and emotions with people?

I always figured that if I really needed to share my lonely words, my depressed thoughts, I have to at least make them beautiful, albeit in a tragic, heartbreaking kind of way. That way I'm adding a bit of beauty to this work, even if it's a bit dark and haunting. It's not just me trying to get attention or just being depressed in the same kind of way everyone else is. No one cares about one more depressed person. I've got to try and make something out of this depression. If people are going to read my depressed and lonely words, at least make them feel something real.

Sometimes I succeed and I create something I'm proud of later. Those words that I put down are created solely out of desperation, a desire to stop feeling so bad, to get all that badness and heartache and haunting out of me and into words. I force all that badness into something devastating yet beautiful. And then when I look back on those words when I'm not trying to dig myself out of a pit of darkness, I fully appreciate what I have created.

Sometimes it doesn't work and I make something that's pathetic, trite and a waste. Like I said, depression is common. There's nothing new or refreshing about it. And I'm not the first one that's tried to create something out of it, tried to force some beauty into it. Unfortunately, it's so easy to make depression a cliche, to turn real human pain into something expected and dull. And no one wants to read that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is making beauty out of my depression is the most effective way to get rid of it. But those days when all I can make is shitty cliche tripe, it's just better if I keep it to myself, for everyone involved.

Love you.
Mean it.

I can't imagine doing anything else.

One thing I love about my job is the variety. When you're a journalist, you never really know what the day is going to bring you. Sure, you may have interviews lined up but sometimes those interviews can be really boring or interesting or life changing or a million other things. Then there's always a chance of breaking news where something happens right then and you have to drop everything to cover it. I absolutely love it.

I've always been slightly weirded out by how perfect being in journalism suits me and my personality, considering I mostly fell into this profession by accident. And the variety is really great for me. One of my flaws is I get bored really easily and with a job that is really repetitive and predictable, I get bored and frustrated. I've never felt that way when I'm working in a newsroom. There are other reasons why I love doing what I do but today I was reminded why variety plays such a huge part in my happiness as a reporter.

Today I had two interviews lined up. The first was with this husband and wife. The husband is dying of cancer. He doesn't know when he's going to die but at this point, the cancer has gotten so bad it's not a matter of if but when. It was one of the hardest interviews I've ever had to do, from an emotional stand point. Here I was, talking to this man who is dying. Really, seriously dying. He has five kids, the youngest being four years old. She was playing in the other room and would dart out occasionally. He told me that while he no longer fears death and is okay with dying, he's so worried about who is going to take care of his "baby." He gestured to the little girl and it took everything I had not to cry. I was trying to be professional about the situation and it was incredibly hard for me. After the interview was over, I got in my car and immediately called my dad. I told him about the interview and burst into tears. I just had to let loose all that emotion that I had kept in check. My dad was sympathetic and listen to me blubber about this man and his situation. After talking to my dad, I got home, made and PB&J and watched the beginning of Toy Story 3 during my lunch break. I had to pull myself together since I had to return to the newsroom and listen to the interview on my recorder and write an article.

A few hours later, I was at the Cache Valley Fairgrounds interviewing another man for our "Making a Living" segment. It features people in the community with interesting jobs. I was interviewing a man who is a horse trainer and farrier. He has a handlebar mustache that goes a good inch and a half past his chin. He was wearing cowboy boots, cowboy hat, Levi jeans and a plaid button down shirt. I asked him how he was and he responded that he was "finer than frogs." The guy was hilarious. He told me about what he does for a living, which is training both horses and kids for rodeos and horse shows (4-H is big in this county) and he always had a joke or a anecdote to go along with everything. He had me rolling. While I was interviewing him, he was training a kid to rope cattle. There were two calves that the boy on the horse would practice chasing down on his horse and lassoing. I felt like such a city girl around the man, the boy and the boy's father. I never grew up around anything like this so it's all very strange to me. But it was obvious that the man knew what he was talking about and was very good at what he did. Not only that, but it was obvious that the man loved his job, absolutely loved what he did.

After the interview was over, I couldn't help but reflect at what my day in my career had brought me. Earlier, I had a brief mini emotional break down from interviewing a man with maybe a year or less to live. Then I was laughing my ass off at the jokes and stories of a real cowboy. The comparison made me laugh. Not every day is like this when you're a reporter. We have our boring days too. But today kind of epitomizes just how random a journalist's life can be. And I can't imagine doing anything else.

Love you.
Mean it.

Life in Logan so far.

Now that I've lived in Logan for one week exactly, I think it's about time I catch the interwebs up with my oh so important life here.

I have a wonderful little one-bedroom apartment that is more spacious than you'd think. It has a washer/dryer and a dish washer and tons of storage. It's clean, modern and cute. As I said, it's one bedroom, one bath and has a rather big living room that feels a bit empty considering the only furniture in it is my desk on one wall and my two bookcases on the adjacent wall.  I finally have a bed (so nice) and my mom came up the other day and bought me a kitchen table and chairs. This was really appreciated considering I had been eating all my meals on the floor like some kind of hobo. The thing I'm really missing now is a couch. If anyone reading this right now currently owns the couch, thank whatever maker you may or may not believe in that you do. I miss couches.

Anyway, my job is just awesome. I've already written about five articles, all of which have been published in the newspaper. I really love my coworkers. They've all been super helpful and friendly. There's far less swearing than I'm used to in newsrooms (see: City Weekly & the UVU Review) but I'm sure I'll adjust just fine. My beat is the K-12 education reporter which gives me plenty of stuff to do. Today I was with the Logan School District Board of Education as they visited Mount Logan Middle School. Seeing all those pre-teen/teens running around made me so grateful that I had the good sense to get out of being a teacher when I did. What was I thinking???

The only real down side to my moving here is I find myself feeling terribly lonely. I don't really know anyone. Thank goodness my old friend Maggie was smart enough to let me know that she lives here and I'm hoping to have dinner with her soon. My aunt Dezi and uncle Scott also live nearby and I know that they'll have me over any time I want. But other than that, I find myself alone at night not really sure what to do with myself. I know I want to somehow go out and meet people but I'm not entirely sure how to go about it. How do adults meet other adults in a non-creepy way? I keep telling myself it's only been a week and I can't be expected to have best buddies by now but it's slightly depressing to be all alone so much. I might just get a dog for company.

Love you.
Mean it.

Growing up is a weird thing

Well, this is it.

I'm currently sitting in my nearly bare bedroom with Randy beside me. My room is bare of nearly all my possessions minus my furniture. Everything else is packed up and in either my garage or in the downstairs living room. It's funny when you pack up everything you own. Two thoughts come into your head. The first is how did I ever acquire so much crap? The second is does all of this add up to my life? I hope the answer to the latter is a firm no. I don't even want to begin to answer the former.

I'm moving up to Logan on Monday. Well, I'm officially moving on Monday. I'm starting to move my stuff in on Sunday. And it looks like I'll be doing it all by myself. My folks are taking a mini vacation to Yellowstone so the plan is that I'll take up as much of my stuff as humanly possible and then my folks will bring up what's left and my furniture, including my bed. Until then, I will be sleeping on a sleeping pad–the same kind we use on camping trips.

I start work at my new job at the Herald Journal on Tuesday. It's an exciting time to be Kelly. I am now a professional reporter, though it is taking my brain a bit of time to wrap around that idea. I'll be working full-time, coming home to my beautiful apartment that I rent by myself, and doing adult type stuff like pay bills and cook dinner. I know it may seem silly for a 24-year-old girl to be dazed by the idea of being an adult but honestly, it's hard to feel like one when you live with your parents.

I feel as if my life has really finally begun. Or rather, that new part of my life that I've been wanting and waiting for desperately for so long has finally begun. I've wanted this so badly. It's a funny thing though. Now that I've started my career, I'm moving out, and finally getting on with my life, I'm feeling a bit daunted. There's this feeling of "now what?" I've wanted this for so long that it's starting to feel a bit weird not having it to look forward to. I guess now the only thing left is to do my job, do it well, settle into my new life, and enjoy it. Should be fun.

Growing up is a weird thing. When we were younger, we saw people who were 24 or whatever and considered them to be "grown up." We even call them "grown-ups." But now I find myself at that age and I certainly don't feel grow up. I feel like I've always felt, that I'm making this up as I go along. I guess when I was younger, I had the impression that grown-ups knew what they were doing, that they had a plan and knew what their life was. I don't feel any of those things. But I don't feel like I've done something wrong or that I'm the exception. Rather, I know that it was the younger me who got it wrong. I don't think any grown-up really knows what's going on or what they're doing with their life, at least, not until they're in they're middle-aged. I'm still fairly young and I think it's okay if I don't know what I'm doing or that I feel like I'm making it up as I'm going because, as the good Doctor once said, I'm doing it brilliantly.

Love you.
Mean it.

Is lazy a style?

As you may or may not know, I am not very good at being humble. I know when I am really good at something and I'm not going to hide that fact just because others may view me as being prideful. In my mind, it's not being prideful if it's true. For instance, I know I am a damn fine writer. I'm also very smart and clever and freaking hilarious and awesome. I'm not prideful. I'm just very self-aware.

However, self-awareness is a double edged sword. I know all of my good qualities and all the things I am really good at but I also am painfully aware of what I am really lousy at. For instance, I took a physics class once and it kicked my trash. The professor would put these multiple choice questions on the board and we'd have to use those little clicker things to select our answer. Not only would I pick the wrong answer but I'd pick the most wrong answer you could possible chose. I am no good at physics. Other things I am really bad at include: basketball, drawing, cooking, riding horses, spelling words out loud, cutting bread straight, and doing math in my head.

But lately I've become ever more aware of one other thing that I am really lousy at and that is fashion. I am really lousy at dressing myself, which is pretty weird considering I've been doing it for most of my life. The reason I've become more aware of how bad I am at this is through watching the show Project Runway. I love this show. I have ever since the first season (it's now on its tenth season. I'm rooting for Dimytri. His stuff is just gorgeous). But every week, I watch these designers make something just beautiful and fashion forward and awesome and then I look down at my own ensemble: red Converse, skinny jeans, and a black Batman t-shirt. My hair is in a single braid down my back with lots of flyaways, my nails are painted a vibrant blue but it chipped, and six of my ten fingers have rings on them.

I'm not even sure you can call why I wear a "style," per-say. I'm just kind of lazy when it comes to my clothing decisions. I wear jeans and a t-shirt nearly every day because it's easy and comfortable. I wear Converse cause sandals hurt my feet and they get cold really easy. My hair is usually curly and tied back cause curly is what my hair wants to do and tied back is out of my way. I'm not sure why I like paining my nails but I like painting them in bright, vibrant colors cause if I'm going to go to all that effort to paint them, people are going to notice them. The rings are my own little way of paying tribute to the memories of my life. So pretty much, if I had to describe my style, the best word is probably lazy.

I just don't like spending that much time worrying about what I wear or putting in a lot of time to look nice. It's just not a priority to me. I've got other stuff I could be doing like hanging out with friends or reading a book or playing with my dog. When I watch shows like Project Runway, part of me wishes I would put more effort into what I wear. And, granted, if I'm going out with the girls or to a party, I will put in a bit more effort and maybe wear a sundress or something. But after a suitable amount of time has passed from watching the show, I just slip back into my old routine. And I'm okay with it. I don't really dress up that often cause that's just not who I am. I'm a pretty laid back kind of girl and my style reflects that in a sense.

Love you.
Mean it.

Unexpected side effects

Remember a bit ago when I said I was trying to go off all my medications? Well, I am proud to announce that I have reduced my medication intake by 66%. And the medications I no longer take just so happen to be the most addictive ones so go me!

The only trouble right now is that those specific medications also happen to be stimulants. And by removing them from my body, I am exhausted all the time. It's pretty bad. On my days off, I'm sleeping in till 2 p.m. without waking up once. And even after that, I'm taking a nap by 5 p.m. It looks like my body is going to need some time adjusting to the lack of stimulants it has relied on for the past eight years.

My entire life, I've always remembered my dreams. And I seem to have them every time I sleep, no matter if it's during the night or just a quick little nap. I always dream and I always remember them. That being said, my dreams have become much more vidid that they have ever been before. It's kind of alarming. I don't necessarily care for it. I won't go into what I dream about (cause there are very few things more boring in this universe than having someone tell you what their dreams were about), but I will say that they seem to physically and mentally wear me out. I'll wake up from a particularly intense dream and I'll feel like I didn't sleep at all. Sometimes the dreams really upset me, mostly because of the subject matter but sometimes just from the oppressive nature of the dream.

I don't regret my decision to go off my medication, even if it is screwing up my body a bit. These are just unexpected side effects. Hopefully they'll go away soon.

Love you.
Mean it.