kelland

I was ripping a toenail off my right foot. I was in my room letting the hems out of old jeans. I was listening to my headphones in my underwear, sitting on my bed, mouthing the lyrics to a U2 song... to my cat... while crying like an idiot. I was thinking about heating up some leftover spaghetti. I was looking at pictures of me as a youngster. I was mulling over calling up a friend to chat. I always end up with my thoughts. In the end, I have these thoughts to keep me company. These thoughts do not bleed or scab over. They don't tear up the seam leaving undesirable holes. They don't stare blankly at me from across the bedroom. They don't sit dormant and cold in the refrigerator. They don't remind that I used to have stupid hair and ugly glasses and bad teeth. They don't have better things to do. Because they're mine. They're the only things I've ever had completely to myself.

I have been thinking a lot lately about my life and what it has taken to get me to this point. I have concluded that three people have changed my life. Yes, I have met some amazing people in my almost nineteen years of existence. I have unbelievably varied, unique, gifted friends and family. Even people that are not my friends have molded me in some way. But only three people, upon meeting them, managed to alter my mindset, my lifestyle, my heart, my style, and most importantly, my voice. These people will remain nameless right now because all you need to know is that they exist, and that's all I really need, too. They have mattered so much to me up to this point of my life, and they will never stop mattering, regardless of how many miles separate us or what developments arise -- marriage, children, occupation, death -- they each own a piece of my heart.

I've packed up a lot of shit this past week. Lots of cleaning and rearranging and oh, god, the nostalgia. I packed up my belongings in the den/computer room, bedroom, and clothes room (yes, there is a room just for my clothes and my sister's clothes). I found a tape from Mark that he made me exactly seven years ago. I believe I received it the first week of June in 1999. It is a tape of U2 remixes and b-sides. I played it while I was sifting through belongings in my bedroom, and now it is in my car and will remain a staple in the "I listen to this music when I drive because I hate the fucking radio" audio cassette collection from now on. I miss Mark. Mark, eventually you will read this journal. And when you do, I want you to know that I miss our snail mail and mixed tape days. I think you're great. Thank you for everything you have done for me as I have grown up.

On that note, U2 and INXS have totally dominated my play lists lately. I don't know what other music to which I should resort at this turbulent time in my life. I am tired of no one realizing how amazing these bands are. Start realizing it. If everyone could just sit down one day and listen to every single U2 song followed by every single INXS song (granted, this is so hypothetical it's ridiculous), I guarantee everyone would feel so much more. I didn't really start feeling the world until I discovered these bands when I was entering adolescence. Therefore, I will always associate them with self-discovery, growth, and improvement. How many bands in your life are like that?

If you have never really listened to U2 or INXS, I mean really listened, and are willing to maybe sit down and hear something unbelievable via compact disc, let me know. I will make you a compilation that will change how you feel, and I will do so willingly and with zeal.

So, it's due time I posted some motherfucking pictures.

In case you forgot, I cut my hair off for the most part. I haven't taken any good pictures of me with the new hair, but Jessica took some pictures of me for a project we did in media class last month. So, here's one of those. (And I have cleavage, which is rare and most of the time impossible.)



I love this picture. It is of me and Kati and our friend Tim at his graduation party.



We posed in front of Jessica's massive painting to demonstrate its utter, well, massiveness. This was on my last day of high school.



I tried to look like Morrissey for his birthday on the 22nd of May.



It took me many art class sessions, but I finally completed this oil painting of Dave Gahan (Depeche Mode) heroin-addict-era from a famous photograph by none other than Anton Corbijn.



My fourth block art class... and oh, how I will miss them. (Minus the weirdo with the green shirt and shrunken sweatshirt. I won't really miss him. Or the guy with the poorly-shaven mohawk thing.)



We emulate our heroes. (Mr. Funigiello and I.)



Top: My block on the art wall. Bottom: Shannon's block on the art wall.



Graduation day.



Me making this face seriously cracks me up.



Everyone loves Damein, apparently.



And to close, my parents. I love them more than words can say.