What's Your Childhood Trauma?

I was a highly imaginative child. Along with that I would also say that I was introverted, sensitive and incredibly tall for my age.

I also had thing really horrible habit of forgetting a towel before hopping in the shower. *clears throat* and I'm NOT going to mention that home video that has my butt naked eight year old self running down the hall...

... or the fact that it is in my older sister's possession, who wanted me to watch it with them so they could laugh until I got so pissed off she hasn't mentioned "home movies" in a few years. On a side note if I ever find a man who loves me, and then can watch that video and still think I'm sane enough to marry... 

Anyway -- I think I had a pretty healthy, normal childhood. I tried to rebel. The 5th grade talent show comes to mind... but for the most part I was a good kid. It took me until 6th grade to realize it was easier to just do my freaking homework than it was to intercept my report card. The worst part of this was my parents knew I was smart, just lazy. Which equals disappointment... which is the worst thing in the world!

But really, I hate homework. I do. So much. And I do it. I sooo do it. I even read my textbook reading assignments... 

Let's draw the line of childhood sometime immediately following graduating high school in June of 2007. Nothing really horrendous had happened to me. I think the worst day of my teenage life, at that point, happened at a Field Show Tournament and I can't remember much of the details. 

Then, BAM! I'm in Cedar City and had just finished my first week of class EVER and I have to wrestle with a strange man in the middle of the night... 

But, still, I went to counseling and I hardly ever get reminded or think about it like I did when I was a freshmen. 

I'm trying to remember a story, or an incident that is my childhood in a nutshell. And no, those of you who were at the Music Department party, it's not when I would ask if we were going to "Sizzler" at church on Sunday when I was a little girl. It's also not defined when I glared at other flute players in elementary school and just couldn't understand why they couldn't play what was so obviously written down in front of them...

I guess it's somewhere in between the moments surrounding things like Wind Ensemble going to Washington DC in 2005 and we all started having a snowball fight outside of the lobby at the Dekelboum Concert Hall and everyone was looking at the kids from Barstow High like we were INSANE, or when, during the same trip I realized I loved American History?

Maybe it reappears when I call my dad and chat about what we used to do in High School. Like, when I was  a Senior, he would always call me out of 4th period (I was the French Teacher's TA) to take an extra long lunch with me at Del Taco. Or it could be when I would have to strip down on the side of one of the buses after the award's ceremony during Marching season when I was Drum Major as a Jr. and Sr.? With my BEST FRIEND Ariel!? Trying to get into our normal clothes without showing the world everything!? 

It could've happened sometime on the charter bus on the way to San Francisco in 2004 - because it definitely didn't happen on the way back from San Francisco a few days later...

Thinking back even farther - it might have happened when I spent hours with my brother, Ben, playing video games and going around town with a bunch of our friends. When it was me and him against our oldest sibling, Elizabeth? That when he got a horrible sunburn (he's a red-head) in our pool one day because he refused to wear a shirt... and I had to peel his skin off? Or have to deal with him yelling "KADE!" from across the house until I came. 

That's how I got that nickname... 

I still feel like her. 

Katy: The Very Cranky Lady

WARNING: I am probably going to make reference to how much I hate being a "girl" if you know what I mean. So either stop reading or prepare yourself to know a little bit too much information...


Have you ever had a night where you didn't even start on the homework until 9pm? And it ended up being over three hours of grueling academic experience?

Before I begin, let's rewind back to this morning or early afternoon (it actually feels like this happened yesterday but WHO CARES?) After I got done with Psychology, I headed over to the Music Library whereupon I quickly found out that every. single. individual jazz part that needs to be filed away (thus ending the Jazz portion of the new and improved music library) is completely missing. As in... the chart is not THERE. As in... there are MISSING JAZZ CHARTS!!!! ... and I got a paper cut :'(


I was texting one of my good friends - we'll call him Guy. This ambiguity could be very entertaining.... Before I know it I'm getting coaxed into calming down... "Deep breath" "Don't hurt yourself" And all I really wanted to say was "No... you don't understand... there are Jazz Charts missing!" 

... but I did realize I probably needed to go home and sleep. In fact, this was Guy's advice. I knew he was right. But I couldn't just go home. Don't you hate days like that?! But, I did, however, leave the Music Library. 


I went to my car and picked up my textbook for CSIS 1000 and headed over the ELC to do my assignment for the day. There is something about these assignments and instructions that make it take me like an hour to do it. So Thorough. So Wordy. So Pointless. So time consuming. So annoying...


Forty-five minutes later I think my eyes were watering from staring back and forth between the textbook and the computer screen. and my brain is pretty much numb. AND I think my frustration/annoyance level was climbing up to about a 7.

On a side note: I'm having one of those months where Midol is not enough to make me normal... I'm hurting. I'm sore. I'm moody as Hell. I don't know where my appetite went! It's like I'm just so uncomfortable below my stomach that I'm not even aware that I'm RAVENOUS!

Anyway - so I go home. I start laundry. I take some more Midol. I don't get any more comfortable and I'm too freaking lazy to find my heating pad...

I have this assignment for Psychology that I'm turning in tomorrow - a paper demonstrating that I read Chapter Two and practiced the SQ4R study method. This Chapter is about the biological reasons why we do the things we do.

Let me tell you something: I don't care why we do the things we do today. All I really care about is how I'll feel at the end of the week...

I didn't care about how the brain works in 2007 at Freshmen Orientation with Jill Wilkes. I don't care now...


But, alas... I do care about my grades and the fact that I need to know this information. But I remember thinking, rather vividly:

"I haven't been sleeping well anyway. I'll just take it easy and start it when I feel like it, even if it's at 9pm"


... and that's exactly what happened.

I started the assignment at 9pm.

I surveyed. I made up questions. I read the chapter. I did NOT recite it. I reflected on the material. And I wrote down the review.

I had to have a caffeine break considering I actually fell asleep (and would've been asleep for the night) at like 7:30pm but woke up in a panic thinking I never got the assignment done...

I went to Maverick with my roommate. We'll call her - Rocker. I think I entertain her greatly - especially when she hears random sounds coming from my room like "Ugh!" "I DON'T CARE" and hysterical laughter when I get on facebook, or start texting Guy among other friends...

I tried to chose the most caffeinated beverage that was both there and something I allow myself to ingest. I decided on Mountain Dew: Code Red and some chocolate... can't forget the chocolate...


I did some math in my head:

This Chapter is thirty pages long. I had been at it for two hours and had ten more pages left. So that's about ten pages an hour, which means one page every six minutes.

Rocker's advice: "Maybe you shouldn't have done the math...."


Anyway, an hour later I'm done. And all the Code Red did was make me burp like an overweight alcoholic in his early 40s....


And now I can officially say that completing this assignment has not made me feel any better -- and every time I hear a sound from upstairs I'm afraid they're going to have sex again...


Sighs The End.