My name is Kaity. I’m a nineteen year old accounting student living in southeastern North Carolina. I have horrifying anxiety, I procrastinate too much, and I’m freakishly attached to my cat, Happy. This is my outlet. -♥-

Sometimes I really question my ability to do well in school. I really struggled with Mr. Wilson’s teaching method for some reason. I love the man dearly, and I miss him every time I walk into this school. The way he taught, though, made it hard for me to learn. He wasn’t the type to use notes or teach theory. It was just this is what this is and this is the way you do it. It worked for the first few accounting courses I took, but once I entered intermediate, it didn’t. 

Which, in all honesty, makes sense because the idea behind the intermediate level accounting classes is that you learn why you do the things you do in accounting. It was extremely difficult for me to process all of the information properly and I honestly thought I was going to fail. I managed a low B. 

I’m doing so well with Bland, though. She’s patient and explains things and gives notes. I made a 100 on a test. I’m so proud of myself, honestly. 

Craving the view of the Matanzas Bay and the sight of coquina everywhere. Missing the smell of every style of food imaginable mixed with the salty breeze. St. Augustine, I just miss you. 

Aspirational couple and personal heroes and my aunt and uncle. They’ve suffered through problems most people don’t have to in life, and have become better people, parents, and partners from it. They’re beautiful and loving and kind and open and embracing and understanding. They’re the greatest people I’ve ever met. My life would be so much different if I hadn’t watched them go through a life of addiction and loss, and while I wish it hadn’t happened, I’m honestly thankful that it did. The people that they became to get past it is a perfect example of the person I want to become. 

Aspirational couple and personal heroes and my aunt and uncle. They’ve suffered through problems most people don’t have to in life, and have become better people, parents, and partners from it. They’re beautiful and loving and kind and open and embracing and understanding. They’re the greatest people I’ve ever met. My life would be so much different if I hadn’t watched them go through a life of addiction and loss, and while I wish it hadn’t happened, I’m honestly thankful that it did. The people that they became to get past it is a perfect example of the person I want to become. 

I’ve been suffering through the most excruciating pain. The past fifteen days have been a constant, literal headache that I cannot, for the life of me, shake. I’ve had two visits to the urgent care, I’ve tried countless medications, and I’m at a dead end. Nothing is working. It’s not going anywhere. 

I’ve tried: tylenol, aleve, ibuprofen, aspirin, excedrin, decongestants, a prescription steroid, tramaol, promethazine, and claritin. Nothing is working. I can barely hold my head up. All I can really do is lay in bed and cry. 

It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m grouchy and irritated because of it. I feel like I’m an inconvenience and aggravating my boyfriend and grandma. I’m so ready to feel better, however it happens. 

Holding the blow dryer to my body because it’s only like 50 degrees in my room, and 20 outside.

FOR GOD’S SAKE GIVE ME SPRING OR GIVE ME DEATH.

iPhone Dump - 2/21/2014 Dusk

Today, I was called a racist.

I do not have an internet connection at my house. I have to drive twenty minutes to McDonald’s to do web-y things on days I don’t have class or when I’m not at my boyfriend’s house. When I come here, I half watch netflix, half do my homework, and half people-watch. 

There’s a high school literally a minute and a half from here. I live in a small town, so it’s a small high school. But starting around 3:15, it becomes a madhouse in here. An entire ladies’ sports team walked in, ordered their food, and started sitting in the group of tables next to me. My bags were in a chair next to them and so I moved my things to give them more space. There were three more girls who hadn’t sat down yet so I’d know they would need the space.

I keep watching my documentary and a few minutes later, I had to use the restroom. I’m on my period, so I grabbed my purse just in case I needed to change. When I got up, I left my MacBook and iPhone on the table. By time I make it to the bathroom door, I hear one of the girls say to her friends, “Why you gotta take your purse? I don’t want your purse. Fuckin’ racist.” 

I ignored it, did my business, washed my hands, and came back to my table. I started watching my documentary again, and I hear the same girl say, “I should have taken her phone to give her something to worry about.”

No. I am not a racist. My step-mother is a racist. She has a white superiority complex so deeply instilled on her by her father that she has threatened to beat me if I ever came home with a black man. That is racist. 

I am kind. I am caring. I am considerate. I am also a lady, on her period. I shouldn’t have to be called a racist for not wanting to dig a tampon out of my purse in the middle of a restaurant. I also shouldn’t have to weigh my options between being called disgusting or nasty and being called a racist. 

Now, I wait for a social justice blogger to find this and tear my tiny, two-day-old person blog apart for being upset over being accused of being something I despise. 

No matter how much I hate my house and living so far out in the woods that I am cut off from the world, I will never not be ecstatic that this is my backyard. 

No matter how much I hate my house and living so far out in the woods that I am cut off from the world, I will never not be ecstatic that this is my backyard. 

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