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. -♥-

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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