chronicles
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My name is Kasia, and I live for stories and aspirations. Consider this my scrapbook.Links
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For anyone who needed proof that I AM Clara Oswin Oswald
- Clara: Do you think I'm pretty?
- Doctor: No. You're too short and bossy and your nose is all funny.
Waiting for my friends who have extra spending money to come home from bars and school formals.
In the meantime, feel free to read my last column EVER for The Hilltop Monitor, my college’s newspaper. Here’s an excerpt:
“’I mean, I’m not that sentimental…’” I said a couple of weeks ago at Harry’s in Westport. A certain editor-in-chief (we’ll call her Shtara Shmoreland) and I were celebrating Colloquium Day and Night of Honors with a few drinks in Kansas City, and I was trying to gauge whether the tall and handsome young man who had stolen my water was legitimately from England as he asked about my thoughts on college graduation.
I wasn’t convinced that his accent was legitimate, but nonetheless my mind, slightly unhinged with the help of tequila and gin, couldn’t help but return to Cambridge, England, where I spent my junior year abroad. I remembered my three best girlfriends and our over-the-top planning for themed College bops (my choice to spend money on a neon pink wig for our “rave” was solid), the aptly-named Suicide Sunday spent drinking Strongbow in Jesus Green in May sunshine at 2 p.m., and the multiple day trips I took to London, pleased to be alone and lost and falling in love with such a winding hodgepodge of a city. “
OH LOOK WHO FINISHED THEIR COMPS TONIGHT. From left: me, Mariah, Travis. Paige is there too. I am so in love with these people.
:) Photo credit Jess.
So remember how I wrote about that time when I went to a formal dinner after basically OD’ing on anxiety meds and taking a comp?
…Well, photos are up. This pretty much sums up the night. Time to wallow in regret mode.
Two of my gorgeous friends and I took a break from intense studying to explore Kansas City’s Little Italy (where we ate a hearty, delicious lunch at Happy Gillis) and the River Market (where we drank mochas at Quay Coffee and spent hours antiquing). Jillian’s the beautiful ginger in the glasses, Mary’s the artist behind the camera, and I’m the blonde with totally non-ironic duckface.
just thoughts (get back to work, kasia)
My stomach is tearing itself to pieces. Oh I so want this job in Paris. I’m overqualified (but just to live in Paris for a year before giving into the real world, can you imagine?), and if I could just get the employer’s support for a work permit: boom, I’m in. Punk-ass Polish embassy, all I want is my EU passport, and it shouldn’t take me over three years to get it.
I think the only time I’ve truly experienced heartbreak is when I’m separated from a city (sorry, various boyz from my past and present). I was looking through some photos of my 21st birthday spent in Paris with my friend Felix. It’s actually entirely possible to believe that this was over a year ago. I look like a whole different person. I’m thinner now. My hair is shorter, and it’s blonde. Physically, I’m more comfortable in my own skin, but mentally, I’m far more anxious and stressed and perpetually exhausted. Time, time, time.
1. Last day of 21.
2. First day of 22.
Last selfies/reflexive birthday post in a while, I promise (364 days until I’m 23). Anyway, birthday was all right. Didn’t get everything I wanted, but I have some spectacular friends and I wouldn’t even exchange them for another night with him.
Charlie et moi circa 2010. I have hair envy of my nineteen-year-old self. Also, eyebrow envy. How the hell did I get my eyebrows so perfect??
