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kate elizabeth

the journey of a life long clutz

manifestos October 10, 2019
Read Time3 Minute, 40 Second

I’m pretty sure that my first Clutzy move was at the age of 3. I fell walking. Not running. Not goofing around. You know, walking on the floor with saddle shoes on. I was three. I broke my arm. By walking. It really did set the stage for a life long journey of hurt.

The injuries have been many and varied. Cracking my head open on a tampon machine. Slamming my hand shut in a car door. Falling. Tripping. Breaking fingers, arms, needing stitches, bandages, ice, you name it.

My freshman year of college was exceptionally graceful. On my way to class, I fell down a flight of stairs and f’d up my left ankle. Badly. I remember the ER doc saying “oh, how i wish you could have just broken it, it would have healed better.” Sigh. I continued to fall and sprain and re-sprain the very tired left ankle. The ground and I are just not friends. At all. I’ve walked off a curb in front of my new house and sprained my ankle. I’ve been walking down 5th Street in Austin when the street jumped up and tackled me. Not really, but I like that version better.

In 2015, I had a sinus infection. I was awake all night, hopped up on decongestants and steroids. I was cleaning the house when I stepped on a dog bone and subsequently tore the ligament of my right ankle.

In October of 2016, I had a Modified Brostrom surgery to repair the right ankle. It sucked. Sucked bigly. The injury sucked. The recovery sucked, but I did it. I went through it. PS- I was pretty old school with my ice back then 🙂

In March of 2019, I fell. I retore the ligament on my right ankle. I knew within 5 minutes that I had trashed my ankle. You just know these things when you are a professional clutz. I called my parents and said “Well, this is bad.” It was suggested that I was being dramatic and to go home and ice it. I knew. I knew.

In May of 2019, I had an Open Brostrom repair on the right ankle. (We got a lot more high tech this time around- ice machine, compression socks, the whole shebang.)

Ya, I kinda called that one. Maybe an “i told you so” would be appropriate here.

Flash forward to July. I busted my ass to get through rehab on the right ankle. I did all of the work in PT and then continued to do the work at home. I wanted to be strong and be done with all of the things. I wanted to get back to Pilates. I wanted to get healthy, get strong and MOVE.

On July 6th, as I was going down some 150 stairs at the Hotel, I took a video of my ankle. I was going to send it to my surgeon to say “LOOK HOW INCREDIBLE THIS LOOKS.”

Well, I sent the video and I didn’t get a response. To quote Michelle Tanner, “how rude.”

Another few weeks later, I go into what I thought was going to be my final post-op visit with my surgical team. I walk in all confident. Akin to Beyonce and her drumline. I was feeling GOOD. I was a little surprised to see how many of the doctor’s team was in the room for a simple post-op clearance appointment. Remember that video I sent? Ya.

Turns out my right ankle was indeed strong. My left? Not so much.

Which brings me to right now.

In 24 hours, I will be heading to my third ankle surgery. This time to repair the left that I beat to hell over the course of my 42 years. Multiple trips, falls, and sprains were nothing compared to forcing a weak ankle to be the primary for multiple years while the right was in the boot. I literally wore myself out. So tomorrow, I have to do this crap all over again. I’m ready. I have Goldfish crackers, I have my scooter, the boot, the brace, the ice machine and the shower chair. Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my dignity, but ya, I’ll be good to go in 6-8 weeks.

I hope.

By January, I will be oh, so bionic.

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the only certain thing in life is that something/everything will change

manifestos August 24, 2019
Read Time2 Minute, 5 Second

I’ve been on the road a fair bit this summer, both for work and for me. I’m incredibly lucky that the work I do requires only an internet connection to do my job. And a computer, but obviously, that was implied.

Last week, I had the opportunity to run up to Mackinac Island again. The is part of my story. Can’t really fully articulate, but from the time I was a kid, this place has been my happy place. It’s also been my medium place and my super sad place.

I fell in love on this island. I made incredible friends on this island. I worked my ass off on this island. Ok, I drank my ass off too, but that’s neither here nor there.

This past week, I got to show lifelong friend parts of the island that I love. On Sunday night, we had a lovely dinner and were walking through the Grand Hotel. I was showing her little things here and there, and I paused by this ancient desk outside of the main dining room. The desk is a standing desk, with a big scratched top that raises to hide things inside the desk. I used to stand outside of that desk three times a day- taking and selling tickets for various meals.

I touched the desk and was immediately thrown back to 1997, a time long ago. I had a ton of friends, was optimistic about life and was in the early stages of falling in love. Life was pretty incredible as it could be for a 20-year-old dumbass. That desk. Oh, that desk.

As one must do, I left the island to head back to reality. This time it was a little different. I’m older now. More cynical. More wary of everything and everyone. I left the island this time just me, as I am today. I left behind this time some of my stories and memories. They are better there than floating around my head.

Life changes. Things change. Places evolve. People move on. Boy, some people move on more than others. My circle has changed since those early days. Some have left, some have been pushed out. Others, I still hold onto dearly for the friendships as they are today.

This morning, as I lay in bed writing this, I raise my cup of tea to those who helped build the memories, but even more, I offer cheers that are still here today. Because they want to be.

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hunger

manifestos August 7, 2019
Read Time1 Minute, 40 Second

In typical Kate fashion, I woke up starving this morning. Pretty sure it’s all in my head, but there is nothing I can do about the hunger in my belly. I’m on a clear liquids diet today in preparation for some tests tomorrow. Of course, I’m hungry. That’s what I do. I want the things I can’t have. Typical me.

Truthfully, I rarely eat breakfast, so I’m chuckling at myself this morning. My brain knows I can’t have breakfast so therefore it’s telling me “dude, you really want breakfast.” Yes, my brain refers to me as “dude.” Doesn’t yours?

I’m going to keep pretty busy today to avoid the desire to binge/graze/eat all of the foods. I actually am excited about a 36 hour fast (says no one ever.)

I’m excited to get to the roots of my GI issues and maybe figure out why I can’t really drink wine anymore without burning firelike feels in my esophagus.

It makes for a great date- “darling, hand me a bottle of tums please.”

(Imagine me rolling my eyes.)

Speaking of dates, I’ve not been on a good one in a while. I had signed up for Bumble a month ago, and I am blown away by how many men are out there that really like taking photos of themselves in bathrooms. I’ll take a car selfie (yes, me, the Queen of Car Selfies), before I see one more toilet in the back of a selfie. Nothing says “ladies, I’m single and ready to mingle” than seeing a messy sink and toilet in the back of a photo.

Truthfully, I was asked out on a date last week. I was asked out on a date by a guy that was actually married, but he liked to go to dinner with ladies and go home to his wife.

Wait, what?

I can’t.

Not even for a free dinner.

Crap, now I’m thinking about food again.

Happy Wednesday.

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time suck, social style

manifestos August 5, 2019
Read Time1 Minute, 20 Second

hi.

It’s me.

The one, about a month ago, who declared to the world that she was going to do a better job blogging.

Well, I mean, it’s not been quite a month, so I’ve got that going for me.

Ever since I started my book, I’ve written about 10k words. Yes, I am measuring.

Ever since I got home from Michigan, my life went a little cattywampus. (whoa, that word looks insane while typed.)

It could perhaps be said I’ve not been up on my time management. That would be a true statement.

Yesterday, I sat down and thought about what I want to accomplish in the next 90 days. NOWHERE on that list was “spend countless hours scrolling through Instagram”, but, there it is. I spend way too much time socially scrolling. I could totally bullshit and say that it’s work-related, but it’s not. Not even close. My Instagram, my problem.

So, this morning, I deleted the app from my phone. This serves a two-fold purpose, 1.) to cut down on the excessive time that i spend scrolling aimlessly, and 2) stop buying shit that i see in IG ads. I am the perfect audience to target- single, great income, blah blah blah..

I don’t know how long I will keep it deleted. On Friday, I put a “time limit,” on IG through my phone and yet, I blew past it each day (Friday included.)

So, here we go. One less time waster. One less time sucker. One less way for me to compare my life with others.

Happy Monday- be awesome, ok?

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it just makes sense, an announcement of sorts.

the book July 6, 2019
Read Time1 Minute, 14 Second

I’m sitting here in a hotel.

Not just any hotel, but the Grand Hotel on Mackinac.

Grand Hotel Porch

Drinks on the worlds largest summer porch

I’m here for a few reasons, but one that I feel like talking about is the book.

Yes, a book.

I figure if I make it internet official, then it might actually happen.

I’ve got a few things that I’m here taking care of this weekend, but the most important is the start of this book.

See, the Island is where I kinda became a grown up. Kinda, because, well, I was a young dumbass, but still, I learned things. I grew. I screwed up. I had some successes. I had some failures. I had some love, I lost some love. I had friends, I lost some friends. Life happened big time and for that, I’m forever a better human.

I learned to hustle. I learned to work with an intensity to be about 42 steps ahead of everyone else to be able to provide the best possible service.

I learned how to pick myself up when I fell on my face. Man, did I fall.

So it is here that I’m going to start writing this book. A memoir of sorts. Mostly true, at times, the names and identities will be changed to avoid legal action.

But here, I am going to buckle down and start writing.

Join me on this journey, won’t you?



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That Single Person You Know

manifestos October 7, 2018
Read Time1 Minute, 16 Second

You know your single friend? I know you all have a token single friend.
You know that one that you think should have all the extra time in the world since you know, they are single?
See, here’s the thing that a lot of people don’t realize, or have forgotten.
 
Your single friend takes care of everything. I mean, literally everything.
 
Your single friend is solely responsible for all financial things- taxes, bills, budget, etc.
 
Your single friend is the only one who is there to take care of all things house.
 
Your single friend is the shopper, the cleaner, the fixer, the errand runner, the appointment setter, the car maintenance person, etc.
 
If something has to be done, that one person is doing the thing.
 
Even if you feel that you do all of the work at your home, my guess is that your partner probably does a whole bunch too.
 
Next time you snark at your single friend for staying home to take care of something house related, or frankly life-related- give them a little slack.
There are many levels of single- single, no partner, but close family. Single, dating, but live in different households. Single, no partner, no family around.
There’s a lot of life out there that doesn’t look like yours. Next time you start to give a single friend shit for not being able to do something, instead give them a high five and tell them that you are proud of them for tackling all of the things.
 



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