I have a difficult time believing that you love me, because a lot of the time I'm not even trying. And my mother spent a significant amount of time drilling into my head that effort MATTERS. Like if after I washed the dishes, if one was dirty, I had to wash every single one of them all over again. Which meant I spent a lot of time standing on a chair in front of the kitchen sink (that's how you know kids are old enough to wash things, when they can reach them - yes that's correct, spouting violets now features free parenting tips) which meant I had scaly elbows sometimes from leaning on the wet counter which was not pleasant but what was pleasant was that if I was doing the dishes I got to play my CDs on my mom's big stereo in the kitchen which meant that I got to sing a lot of Backstreet Boys and Best of Sonny & Cher and Aqua (if my friend from the bus let me borrow it) and also practice all of my dance moves that the kitchen chair I was standing on would allow, which meant that what I actually learned was that the worse I was at doing dishes the longer I got to stand in the kitchen screaming about gypsies and tramps and the later I got to go to bed. I have to assume that at some point my mom caught on to the fact that I wasn't quite absorbing the intended lesson and made appropriate adjustments to my chore, because today I am a holy terror to live with and will absolutely THROW A FUCKING FIT if I find a dirty dish in the dish rack. So anyway, the point is, that if you notice me self-consciously rubbing my elbows when a Cher song plays, it's just because inside my head I'm suddenly ten years old again.

Wait, no. That isn't the point. 

It drives me up a fucking wall that you don't always feel like the center of my universe. Because you absolutely are the reason for all of the things. Every weird decision I've made, every freak-out, every last-minute NOPE JUST KIDDING PLANS I'M GOING TO DO THIS OTHER THING I JUST THOUGHT OF INSTEAD, every class I go to and every piece of overpriced grilled salmon I serve to an entitled Upper West Sider in hot pink gym shorts which she loads into her stroller that cost more than the security deposit on our apartment and is big enough to house a family but is only housing one child who is definitely old enough to be walking by himself and is insisting that he DOES NOT WANT AVOCADO IN HIS SUSHI TODAY, everything, all of it, is you. Not for you, exactly, and not because of you either, I wouldn't say, but in a way both of those things and in a better way, neither of them. Because all of it, every bit of it, led me to the place where you and I are together. And that, mi novio, is worth all of the things. 

The problem I'm having, I think, isn't so much that I'm not "affectionate" - I can practice that, I think my story about washing dishes proves that I like to practice things, and I think practicing affection is a combination of the dishwashing practice (important, practical life skill) and of the kitchen-chair-backstreet-boy-dance-move practice (fun, awesome - also, important, practical life skill) - it's more that I have this great big… thing, and I am too small of a…nother thing to properly, you know, thing it. Like I'm a great big stone wall, and what you are to me is a great big ocean, and the ocean is behind the wall. And I only have one teeny tiny little hole in me (GROSS) and the ocean can barely squeeze through it. So maybe you feel like there's only a few drops of water, or sometimes none at all, sometimes maybe the wall looks completely dry, but that's just a trick (because of the very small hole, making things difficult and tricky) and the truth is that there's a whole OCEAN back there and it's actually (get ready) the ocean is actually what's holding the wall up. And sometimes pushing the wall forward. And sometimes the ocean needs the wall to keep it together, because we're a team and we do things for each other.

Are we a team or are we a walled-in ocean? Also I forgot if you were the water or if the way I feel about you is the water. I'm very tired, and the light from the computer is hurting my eyes. I hope you bring me home a pork bun, because I really want one now, except maybe don't and after we go to the movies on Saturday we can go get those mini ones from Koreatown. 

Anyway I left you a present, you'll see it when you come home, and it's never enough but I want you to know that every day that I'm alive you don't ever have to wonder if anybody loves you. 

the good earth

So I do. The book nearest to where I am curled under seventeen blankets is Wilderness Tips by Margaret Atwood and the sentence is:

"Nothing he could do about it, although naturally he tried."

Huh. Well let's just see what the next nearest book has to say. And so I send my pale winter claw back out into the world and it comes back with:

"Walking along the Champs-Elysées I keep thinking of my really superb health."

Which, of all the sentences in Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer is I think we can all agree a pretty disappointing one to draw when one is drawing insight into one's love life. So naturally I try again:

"I'll have no goings-on like this in Tim Gray's apartment!"

And I almost stop trying because Jack Kerouac, you can do better than that. Get back on the road and don't come back until you are better at explaining my love life. At this point, if I grab one more book from the row next to my head I run the risk of all of the things falling everywhere which makes me think I should create my own prompt that reads: Observe your bookshelves and draw an unsettling parallel to your love life. Ever the optimist, and ever the cheater at internet prompts, I grab one last book.

"But to both Wang and O-lan it gave a sense of secret richness and reserve."

And I feel fine about that. Thank you, Pearl S. Buck.

And now a series of more iPhone pictures, because it isn't obnoxious. It isn't.

It's my birthday and I just want to be jumping, okay?

Just kidding, I can take a serious picture.

JUST KIDDING you're dumb.

 Birthday Bib was really, really good.

Here is a filtered into oblivion for instagram close-up of how good it was:

I might be the only living person who looks WORSE under filters. 

I will buy into the whole smartphone thing when my nose stops looking broken and swollen in every picture. 

My birthday was so good this year, you guys. I kept trying to settle into the darkness but I just couldn't stay there. Not this year. Not even when I had to carry home a giant birthday cake that weighed roughly the same as a small child (NOT EXAGGERATING, and if the size of that child-sized cake was any indication then Ms. Obama is absolutely not talking about child obesity ENOUGH) because how can I be mad that my boss bought me a birthday cake? How? Even when I had to carry it home in the rain? And then carry it back to work a day later because of being nice and sharing and because I live with two girls not a football team?

And my boyfriend. And my friends. And then my mom came to visit the next weekend and also helped me buy a new camera so I promise not to inundate the internet with stolen phone pictures anymore and I also promise to maybe try and post more things here because I do like it for whatever reason and hopefully you do too, sometimes and anyway just all of the things were so sweet and good and yes. 

Oh yeah and I guess Christmas and New Year's happened too, yeah? Yeah. 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

My mom made Diego a stocking, and as you can see, the cat helped.

Nothing super interesting here, just proof I got dressed and left the house for NYE in NYC, aka my nightmare.

My resolutions include: 

-Water myself more (this includes moisturizing my face, which maybe sounds stupid but I never do it ever and it's been helping SO MUCH. why am I late to everything) 

-That's it. 

Oh, and also getting back in touch with people I've lost contact with over the last feverish (I tried to write fivish but Mr. Mac changed it to feverish which is also a fine description of the last months, so) months. This summer was a complete shitshow transition/cell phone nightmare and along the way I lost numbers, etc. And of course there are numbers that I never ever want to answer, but in losing the numbers I do want to answer I'm afraid of getting them mixed up with the numbers I don't. And so that is my project, because there are people I miss and have been being a bad friend to. I have a lot of cups of coffee to buy. 

Oh and also save all of the dollars, because mi novio and I are moving in together when my lease ends. I will expand on this more at a later date, because it does deserve to be expanded on, because when I think about this I do not feel as though I cannot breathe or want to kick bricks or anything. Which is really lovely and nice and he does make me smile pretty big so all in all, you know.

Sorry this and all posts are all over the place, but that is what happens when so much time goes by and you are using a platform on which you never share all the things anyway. All over the place happens. It just does. But it does not mean that I don't love you. Today is my first day of school! And it's an awkward day, sort of, because I am also off from work and so I don't have to be anywhere until 4, 2ish if I want to be a responsible adult and get other things done. Which I do. But that still leaves me with a lot of hours to fill and so, blogging. I guess it could've been "And so, Laundry" but hahaha. I have enough clean unmentionables to last til Saturday. I think. 

Lindsay GET UP AND BLOW DRY YOUR HAIR AND GET OUT OF THIS APARTMENT. Also you have to pee so seriously, get up.

why are you fixated on this hypothetical transgender attacker?

Thanksgiving? CHECK. Also I learned that the trick to blending the cranberry sauce that you brought home from work with the turkey mole that your boyfriend spent all night making is to eat it on the kitchen floor.

I was home hanging out with my mom this weekend and we decorated all the things. Unpacking terrifying ornaments from the sixties never fails to warm the cockles of my grinchy heart. And in addition to gnomes and balding angels, this year's Woodtick Christmas also features a rotating tree, courtesy of Darryl's dad who built the stand twenty hundred years before I was born. (The actual tree is courtesy of the nice men at the farm down the road who kindly cut a giant tree nearly in half for us. They also kindly let my mom and I stand by their fire while they did all the work and then kindly helped us when we tried to drive away with the emergency brake on. CHRISTMAS SPIRIT.)

DOING CHRISTMASY CITY THINGS.
Which for me includes throwing a temper tantrum at a holiday market.

I really think there's a dead person living in my building. Pun intended andI'mnotsorry. I will be sorry if there actually is a dead person, though. Yikes. There are packages in our lobby that have been there for weeks all addressed to the same person. In all likelihood somebody probably ordered a bunch of Christmas presents online and forgot to update the address in their profile, or something, but the important thing is HOW LONG DO I HAVE TO WAIT BEFORE IT'S OKAY TO START TAKING STUFF. And then if it turns out to be stuff I don't want, can I just put it back downstairs. Please email me your thoughts.

Someone give me a haircut for Christmas. KTHX.

This post isn't a real thing. But I haven't talked to the internet in a while so HI.

I ought to just stop back when I have something to say. And when my brain is not mush as a result of all of everything. I really need to go to the grocery store (because I got my roommates a milk frother and so obviously we are now out of milk) and I really need to eat something of substance and I really need to go finish shopping which I should have done today but I didn't because Netflix and I really blah blah blah. Also my fella is about to be here so I should go put on some deodorant before any of the things get done. Which they won't, I'm going to make him order off of Seamless with me for dinner so I can keep staying in bed. HOLY NOT SAYING ANYTHING STILL.

I'll be back with real things.

I thought Nana raised some good questions.

My gmail inbox and I both need to learn Spanish, evidently. Sorry I started blogging again and only write about my boyfriend, but 1) I'm not sorry and 2) What the hell was I ever talking about before? You want to go back to just cat pictures? and 3) Don't worry, there are plenty more cat pictures.

This morning I got some notices from school about next semester finally, so that's something that's back on my radar. Everything CUNY takes seventeen weeks, I'm learning, and so long periods of time pass without my thinking about school that much. And then all of a sudden I'll remember and get anxiety sternum and have to breathe into a paper bag for a while because, mywholelife. Also, this will be the fourth college I've attended in three years. My roommate/BESTFRIEND (who's getting her MSW at Columbia and is done next semester and spends her days social working babies while I make sandwiches for rich old people and Juilliard students who think that "all the deli counter's a stage") has been telling me about how her friends are applying to super intense phD programs right now. Meanwhile I'm on the phone with my high school guidance counselor trying to sweet talk him into forging my signature for me so I can avoid having to fax anything, ever, because youuuu can keep all your extra steps, Everything That Is Required of Me.

And then of course, as usual, there is that part of me that understands that there is more to life than what school you went to and the hoops you jumped through to go there and what you do for the dollars that keep you in Diet Cokes and thrift shop swag. The part that often wants to break through the concrete and burrow into whatever's under there and be as much a part of the earth as one is meant to. Which would probably kill me because that would mean I'd be breathing in dirt.

Anyway.

I didn't have to work today so after mi novio left for work I was supposed to go meet my friend in Chelsea but I got distracted by the school things and also it takes me a long time to get dressed on days where I'm not being paid to be anywhere. There is a lot of coffee to drink, friends, and a lot of my pores to examine and a lot of ass to drag. So I played with her for a little while when she got home later and ate a lot of the gingerbread men she brought home from Trader Joe's and then I went to midtown to buy dollar earrings from a nice Indian family because for whatever reason (the reason is that I'm bad at not losing things) I have twenty-nine earrings and none of them have partners. And I got really good Christmas ones for my roommates and I to wear to Santa Con this year and I restrained myself from buying all of the everything that was sparkly even though I really, really wanted to. Then I went to some other places, blah blah blah. Also this morning I learned what a "dupe" was, and on my way home I stopped to get the cheap version of the Benefit face powder I'm obsessed with but the Duane Reade by my house doesn't carry it and I didn't care enough to walk any more blocks out of my way. Because waiting for me in the princess house were endless episodes of The Office and more gingerbread men. And I had already been wearing pants for several hours and several hours is enough hours to be wearing pants for when I don't absolutely have to be wearing them. And let's talk about how, yes, obviously the Jim and Pam story line is solid gold BUT. The scene in the fifth season when Pam follows Michael out into the parking lot when he leaves Dunder Mifflin? Right in the gut. Every time.

I'm going to eat some of the massive amount of cilantro I got today and then go to sleep, because work. AND SPEAKING OF WALKING AROUND BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP I forgot to tell you guys that I stepped on a rat. A FUCKING RAT. It was awful. Obviously. I was on my way into work, walking the long way around because I don't know why that's just the way I like to go okay, and out of nowhere (nowhere = pile of trash on the street, probs) something got caught in between my feet and I stumbled a little and kind of half-screamed because I wasn't awake enough for proper screaming so it was more of a scrumble and then the rat screamed too and that's when I realized it was a rat in between the sneakers I had just bought the night before because my chucks just were not cutting it nine hours a day and I started to not be able to feel one of my toes so I had to be a grownup and spend real dollars on sensible shoes even though they're kind of ugly but not really they're just regular running shoes I just have no ankles so I look like your grandma's gym teacher. And so I bolted but also I looked around real quick and I swear to god I saw its little tail snap around the corner of whatever it ran behind. And then when I got to work the only person there yet was a person who speaks very little English and so the only comfort I got for my trauma was in a language that I am not equipped to understand and wasn't really comfort it probably just meant Good morning how are you today my you look a little crazier than usual why are you breathing so heavily that's weird.

But then a few days later I got to eat some rat cake so, worth it.

Not sure why rat cake is even a thing but I'll take it. With a glass of milk, please.

A mountain keeps an echo deep inside.

That's how I hold your voice.

RUMI

It isn't enough (somebody else's words

and some shit from weheartit?)

but it will have to do for now.

I'd write you a hundred thousand books if I could, 

I'd fill libraries with everything and everynonthing about you,

I'd eviscerate rain forests getting it down on paper.

I would, and maybe I will. Probably I will.

Except for eviscerating rain forests; hopefully I will not do that.

Yikes.

Right now though, I'm going to sleep.

Because of sandwiches needing to be made tomorrow.

Important things, you know.

Hold my hand. FOREVER.

<3 div="">

lay hands, expletive!

I'm sorry. But when I decided to eat a tangerine I did not realize I was committing to a goddamn Odysseun endeavor. Nor did I realize that 'Odysseun' was not a word until spellcheck poked holes through my eyeballs with its rude red lines just now. IT SOUNDS RIGHT OKAY. When I set out to eat a snack I want to eat a snack, not bend over my trash can for thirty minutes peeling sticky skin off of a ball of mush. Life lesson, readers: If a produce sale sounds too good to be true, spend that two dollars on candy instead.

SO. Two days off in a row, which happens never percent of the time, means that all of my laundry is done.

Hahahhahaha.

Novio is letting me use his computer and at first I was so scared of breaking it that it just sat wherever he left it, being terrifying and threatening to spill coffee all over itself. But then I remembered that Photo Booth is a thing and got over the fear pretty quick:

Bahahahaha eff laundry. Only not really because all of my work pants smell like things that are unladylike to name so here I come, Baby Girl's Bubbles.

you can tell it's real when balding older men look approvingly on

Guys, I found love down under. Because technically I met him in a basement and also, Mexico.

Also also, as you probably definitely already know, I did not in fact return to Connecticut, ie the fiscally responsible place of residence (relatively), at the end of the summer. Instead! When my friends said, hey, we're going to give up our cute apartment in Astoria to live in Morningside Heights and pay forty million dollars and the blood of our firstborn children in rent every month, I said Yes. I'm in. And now I live in a princess house. Being me is equal parts nice and terrifying because I DO WHATEVER I WANT.

I'm going to try to start blogging again, I didn't super mean to stop doing it to begin with. Emphasis on the try, though. Don't get your hopes up just yet because (1) I'm still in computer purgatory, (2) I haven't had a working camera in over a year and (3) Neither one of those things is a thing which I feel very motivated to change, because at the bottom of my soul I am a poor dirty hippie whose phone still flips and I feel fine about it. However, I will be starting school again soon which will force me to have a computer that works kind of which will mean lots of time blogging instead of schoolworking.

(Side note: This summer I went off the grid for like three weeks and it was kind of awesome.)

Obviously I have seventy hundred sidenotey stories to share with you but you and they will have to wait because actually the only reason I'm on the internet right now is because I wanted to send my mom some pictures of the man I'm dragging home for Christmas so I stole some from my roommate's facebook. And then I stalked Samantha Irby and some other blogs I'm twelve years behind on and then it was 2034 and I woke up with a beard. (Actually just a really itchy face mask that I left on too long. MY PORES ARE SO CLEAN.) And since both of my live-in life partners are away for the weekend I'm making mi guapo novio stay with me here for a change because one cannot get too used to luxury apartments or else one will forget what her real status in life is. And that will not do. Anyway he likes to "leave the house" and "do activities" so I should probably go "take a shower" and "be a human." Or at least powder my face into oblivion until I closely resemble something that might have been human at one or more points.

So I miss you, sort of, blogger & co. Seeyouagainsoonmaybe. In the meantime, here are some irrelevant pictures of me in costume (only one of the occasions was Halloween)/taking pictures underground because waiting for trains is boring/me being really really extremely photogenic and not ruining any picture ever:

If Wilma, Pebbles & Dino had access to Target, North Face & Old Navy then they'd have worn sweatshirts, too.

I'm so fucking attractive you can't even deal with it.

I thought this picture was us getting photobombed but apparently we knew those guys? I prefer to believe the photobombing thing because I'm sure that even if I did know them I didn't like them.

HAIR WRAPS. And yes, I wore it in the world. Like an adult lady.

loveyoubye!