A year ago I was on here writing about how if I wanted to have a baby I’d have to give up my stupid-expensive morning Whole Foods juice habit (a habit that was necessary to flush out my evening Craft Beer and Soft Cheese habit) because I earn a sock full of nickels each year and children are more expensive than kombucha. (If you don’t remember that post, scroll down like two centimeters. Or however many centimeters the last blog post or two is down on the screen of whatever device you’re using. That was a terribly-constructed sentence, don’t read too much into it. Hey, what if you’re a giant and the last posts are entire METERS down on your screen? Are you a giant? Hello, you. Welcome.)

So then, I don’t know, the moon got full or the water got infected and we pretty much just said “Hey! Maybe having a baby wouldn’t mean the complete devastation of everything good in our lives after all” and then the next thing I knew I was standing in line at CVS every night after work for a week straight clutching boxes of pregnancy tests and staring with a cold heart at ragamuffin children that were inevitably right in front of me beating each other to death with some sort of school supply while their exhausted mother halfheartedly swiped at them with one tired arm while the other lovingly cradled a shopping basket full of (presumably) NyQuil and Tylenol PM. “I may have made a huge mistake,” I would soberly tell the cashier each evening. “And yet every time one of these tests tells me that there’s nothing in there besides what’s usually in there, I’m a little disappointed.”

“We don’t know each other,” she’d answer, “So it’s weird that you keep trying to confide in me.”

“Thanks, Evelyn,” I’d reply. “You’re going to make a great godmother to the zygote that may or may not be floating around inside of me. Do zygotes float, Evelyn? Is that how that works?”

“Next in line,” Evelyn would say. We’re still quite close, if you’re wondering.

—

All of the above was written approximately two weeks ago. It’s 7AM on Tuesday now and any minute my baby daughter will bust out of her swaddle for the thirtieth time since 10PM last night and I’ll go get her from where she’s laying sweetly with her dad. (Because I woke him up two hours ago so that he could put her back to sleep after her nine hundredth night feed because I have learned that dads evidently have magical chests that make babies fall asleep (possibly the only earthly advantage to a lack of breasts) and if I didn’t wash my hair and eat a bowl of instant oatmeal in peace then I would have no other choice but to build a boat, grow a mustache, sail away to South America and never speak to anyone ever again. NO OTHER CHOICE, PEOPLE.) (By “in peace” I of course mean “while the cats yodel aggressively for food and knock things over.”)

My baby daughter, her dad. My heart is fit to burst.

Here seems like a good place for a picture of my butt.

I can't remember the last time I shaved my legs, but did I let that stop me from shaving my face? No, I did not. There are a few cuts on my arm from where I practiced with Diego's straight razor (which several internet sources advised me NOT to use, but did I let that stop me? No, I did not!) but they sort of blend in with Griffon's handiwork so I don't think they'll alarm anyone. So far I feel exactly as neutral about this method of face-hair-removal as I do about any other method of any-other-hair-removal. Why yes, actually, I am perpetually disappointed that hair removal and how many pounds my body is takes up so much brain space. Thank you for asking. 

I lied, I can remember, it was Tuesday. Same day I washed my hair. 

I spent $100 on a juice cleanse even though we bought a juicer a few months ago and I could probably just make the cleanse myself. Or like, not do one at all, because they're stupid. But since when has anything being stupid stopped me from doing it? Never, is when! 

Yesterday while I was scrubbing away all evidence of the week from all the surfaces of our apartment, I was also thinking about which dress I was going to wear to dinner at the cute place with the curtain-y booths and about how nice it would be to put on lipstick and be in the world after a day of scraping wet cat litter (AKA CEMENT) off of the bathroom floor. What we ended up doing was ordering in a lot of garlicky carbohydrates and watching Practical Magic. I did put on my house dress to go get a bottle of Chianti, so like, I made it partway into the world. What do you want from me? 

Here are some miscellaneous pictures of summer that are sitting on my desktop for reasons I cannot recall:

Linking up with Becky even though BY HER OWN ADMISSION she has read HP fanfiction. 

I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks
and assure you that you’ll find your place,
it’s just
the world has a funny way of
hiding spots fertile enough for
bodies like yours to grow roots.
LUCAS REGAZZI

This isn't a confession, I'm just going to talk about my cat for a minute. Or ten.
He's finally, finally "adjusted." I think. He's gone from squeezing his big fat butt onto the shelf next to the toilet and growling while I feed him treat after treat after treat at 2AM and empty my bladder as quickly as possible to following me around wherever I go. He is my short and scratchy shadow. Like, here's where he is when I'm sitting at my desk:

And here's where he is when I sit on the couch (aka here is where both of us always are):

Et cetera, et cetera. I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH, YOU GUYS. And he loves me, too, or so it would seem. As long as I don't pet him for too long, or, goddess forbid, try to snuggle him. He really does not like that.

MOVING ON.

I'm a shitty vegan but an okay vegetarian. 
I just can't stop with the cheese. Also, did you guys know that not all beer and wine is vegan? I'm half a bottle in to a probably definitely NOT-plant-based bottle of white, okay okay three-quarters, I'm three-quarters of a bottle in, wine as we speak. As I type? Anyway if I'm waiting for Diego to finish work and somebody hands me a chai latte, I'm not asking if they made it with almond milk. I'm just drinking it. And hoping he finishes soon because it's Saturday and Full House is on Hulu now and I'm about ready to drop the "I Am A Person Who Gets Dressed And Goes Places" charade. And listen, if I'm going to eat a taco and it's not going to have pork and pineapple on it, then it's going to have fish and I'm going to be really happy for however many seconds it takes me to make it disappear. I don't miss meat at all. Not even fish (unless it's on a taco but we've already covered that.) But the rest of it is challenging. And you know how I deal with things that are challenging... by not!

The good gosh darn am I talking about? Cats and fish? I'm so sorry, everyone. Blame the meat wine.

I had an idea of what I was going to read next but then I realized there was a book I bought a long time ago that never downloaded to my kindle. So, sorry book about Actual Important Things - you'll have to wait, because I'm now very involved in this book that I cannot remember the title of/have the faintest idea what it's supposed to be about except that there's a forest and an abandoned town and a lovable dog and a sarcastic protagonist and some dead guys. BASICALLY EVERYTHING.

I'm in the process of trying to get back into college and it's the worstttt. It's more the worst than I am at eating plant-based.
It is actually not the worst, and I am quite extremely privileged to have access to an education. And a hard-working Mexican to pay the tuition I owe to the last college I went to so that they'll release my transcript - ba-dum, tss!

And in between dealing with that, I'm googling properties for sale in another state because I think I may be coming to the end of my tolerance of this city. I love her so much, but she's wearing on me, guys. I've got maybe three, four more years left in me before I start talking to myself on the bus. I mean like, loud enough that other people can hear me.

I love fall so much that as soon as the temperature dropped below 70 I ripped all the sweaters out from under my bed and rolled around in them. Pumpkin I could give a shit about, but clothes in earth tones that cover my chubby upper arms? HAPPY OCTOBER TO ME.

wherein i tell you about the last three books i read because math gives me a headache and i want to go home and i also am still recovering from an emotional hangover mehrr

You probably can’t tell, but I stuck these tile stickers to the floor myself. Yeah, really! That’s why it looks so professional. Want me to come do yours? 

“Hillbilly Elegy” by J.D. Vance

Mm, okay. Didn’t actually finish this one. OFF TO A GREAT START. Fun fact, I only realized that this book was A Thing when I stopped reading it to google a picture of the face of the man who was boring me to death. The only reason I bought it is because I thought it was going to be a memoir a la “The Glass Castle” and it is not. It is not so hard. Supposedly what it is is this great explanation about why poor people in the middle of the country voted Trump, and like, first of all, I don’t need an explanation about why ANYONE voted Trump because I’ve had a uterus for almost thirty years now and I have to go outside with it, like, ALL the time. So, okay, my point is not WOE IS ME AND MY VAGINA because you’ve never seen a happier pair of clams than me and my vagina (lol vagina jokes). My point is that if I had known that this book was going to basically be this guy yarning on about “personal responsibility” and how people on welfare shouldn’t buy cell phones while making NARY A PEEP about the shit the richest people in the world buy (WARS), then I would have spent my $12.95 or however much it was on yarn instead. (More yarn, I mean. I was feeling spendy that day.) Next.

“The Practice House” by Laura McNeal

This one I chose because I thought it was going to be about polygamists. (Note to self: Read book descriptions more carefully, and maybe disable Amazon one-click.) However, even though it turned out to only have monogamous Mormons and even though THEY were only in it for like twenty pages – I enjoyed this one a lot. There’s a dusty schoolhouse. There’s betrayal. There’s smooching. Eventually there’s a dirty old man, and juuust enough consumption (nothing worse than too much consumption in a story, am I right?) to make it a satisfying read. 

This is definitely one of those books where the characters are the story, if you know what I mean, so if you need a plot where there are A Lot of Things that Happen then you probably won’t love this. BUT. If you like depression-era stories about family dynamics and the complexities of how humans make choices and relate to each other and if you don’t mind a little dust and sadness, then – recommend some books to me, cause me too. 

“Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley

A lot of people read this one in high school, right? Well, I didn’t. Was way, way too busy pretending to read The Iliad and The Inferno. Also plotting elaborate ruses to skip Spanish and math. And gym. Anyway this book was suggested to me by Amazon and since I do everything Amazon tells me to (this post sponsored by Amazon), I bought it. Also because I think it was 99c, and also because, as we’re all well aware, old age has found me morbidly preoccupied with the fate of our poor sweet doomed planet. If you’ve read Orwell’s ‘Down and Out in Paris and London’ WHICH YOU SHOULD, the main gist of it is basically like that except it’s set in the future and instead of managing the masses by exhausting them with long hours at shitty jobs, they use literal happy pills. “They” being the invisible others in relative control. And, oh yeah, nobody has moms or dads because everyone gestates in a tube and is conditioned to be happy as a clam (I feel like no one says that anymore, I’m bringing it back) serving whatever function they were cooked up in their little tube to perform. It was fine, whatever. 

Next up: “Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome” by Joy DeGruy, as soon as I finish reading the copy of “Shrill” by Lindy West that my mom sent me. And then one about a family of hoarders. Yes, ANOTHER one.

Oprah tried to tell me. She did.
She said, "Lindsay. The universe is going to try, like, one more time. And then it's going to start screaming its cosmic head off and things are going to get uglier than your forearms after a 'play' session with Griffon." (Or something like that, Oprah says a lot of things.)

The rails, you guys - the rails. I went so far off of them that I couldn't tell what they were anymore. Just bones in my peripherals, that's all anything was. Last night I was driving a motorbike way too fast around some beautiful gardens, and then I went right off the edge into deep blue water. Then there were some broken pairs of glasses and a funeral parade of Scientologists dressed in Victorian clothing and also I didn't get wet in the water somehow. Or maybe that was the night before last. I don't know. What I do know is that right now, it's a little hot here by the window, but it's nice to watch the neighborhood do its Sunday things and know that Griffon is laying behind me with his feet straight up in the air digesting his first breakfast and that later I'll make tofu scramble and banana pancakes and go for a walk with a person who loves me even though sometimes I self-destruct for weeks in a row.

And I'm more than ever grateful to be a part of a universe that isn't afraid to raise its voice. I don't want to be either, anymore. My truth is just as valid as anyone else's - and if I violate some social rules, well then. I'll have interesting things to say to my journal.

You know who else talks to me is Allen Ginsberg:

"Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness. You say what you want to say when you don't care who's listening." 

Adrift in a dream world, I came upon the carefully curated concept of a human person.

For a long time I allowed myself the diversion.

The siren song of illusion drew me toward its center by the pit of my stomach –

the closer I got, the brighter-lit specific neural pathways became

and I liked it because it was like finding new rooms in the house you’ve always lived in

and thought you knew every corner of.

It took years to separate life from the myth I’d written;

I dream sometimes now that I smoke cigarettes again

poison I quit in waking life –

it's the same feeling. 

30 before 30, brought to you by an impending birthday and morning traffic on the bridge

1. Get through the Tolkien books
2. Ditto some Russian novels, why is it so hard they have everything I like
3. Finish my Bachelor’s (maybe, if I feel like it)
4. Earn Griffon’s love
5. Learn how to knit more than one kind of stitch (stitch more than one kind of knit? Tie different kinds of knots with needles)
6. Learn how to use my sewing machine for more than making dresses shorter (although IMO if that’s all it did, still totally worth the space it takes up)
7. Take a vacation by myself
8. Go one month without spending money on anything besides groceries and bills
9. Complete Tarot meditations/exercises for every card in the deck
10. (I’m embarrassed to even write this one because SERIOUSLY LINDSAY COME ON) Learn Spanish
11. Fill a journal
12. Scrape together a respectable savings account
13. Cook my way through Thug Kitchen, which my mom bought us for Christmas two years ago. Oh did I tell you guys we’re in-it-to-win-it-well-mostly-anyway vegans now? And not like before when I was accidentally vegan because dinner was Swedish fish on the train home from class at 11PM and breakfast and lunch were nothing because I was poor. Man, and I was too tired to appreciate how skinny I was. Just goes to show. It just. Goes. To show.
14. Run 2 miles without stopping (or dry heaving, or crying)
15. When people say they’re “taking a break from technology” I assume that along with staying off of their phones they’re also not using wheels or ovens. So I’d like to be more specific, because I like my toilet and don’t feel like using it is impeding my connection to the universe. Although, I mean, I guess I’d technically be closer to the earth without it. Anyway I’d like to take a break from phones/computers/the internet for a whole day.
16. Let go. Allow. Observe. Appreciate phenomena. Actively practice compassion.
17. Stop farting on the bus
18. Find my shade of red lipstick and figure out how to wear it without looking like a kindergartener
19. Find a semi-regular volunteer gig (remember when I was young and tried harder, me neither really)
20. DIY the crap out of one piece of furniture
21. Get really good at uncorking wine bottles (I suck SO BAD – last night I broke an opener and didn’t even realize what had happened until - as I was digging at the cork with tweezers and a butter knife - I unearthed the screw that had broken off inside the cork.)
22. Write ten personal essays. Like, really write them.
23. Go balls-out at a fancy schmancy spa
24. Finish one cross-stitch project
25. Go a week without makeup
26. Go a day without looking in the mirror
27. Go to one of those BYOB art classes
28. Actually learn Quickbooks for real
29. Develop a workout routine that I’ll actually stick to for real
30. Plan something sweet for Diego because usually I’m a troll