Whenever someone tells me something about myself, it makes me feel weird. It's weird to think about something you say or do becoming a thought in someone else's brain, right? Right.

(Sorry, this dude next to me keeps taking his sweatshirt on and off and in the process, his shirt keeps coming on and off too. All of my gripes just got slammed into perspective, because here in front of me is a person who was never taught to dress himself. FOR SHAME, LINDSAY.)

Where was I. Oh yes. Wisdom.

You know what though? There's nothing I feel like writing about right now. Do you ever get that feeling where everything you write down just feels wrong and you don't like it? Like an icky, stressed-out feeling in the bottom of your stomach. Also sometimes a headache and an urge to punch something, like say the half-naked gentleman beside you. A variation of this feeling also occurs when I can't figure out a math problem. Anyway this is the first time in a lot of days I've had free time AND internet so I thought I'd blog something. And look, I have managed to do that! Without saying anything!

Perhaps I could take this time to explain why I cannot do things like "outfit posts" and such, as much as I may sort of want to. Because you are DYING to know. For one thing, the only time I take a picture of my hair is to see what it looks like so I can fix whatever is wrong with it. Which usually means spraying a bunch of shit on it so the sticky-out parts stay down. By the time I've done this, I need to rush in order to be wherever I have to be forty minutes early in order to avoid certain catastrophe. So what I end up with is pictures that illustrate my head in varying states of frizziness and pin-showingness and yeah:

And outfit posts? Listen, class, I learned to thrift straight out of the womb out of necessity. And necessity breeds awesomeness. -Confucius, or someone. So I have a lot of really cute dresses, despite being a pauper. One day several weeks ago, I got it into my head that I'd participate in a link-up involving posting a picture of what you wore every day for a week (AHEM, Pulitzer people!) so before class one morning, at around five AM, I attempted to take a picture of myself. Here is what happened:

Since I evidently lack the motor skills necessary to figure out the self-timer, I am peering awkwardly at the camera as if I could make it work from three feet away; also pictured is my cats' judgement. Also obviously I look insane.

Thank you guys and ladies for the sweet emails/texts/carrier pigeons. (The pigeons were particularly heart-warming.) I was out of the city before the storm and we didn't lose power or anything, but unfortunately many people weren't so lucky. I hope the mess gets figured out soon so that everyone can get back to hot showers in their own houses. xoxOxjxkljg