So something you have no reason to know about me unless I've told you, which I probably haven't because secrets/it's weird and once when I told a few people most of them looked worried and this one guy didn't say anything but just hugged me for an uncomfortably long time. And then a few months later we may or may not have made out for an uncomfortably long time. Which actually was in no way connected to the thing I haven't told you yet so let's just. Let's just. Let's.
Riding the train makes me cry sometimes. That's all I was going to say. Not all the time, but something about the people or the vibration or the blurs out the window, just, something, anyway once in a while I find myself getting teary-eyed for no real reason. I guess you might have already known I have a little bit of a train fixation, actually. But you didn't know about the crying thing I bet. And now you do.
When I started typing this, I had a very clear idea about where I was going and it was definitely connected to the picture of Homer up there. No idea where we are right now.
Today I didn't have to go to work and instead of spending it catching up on sleep (which actually probably I should have done, even though I don't think you're supposed to do that I think you're supposed to just go to bed and wake up at the same times every day, but WHO LIVES LIKE THAT, honestly) I got up early and washed my laundries (wait is 'laundries' really a word or is it spell check's day off, too?) and took out student loans and cried into my Snuggie for forty-five minutes about it.
And then I got my shit together and went to the grocery store for provisions for a special lady's second Welcome Home dinner in two weeks. Because what I lack in the Doing All of The Things Department I make up for in the Being A Clean Roommate Who Cooks Dinner And Doesn't Judge Others Too Harshly for Crying About Wanting to Be a Cat's Mom. Which is good because I don't need to be judged for bringing home drifters/bros. So.
Yesterday marked the beginning of Turn-Around Week in terms of the things I put into my body. It's been more than a little bit out of control lately, and I haven't gained fourteen hundred kilos or died or anything yet but. BUT. And I really, really really have no excuse because I am surrounded by healthy, delicious things at work and in life so I need to start eating those things instead of trying to run on Zebra Cakes and Sugar Free Red Bull, otherwise known as Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner of champions, also known as what you can go ahead and list under "Cause of Death," Mr. Coroner.
Why would the coroner be reading this, Lindsay?
Actually if you are a coroner that's kind of cool.
Do most people write blog posts in advance? And edit them? And write about Things instead of obsessing about death and emotional episodes triggered by public transportation? Part of my problem is that I don't know where to begin talking about the things I'm doing right now. And I feel like if I elaborate on one part without mentioning everything else that's going on, too, I will be painting an extremely misleading picture. So meh.
My eye sockets feel like they're stuffed with cotton today.
