thankful for (before november is over and everyone moves on to the feast of alvis)

- Mexi-Pilgrim fusion picnic dinners cooked for me by someone whose ancestral land was pillaged by my forefathers
- Wine and chocolate sauce

- Pajamas masquerading as work clothes

- Red lipstick, for tricking people into thinking that I have fucks to give

- Cloudy, cool days
- Dry shampoo

- My naturally athletic body

- Hopeful graffiti 

- Coffee

- Lazy date nights (aka, our favorite gyro place followed by the bar across the street from where we do laundry) (aka, best)

Thankful that if either one of us loses our job, the rent will still get paid. We will possibly starve to death, but at least we'll do it under a roof. Thankful that my mom is around for me to love and irritate. Thankful that I can afford the Christmas shopping I'm able to do. Thankful that Diego's nephews are of fun ages to pick out toys for. Thankful for health, for mine and for my family's (Arwen's especially) (100% not being sarcastic.) Thankful for coworkers who make bleak bearable. Thankful for how many times a day I have a reason to laugh.

Okay that's enough, blech. But I am honestly so thankful to be where I am and to have what I have for another holiday season. And to have who I have. Blog friends included. Let's swap addresses and do cards, yeah? Yeah.

I confess that the most adult I ever feel is when I get my eyebrows done on the way home from the gym. My nails are disgusting and my apartment is a mess and I haven't gotten a haircut since March and I'm terrible at taxes but for an hour once a week I am CRUSHING IT.

I confess that I went Christmas shopping on Black Friday even though I am against it on principle. (Wishy washy and half-baked, these principles are, but I stand by them nonetheless. Except that this confession is about me not standing by my principles. Mmm. It's just, standing makes me so tired.) I didn't do it on purpose; we were in Brooklyn saying goodbye to Diego's dad for a while, and Target happens to be on our way home. I thought buying presents for family might be a nice distraction, and I was right. Nothing is more distracting from anything than Target in Brooklyn on Black Friday. Nothing. Plus we got a big fat chunk of our shopping out of the way and came in way under budget, which feels great, so. Thanks for forcing people to work mandatory overtime for basically no pay, corporate America!

I confess that I feel real betrayal every time I look at shapewear in any store. How much happier would we all be if we just agreed to let our soft parts be soft!? Come on, people. Come. On.

I've been very seriously considering getting a handheld voice recorder. As of two seconds ago, I mean, when I sat down to write this and could physically feel the words leaking out of me and into the parts of the room I can't reach. My brain spends all day long making observations and pinning words to the observations it makes instead of doing whatever it's supposed to be doing, and if I could whisper those strung-together words into a tiny box that would remember them for me then maybe this stupid blog would have more content. And maybe I'd have journals filled with thoughts instead of lots of blank books laying around as reminders of how poorly managed my financial expenditures are. I understand that even the most basic of cell phones has this capability now, but I think I need it to feel old-timey. I think it will help with the process. The other thing I think will help with the process is to remember that it is a process, and that I don't necessarily have control over when it happens. What I do have control over is capturing it when it does happen. I'm so sorry, I lost myself at "whisper words into a tiny box." 

"In fact, it seems to me that most of the mistakes I make in personal relationships, most of the times in which I fail to be of help to other individuals, can be accounted for in terms of the fact that I have, for some defensive reason, behaved in one way at a surface level, while in reality my feelings run in a contrary direction." 

Carl Rogers, On Becoming a Person 

The universe is smart. Also it has night vision and IT SEES YOU. IT SEES WHAT YOU ARE DOING. And no matter how much you nod and smile and go along with things that don't actually feel good to you, that actually are slowly eating away at all your favorite inside parts, the universe knows the truth. I confess that I'm tired of feeling guilty and/or worried about faceless, made-up things and so have turned to women on the internet with soothing voices and elaborate background music to talk me through vibrational matching while I wash dishes. 

I've also started actually using the worksheet my friend gave me while they were getting their millionth degree in Making People Feel Better, the one about deconstructing anxious thoughts and negative self-talk. You know, the one that an actual smart person in real life suggested might be beneficial that I promptly shoved into a book and forgot about for months and months and months until a strange lady streaming footage of her face to the tune of Enigma reminded me of it? That one. Of course by "actually started using" I mean I dug it out and smoothed out most of the wrinkles and thought vaguely about using my boss's toner to make copies of it. And then congratulated myself for utilizing a source of stress as an instrument in managing stress. And then had a fantasy about the book deal I'll probably be offered pretty soon re: my thoughts on how life works.  

My Christmas tree cost $9.99 and I feel like I overpaid. I also feel smart and thrifty, because I decorated it with ribbons we had from the Mexico-Jamaica game in Philly this summer and the flowers I wore in my hair on Halloween. 

Another thing I feel really smart about is sneaking Chapstick into places where unsealed Chapstick isn't allowed. In fact, I'm considering becoming a professional Chapstick mule since I'm so good at it. If only this skill could be applied to something more lucrative. OH WELL.

I wasn't kidding about the handheld recorder, folks. Starting tomorrow I am a tiny box whisperer, and then maybe Sunday Confessions will be less rambly and nonsensical/not be the only posts I write ever. MAYBE. 

Generally my clothes come from the bins at the Goodwill outlet on Van Dam, but for the past few weeks I've been dying to go to the mall. Now, I don't get why people take trips into the city just to shop. Like, they have special express shopper trains into Manhattan during the holidays. WHY are you paying for a train ticket to come spend more money here on stuff you don't need than you would anywhere else? Haven't you heard of Amazon, where you don't have to squeeze through walls of people to make it to a space big enough to crouch and hyperventilate into a shopping bag? I feel the same way about malls. But. I sort of love a mall at Christmas. And right now I think is prime Christmas mall time because the decorations are up and the music is playing but December is still far enough away that most people haven't started panic buying last minute landfill fodder yet. I'm wearing leggings and a plaid shirt to go with my topknot and as soon as Diego gets back from his aunt's house I'm going straight to the mall to spend money I don't have on Starbucks and sweaters and deeply inhale that Christmasy mall smell. 

I bought a gym membership last week. I picked Planet Fitness because there's one close to where I live and I can't afford NYSC. I can't really afford PF, TBH. LOL. It's clean and the people who work there are nice without being too chatty and there's always a treadmill open and that's about all I care about. However, there are a ton of people just walking around taking selfies of themselves in the different mirrors, which doesn't directly impact my "workout" but is still confusing. Another thing I find confusing is that there's a giant tub of free candy at the reception desk. Also I've heard they have pizza/bagel days. Also also they're having some sort of social media contest where the prize is New Year's Eve in Times Square, aka The Worst Thing Ever. Going to the gym is yet another life thing that I find incredibly disorienting. 

I need to buy a birthday present for a one-year-old and I have zero clue. Well, not zero exactly. I know they like breasts and their moms and looking at stuff. I'm just going to walk into a baby store, hand an employee some dollars and ask them to turn that into a present. But what I'd really like to do is pick out a present for an older child and give it to the baby with a card that says, "For when you're more interesting." Not in a mean way, but in an encouraging sort of way. You know? 

I opened my mouth and pulled out a scrap of paper. On it were words warning She Who Loves Roses not to cry about thorns, but Sappho didn't actually say that and it's not like you to be sloppy. You are precise, like a collarbone. Or a blade.

(Touching either one of them means a bloody finger. Maybe that's what you meant to tell me when you lowered this scroll down my throat.)

The room is bright and filled with pianos. They are very close together. Suggestions of walls recede in proportion to my distance from them, which adds to the difficulty of navigating the sea of wood and ivory.

but my heart knows the walls and thinks my eyes are foolish anyhow
and the Brain, it writes off as impractical