when my father found out what we did that night

Today I listened to Fleet Foxes and Iron & Wine, I wrote in my journal and I ate Velveeta for lunch. The only thing I did that was remotely productive was cram seven pounds of pork shoulder into our little crock pot. (Yesterday I thought, Oh I'll be thrifty and adultish and get meat delivered in bulk to save money/cook dinners ahead of time. Turns out I have no fucking idea how much fourteen pounds of pork shoulder actually is. Or twenty pounds of chicken, or nine pounds of ground beef. Also I keep on telling myself I should cut meat out entirely anyway, so not sure why I spent over a hundred dollars on an entire farm's worth of dead animals from Costco.) Anyway, these are the days I took to myself before I start my new job on Monday and have to go back to earning an income and otherwise engaging in the market. I had every intention of walking along the water in something billowy and romantic and having cups of coffee in trendy places, but all I've actually done with this short time off is regress to teenagerhood. 

I can't think of anything else to say because I'm mesmerized by the major pancake arm happening in the second picture. There was a time when that shit would have mortified me, but I didn't even notice it until just now. I guess the tiny wrinkles around my eyes are marks of wisdom, or indicators that I've run out of shits to give about things like fat upper arms. I've tried so many exercises (two and half, to be exact, and I already gave up because I don't care that much so don't bother suggesting any or you will go to jail for literally boring me to death) and I forgot where I was going with this sentence, to be perfectly honest. To be even more perfectly honest, I am supposed to be getting ready to leave the house right now. But the idea of dragging my chubby, chubby arms to St. Mark's is kind of grossing me out. However. I have a date. So. I suppose I'll paint some heart eyes on and get going.

I am sifting through resumes, trying to replace myself. On Pandora, Donovan starts singing "Catch the Wind" and I cry a little.

No one else is here so I'm going to turn it up and indulge myself a little longer.

and if you say hide, we'll hide

Spouting Violets is private right now, because I'm halfheartedly looking for a new job and realized that if you google my email address it eventually brings you here. If you just google my name, the only things that come up are pictures of a blonde girl who is not me and that dumb blog post I wrote twenty-nine years ago for that nonprofit that shall remain nameless. (Yep, still mad about the typos. Not mad enough to ask them, again, to take it down - but, still pretty bitter. Stiiiill stewing.) "Why would they google your email address, Lindsay?" Because that's what I do when we're interviewing at the place where I currently work - you'd be VERY surprised at the types of discussion boards Google turns up when you google the email address on some people's resumes. You'll sure feel a lot of feelings. I know I do.

So anyway, it's private right now, but it won't be forever. Only for a little while. I know this, but you don't yet. Secrets, and ship lights. We'll meet in the morning.

I don't have many words right now, anyway. I'm working on making writing a priority again, because it's an important part of how I make myself be a real human, but I'm feeling a bit burrow-y of late. December feels ten days shorter every time it comes around, and the things I have and want to do at the end of each year seem to keep multiplying. My birthday is on Thursday, and by the next week I hope to have made a few decisions and perhaps have an answer or two.

In the meantime - David Bowie, huh? I think it's weird that I spent the night before he died playing vintage arcade games in the village and then going uptown to listen to "Let's Dance" and its ilk under a glowing Rubiks cube. And I know I am not alone in that some of the first sexual feelings I can remember having were for Bowie in The Labyrinth. Don't lie, broads. Don't lie. (Him, and the cartoon wolf from the Three Little Pigs Silly Symphony. OH HEY.) 

(And Eric from The Little Mermaid but duh.)