Right at this moment there is a middle-aged woman of indeterminate (to me) Hispanic descent banging on the door of the apartment next door. There's a kid with her, and they've been at it for a good fifteen minutes. By "been at it" I mean the banging. Oh. That clarification made it worse. You're gross. This is your fault. Anyway I'm not sure whether to Google translate, "OBVIOUSLY NO ONE IS HOME BYE" and go read it to them or to be a kind person and offer to help if that's what they need. The problem is that I suspect that "helping" might mean babysitting the kid until whoever is obviously not home shows up and I have no way of knowing when that might be and I'm pretty sure the kid is the same one I caught peeking in the window a few months ago. I'm trying to stay away from dark thoughts about dead neighbors on the other side of my wall but it's really, really difficult.

The other thing that's been difficult for the last couple of months has been Every thing. Or, not difficult, but just. Meh. Like, I was going to do a face mask earlier and I thought: "Ugh, though. I have to put it on. And then I have to take it off." So I didn't do a face mask, I played a knockoff Pokemon game for three hours instead. And that's pretty much been the theme of Being Lindsay lately, and it sucks. Sometimes I just suck. 

But I did get the laundry done, and also I colored my hair. So I guess that's been the theme of Being Lindsay lately, long periods of demotivation sprinkled with some good things. Like, for example, my new job is pretty great. I like it. And I finally bought and built a shelf, so now the enormous pile of life debris that used to live in the corner is... um, on a shelf. So that's good. But I feel like tiny little baby steps such as finally getting rid of the two bags of clothes I decided to donate weeks ago shouldn't be the main things I'm accomplishing. I feel like those things should be a given. And then the Real things I have to do have somehow all lumped themselves together into one giant thing that I can't bring myself to touch. 

I'm so annoyed at how it sounds to try and articulate my blah, because I'm so lucky. Every time I walk down the street with bags of groceries I feel incredibly privileged, you know? I have the means to nourish myself. And actually, just as I wrote that I decided that will be my mantra as I attempt to break apart the giant scary lump and deal with things one at a time: I have the means to nourish myself. 

In other news, the weird weather graced us with another beautiful weekend and we thoroughly enjoyed it while suppressing nervous thoughts about sweaty polar bears. After work on Friday I did some aimless wandering around several retail establishments, none of which made any money off of me. When Diego got out of work we ate falafel at a place that was new to me and then went and saw "Room," which was excellent and I highly recommend. It did take me twenty minutes to place the actress who played Jack's mom (the daughter from United States of Tara) because I can almost never remember actresses or which bands sing what songs and am generally uncool about most things, so it's possible that the plot took some wild turn while I was distracted but otherwise the filmmakers followed the book and it was really, really well done. On Saturday we went to the park, and got legitimately hot while we were there. We looked at the new sculptures, I pretended to try to interpret them, and then we looked at the water for a long time. THEN we went for sangria and tapas at an adorable tiny Spanish place by the train whose one bad review on Yelp said "Worst Mexican food I ever ate."

Guys, sorry, I'm just nervously typing because the people are still out there banging. I think I heard my landlord's voice, though, and Diego's on his way home. So don't worry, there are actual adults involved just in case something is going on that requires such people. You know, people who don't consider having clean clothes and hair that is a different color than it was when she woke up to be a fully productive day because if she thinks about the Actual Things she has to do she thinks she might throw up.