currently eating currants but not really

Currently not cleaning my mirror. Not now, not ever. 

Feeling itchy. So okay, the backs of my legs are almost always itchy and have been for a lot of years and I don’t know why. Especially the little secret parts behind my knees. Sometimes in the shower I put the water on as hot as it will go and lean forward so that only the bottom part of my body is under the faucet and let it throw hot water on my stupid itchy legs while I balance my weight on the very not-sturdy shelf I put together at the end of the tub and listen to Amberlynn Reid on Youtube via the brand-new phone Diego got me for Christmas that I’m not only using to watch trolls on the internet in my very wet bathroom but have also already dropped into a bowl of eggs and cinnamon that I was using to make French toast and I think, “This is why everybody hates you.” But it feels good for a minute. The hot water. Anyway I’d been at work for about an hour this morning when I noticed one of my elbows was very itchy, so I kept scratching it and finally I looked at it and it’s all red and puffy. My legs usually aren’t. When they’re itchy. Usually they’re not red either but they are often quite puffy. Then it was my other elbow, and up my arm a little, and now the FRONT PARTS of my legs are getting itchy but I can’t check and see if they’re red because you’re supposed to keep your pants on at work mostly. I guess I could go in the bathroom but also I don’t want to take my pants off, like that’s why I quit ballet when I was a kid because I didn’t like that I couldn’t wear underwear with the leotard and something about taking my underwear all the way off and putting the tights and the leotard on and taking the tights and the leotard back off and putting my underwear back on just seemed like a lot of effort for one night of sequin-y glory a year. Also my mom yelled at me because I kept moving around while she was trying to put makeup on my face and I cried because my bun was too tight and both of my armpits are rashy and itchy too, now. And my scalp a little too.

Anticipating the Women’s March on Saturday. Look, guys:

Things I Like To Do in Parks 

Read. 

Sneakily imbibe. 

Lay quietly. 

Maybe swing. 

Things I Do Not Like To Do in Parks 

Exercise. 

Most group activities. 

Be physically uncomfortable (see also: most group activities). 

Things I Like To Do on Sidewalks

Walk. ALONE. 

I don’t have the right temperament for a lot of demonstration-like activities, and also I not-so-secretly think that most of the “protests” that’ve blipped on my personal radar are way too vague and not nearly well-thought-out enough to have any meaningful impact. (I’m not saying protesting is stupid, just that I’ve seen a whole hell of a lot of stupid protests. Be wise with your resources, sweet summer children.) I also don't want to involve myself in anything hateful, even if the hate is directed toward something I don't like.

However I do believe that protesting can be VERY powerful and impactful, if executed correctly, so in that spirit I will be participating on Saturday. I’m very lucky because the company I work for is paying for a bus for anyone who wants to go. Also there will be sandwiches on the bus. (“So basically you need there to be a free bus full of sandwiches in order for you to stand up for anything,” you said. “YES OBVIOUSLY THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I AM SAYING,” I replied. “YOU REALLY NAILED IT. ALSO I NEED TEGAN AND SARA AND GLORIA STEINEM TO BE THERE AND THEY’RE ALL IN SO I AM ALSO IN.”)

Truthfully the anticipation is erring a bit on the edge of nervousness – I fully expect to walk directly into a shit show, but I also fully expect that everyone get to go about their lives without being dehumanized. Or, you know, be forced to LIVE in a shit show. So. Here we are.

Eating steamed broccoli. I only need twenty-nine bags of it per day to feel almost satiated!

Bleeding moderately, as of this afternoon. Which I at first thought might make this weekend rather inconvenient, but then I realized that when life gives you a uterus you could potentially use its product to make a political statement, say, on the lawn of the White House. (I don’t know why our organizer feels the need to continually remind me that “this is a peaceful gathering” and “nothing should happen that you could get arrested for” and on and on and on. Like, I get it lady, geez.)

Wishing I still had my purple Lion King sweat suit (also The Little Mermaid one) to wear to The Lion King on Sunday. Or to wear to anywhere, really.

Feeling also tired now because I took some Benadryl because of being so itchy. I guess it’s harder to feel itches when you’re sleeping.

Today! is my birthday.

But this is about yesterday, because the fun part of today hasn't happened yet, so I haven't taken any pictures. And everyone knows that Successful Blogs have pictures.

Yesterday was the last day I was twenty-seven years old.

It was probably the last day I could keep my Christmas decorations up at my desk (I say probably because I'm going to leave them there until someone actually SAYS something and doesn't just silently side eye the glitter):

I've officially gone on my last coffee date as a twenty-seven-year-old human:

I got caught taking #basic photos of my free birthday Starbucks for the last time as a twenty-seven-year-old:

And I ate shitty Mexican food at my favorite shitty Mexican place with my favorite not-shitty Mexican for the last time as someone who had not yet been alive for twenty-eight years:

I also went to the gym yesterday, for the last time as a you-know-what, but I didn't take any pictures of that because I prefer to black out and/or suppress such times of pain and hardship rather than document them. I've spent the last two weeks starving off eight pounds so that I can eat lobster macaroni and cheese and pats of fancy butter tonight without wanting to throw myself in front of a train. I'm also working on finding a therapist, to discuss my strained relationship with lobster and macaroni and cheese. (I hate health insurance, which is something I'd like to discuss with you, my gentle reader, but I'd like that to be on a day where I haven't just spent the last four hours canceling hair appointments because it started snowing and I will be GOSH DAMNED if I pay someone to brush my hair for me just to have it wrecked by nature on the way home and drinking three-dollar beers and trying to iron my new dress without fucking it up with those weird white marks that appear on everything else I iron ever. Here is my to-do list: 1. Find a therapist. 2. Learn how to iron. 3. This isn't a real to-do list.) 

WHY DOES EVERYTHING TAKE SUCH DARK TURNS. I'm in a very good mood about this birthday. I woke up this morning and stretched my toes and thought, "This is going to be such a good year, I can tell." And I know I really meant it because Morning Lindsay is generally a bit of a nihilist. 

Last night I had a dream about that girl I made up, who I keep meaning to tell you about - I just haven't picked the right words out yet. I may need to invent some. She usually motivates me to curl my hair and write things, though, so I think that's what I'll be doing. I miss her a lot, for someone I never met. 

THIS BLOG POST IS ABOUT SELF-CARE. DO IT SOMETIMES.
SPONSORED BY RITE AID AND TJ MAXX AND SOME VINEYARDS.
CAN I QUIT MY DAY JOB NOW.

“Then happiness becomes this arbitrary thing,” she said. She was excited, we could tell. Newborns crowned! and fell to the ground on palms and knees, then exploded into the air. All that glitter, you couldn’t breathe.

She went on, lighting cigarette after cigarette. Each one blackened and fell without intervention.

I listened. I worried her wrist would unscrew itself.

I thought so much didn’t mean anything more than what saying it made the next person say. The only weight anything carried evaporated once it struck – nothing was more than its immediate effect. I thought this drink was lovely thank you. And the hors d'oeuvres too yes I will that sounds fabulous have her give us a ring.

Last year I abstained

this year I devour

without guilt

which is also an art.

M. ATWOOD

If I don't save any money this year, it's because within the first ten days of 2017 I had to stop payment on a check (WHY DOES THAT COST $31 AMERICA) and have my birth certificate overnighted to me ($47 WHAT WORLD IS THIS) and several other things that I cannot remember right now because that part of my brain was lost when it set itself on fire with its own rage. The only reason I remember the first two things/my motor skills are still mostly intact is that throughout it all I have been getting my drinking and shower water out of taps and sleeping in a home where the only thing I have to worry about is what time my upstairs neighbors are going to watch their two-hour long television show that they MUST have their television turned ALL the way up for the duration of. Those things, and also the fact that I at least have the money to cover most of these unexpected costs, are helping me to not complain in real life.

Also that's what the internet is for. Complaining on.

Speaking of saving money, I bought this slippery strapless bra thing to wear with the two new dresses I also bought myself for my birthday celebrations and something about the stickiness of the silicon makes me feel so... ladylike, and mature. This is my year, guys. I can feel it.

IS THIS HOW YOU POKÉMON GO. AM I DOING IT.

This happened just now:

Inside, I am (well I was) speaking at a regular volume to another person. Outside, there is (was) a lot of noise.

(Well. There’s ALWAYS a lot of noise.
But for a few minutes, just a minute ago, it was especially loud.
One of my top ten least-favorite sounds, right there with motorcycles and human whining, is muffled tinny man voice through a wall. And that’s what we could hear. Plus music which I also dislike.

Well. Not all music. Just the kind that’s traveled through a brick wall.)

The person I’m talking to can (COULD) hear it. I know this because I also can (ARE WE TIRED OF THIS YET) hear it. And her ears are (YEAH, TOO MUCH RIGHT?) not broken, I think.

(Well. I can’t be sure. But I’m pretty. Pretty sure.
Also though, the other kind of pretty. Hi.)

And then we finished our conversation, neither of us acknowledging the noise that we could both clearly (I think) hear. Because in order to Get Things Accomplished, you have to ignore Other Things. (Right? Is that how we’re doing this, then?)

And then I said to myself, “Hey, that tiny baby moment, that one that just happened? That’s what EVERYTHING feels like.”

And then I wrote it down. Am writing it down.

This happened yesterday:

I took a picture of my feet while I was having my lunchtime quasi-nap at work because I had cute shoes on.