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29 November 2006 : warm heart, cold hands.
this is maybe the best offer i've ever recieved, in regard to anything:
Lindsay. Come to AZ with me. I know you can go to school free other places but I think that is just shit and doesn't matter because I'm not in those other places and I desperately need your presence. We could find lots of Indians and Mexican immigrants and refugees and give them all our possessions and support and we could live off of cacti nutrients and knit clothing with the needles from the cacti and maybe we could see some of those rolly things that always bounce between two people having a shoot-out in Western movies. Think about it. Picture it. Us, slow motion, walking through Phoenix....tumbleweeds blowing all over. An image I HARDLY think anyone could resist. Fuck, woman. I'm begging you to come with me. I love you and need you. Come on. Who else could give such a damn good argument?
going to australia? one of the best decisions i ever made. there are so many people in this world i want to keep; i'm glad you're one of those who wants to keep me back.
posted by lindsay at 09:58 :: 2 comments
28 November 2006 : has removable calvarium!
as you probably know, because i've probably told you, i will be turning twenty-four over the coming weekend. so i thought it was time that i brought out the list.
this year for my birthday, i would like:
- one open shot at michael bublé, preferably in a public forum where many people besides myself will be able to benefit from the feeling of immense satisfaction that can only come from my fist hitting his face.
- for the guys in the home theatre department to stop playing the michael bublé holiday concert, so i can be rid of the aforementioned violent fantasy.
- the common sense to return the new blue winter coat i bought this week which cost approximately half of my weekly budget (and from which i have not yet found the stones to remove the tags; if only it weren't so beautiful!).
- stan or another gentleman much like him.
- for unc chapel hill's application deadline not to be this friday (it was nice while it lasted. so long, dr. escobar).
- sleazy, sweaty high school making out with someone who has about five days of stubble.
or, alternately, you could all just come out and get drunk with me on friday night. either way.
posted by lindsay at 21:19 :: 5 comments
22 November 2006 : this has GOT to stop.
so apparently, arturo escobar teaches at the university of north carolina chapel hill.
and NO ONE really thought that this was worth mentioning to me, even given all the hours i've logged recently searching for the perfect grad school. and all the hours i've logged following my favorite professors around saying, "where should i go to grad school? what do you think of the university of kentucky? is it going to hurt me that the department chair has a Ph.D. from IU and there's that whole institutional snobbery towards IUPUI thing? where should i go to grad school? what's a good program? where should i go to grad school? what's a personal statement?"
out of all of that, i got - the university of memphis (to which i am applying, if for no other reason than southern accent + jacob grace) and indiana university.
arturo escobar (who is the only anthropologist whose work i've read regularly and eagerly and consistently when assigned it and also when not) aside, unc chapel hill has a really freaking cool graduate program, about which reading sort of made my heart hitch. in the good way. in the six days of stubble and flared jeans way. in the qdoba nachos and cold beer way. in the colonial gardens way.
and no-one said a word. it might be nice to live within driving distance of an ocean again. which got me thinking (and just thinking) about how i've been limiting my possibilities. so i started over again, with a broader scope of imagination. i may be getting a little big for my britches, but...brown! columbia! nyu! holy FREAKING CRAP, MAN. these programs all look amazing.
everything is so good! i've actually been breathing in excited little bursts of hot air, like i'm running a marathon or watching porn!
i can't wait to email arturo freaking escobar!
and this is what it comes to, partly because the ivy league has never impressed me just for being ivy league or vice versa: it doesn't really matter what the school is or where it's located, as long as i'm happy and successful and studying the one thing about which i've maintained a passion longer than six months. the university of kentucky and the university of memphis (and yes, maybe...just maybe unc chapel hill) are eagerly awaiting the remainder of my application materials, and i eagerly await the end of this year.
anthropology! it's gold!
(p.s. i don't actually watch porn, dr. escobar. if you googled your name and somehow stumbled upon this, i mean all of this in the most sincere, mature and flattering way possible. do you need a new research assistant?)
posted by lindsay at 15:31 :: 4 comments
19 November 2006 : coats and overcoats.
something was flickering on the television, but the evening we'd planned was pushed aside for serious conversation. it happened so rarely between you and i; when it did come about, everything outside the two of us was in my eyes inconsequential.
we sat on the couch, that couch i knew so well. the dirt of my life, of your life, of the lives of everyone who knew you and used you and came to you was piled up in the creases of the gray cushion cover. i slept here some nights, because you were too angry or too tired to deal with me. i slept here some nights, because i was too scared to crawl into bed with you. i might be rejected. i slept here some nights because you were so large, so overwhelming in your sleep - all heavy limbs and slick sweat like some horrifying aftermath - that i would awake pinned to the wall, unable to breathe and unable to wake you.
you were sprawled per usual, the size of you intimidating to the entire house. i was curled as small as possible, per usual, taking up as little space as i could so i wouldn't accidentally brush against you. this way i could be both close and careful, feel your heat without making you startle - sometimes the sensation of skin against your own skin made you angry.
this is what you said: what are you going to do?
i curled my toes tightly against the rough cushion, studied my flat feet and long toes next to yours. you pressed the sole of one foot against the sole of mine and i unfurled a little, aching.
this is what i said: with my life?
your affirmation wasn't really needed; we both knew i was only stalling for time. you waited, breathed, and asked me what it was i wanted.
i smiled, looking under my eyelashes at my belt, at my knobby knees.
this is what i said, and i meant it more than you'll ever know: i want a garden.
your surprise delighted both of us. you huffed out a short laugh, reached out a hand and squeezed my bare ankle. a garden, you said, shaking your head. you rolled us both cigarettes and considered this with smoke curling around your face.
it seemed so obvious at the time. a garden meant stasis, it meant home. it meant i'd be staying for a while. it was everything i'd been wanting since the long drive across the continent, in those four syllables.
after a minute, you put down your cigarette and turned to face me squarely. you can use my backyard, i wouldn't mind. i pictured it, trying not to let you see that i was having trouble breathing. that all i wanted in the world was to jump on you, kiss every part of your face i could reach. that tiny square of grass behind your house, it would be filled entirely with my flowers.
yeah. i'd be staying for a while.
posted by lindsay at 21:55 :: 6 comments
: onward and upward.
i've never been one to shy away from admitting embarrassing things. for instance, all of you by now should know very well that i love bon jovi, buffy the vampire slayer, gilmore girls, pasty boys who look like jesus, and cats (yes, in that crazy old lady way).
but this particular movie, i've never been quite able to admit to - mostly because it has no redeeming value. you can't collect un-cool points for this movie.
so i'm not going to tell you what it is. i'm only going to tell you that it made me feel better.
like, someone with warm hands threw a large, soft blanket of better over me while i lay on the couch last night (it didn't hurt that both the dog and the cat were sleeping on top of me and i was very cozy).
and that blanket lasted through the night and has so far endured the entirety of this day. maybe it's because this is the first sunday in months that doesn't mean another week of hellish intensity is going to start in less than twelve hours. i really have nothing of importance to do until next weekend.
but most of what has been going on with the craziness in my head is about this: i am scared out of my fucking mind. everything that's coming up in the next few months leaves very little room for failure, for breathing. i've got to be on fire.
and i love my life here. pretty much everything about it, i love. i've been happier in indianapolis than i have been anywhere since i moved out of my mom's house at 16. so the thought of leaving all of it to start somewhere else, again, put the jitters in my belly and my toes. i would sometimes have trouble lighting a cigarette, i was shaking so badly.
then i sat down to watch this movie, because it's a dumb girly movie, but one of those with a mildly a-typical plotline that still has the ability to make me wonder positively about what's to come.
and someone said something like this: sometimes you have to force yourself to take a step for which you're not ready, because if you wait until you're ready, it's never going to happen.
and that opened up my chest a little, made my eyes stop stinging and unclenched my tired fists. i breathed, and i knew that it was true.
i'm not ready for this, i'm not ready to move on, to be alone or to start over. i'm not ready to wave goodbye to indianapolis and head south to a city that i haven't at this point even driven through. i'm not ready to live by myself.
but if i just suck it up and do it, it's going to turn out okay.
because honestly, i'm good at things. and i have yet to really fail at anything.
i'm not embarrassed to admit how much i'm going to miss it all, though. i'm not embarrassed to admit that i love all of my friends fiercely, and i love the theatre fiercely (and a job such as that is never going to fall in my lap again), and that i love every block of this city with an overwhelming passion that's a little bit ayn rand and a little bit country.
so just promise it'll be here when i get back.
posted by lindsay at 14:54 :: 2 comments
17 November 2006 : tiny whiny tightrope
i found myself yesterday on a rainy, cold, wild goose chase for two charming young burmese gentlemen who needed to be escorted downtown for social service issues. 16 miles, three apartments, twelve non-english speakers and one cup of coffee later, i found myself in the vestibule of a very large, very empty church, having been directed there mostly by luck and the phrase "english school!" said vehemently over and over again.
luckily right behind me came a congenial older fellow with a shock of silver hair and a super-cool name, who peppered me with questions about who i was and what my business was (while providing the answers i needed in a very kind manner).
the next thing i knew, i was exchanging handshakes and phone numbers with him, before calling the day a mostly-failure and heading to yats for some rice and beans (which was delightful).
note to self:
that giant flashing neon billboard that's been following you around proclaiming the words, "YOU HAVE TAKEN ON TOO MANY RESPONSIBILITIES THIS FALL," yeah, remember that?
well, just for the record, nowhere in that phrase are contained any of the words, "BUT GO AHEAD AND VOLUNTEER TO ORGANIZE AND TEACH ESL CLASSES IN NORA TWO NIGHTS A WEEK, CAUSE IT WILL BE KINDA COOL."
that's all.
posted by lindsay at 15:10 :: 0 comments
14 November 2006 : crisis averted, i hope
the sun came out today, which was a nice start.
things are feeling a little better, a little calmer, since i woke up this morning in an unfamiliar bed, all sweaty bangs and mascara stains on my pillow. just the way i like it.
like i said, all i've needed was to spend some time with a few people who would be genuinely thrilled to see me. and it took about ten minutes after i rolled into town, i must say, to run into three such people. a few more were found throughout the evening.
mission accomplished.
i giggled a lot last night, was turned on by music and entertained by charming gentlemen. hugged cera sunshine for about 12 minutes straight and drank some delightfully crisp cider. devoured a meatball sandwich that was actually larger than my head, and made way for culpability to march out the door. it was narrow, but he made it past without breaking me open.
and for the record, i'm sorry i've been looking at you so much.
i just really like your face.
posted by lindsay at 13:58 :: 4 comments
12 November 2006 : un-chosen
i've got to get my priorities straight, and try to maintain a little bit of integrity. by that i mean, i should be able to be the same person no matter who i'm with or what i'm doing. nothing should change just because my surroundings are different.
i work with a woman i don't know how to place. she's tiny - less than five feet - with a shock of bright red hair and totally rubenesque. originally from the bronx, she talks fast and she talks loud, and her laugh is all cigarettes and cheap vodka, bawdy as hell and contagious to boot. she knows what she likes and what she doesn't, and will never hesitate to tell it like it is. to your face. until you cry. and she'll never feel bad about it.
i like her, a lot. she takes everything i say at face value, and she laughs at all my messes, which make them seem a little further away.
we are outside on this strange, warm and humid november day. i'm a mess today, no makeup, frizzy hair and dirty clothes. spending my day hoping once again that the evening will bring something worth getting excited about; something that won't backfire on me.
she lights a cigarette and crouches down on the sidewalk where i sit sprawled against the blue painted bricks, gossiping lightning fast about everyone we work with. i wonder briefly what she says about me when i'm not around, but decide that i don't care all that much, and i've given the workplace little to work with in the last 13 months.
the girl she is talking about is a girl i can't stand. someone i've never spoken to, but because she's got that air about her. every time i walk past the customer service desk, her eyes follow me full of judgment and disdain. i know all about this - it's a thing girls do. i know i intimidate her, but i don't really know why. still, i'm not in the mood to be generous and her stares are getting on my last nerve.
"i'm prettier than she is," i say, knowing it's true but not sure why i'm announcing it.
"for sure," the redhead tells me, taking a drag.
"maybe that's all it is," i say. "have you ever noticed how fat girls tend to be really critical of other fat girls? you'd think that they'd be jealous and annoyed at the skinny little girls, band together against the beauty myth, but instead they're just all critical of each other. maybe she doesn't like that i'm confident."
the fact that i needed to announce my physical superiority over hers belies my proclaimed confidence. i'm so tired.
later that day, the girl in question would speak to me for the first time. she was surprisingly friendly, but my patience was thin.
tonight, i had that feeling rise up in me again. i'm prettier than she is, i thought. it didn't make me feel better at all, and i stopped it short, because spacing between the eyes and a nicely shaped nose do not a whole make. and i know it.
i've often fallen into the trap of thinking that if i could only be prettier, things would be better. i wouldn't be lonely, i wouldn't mess up so much. as though a smaller waist size or a boyfriend would magically make me less lazy, more motivated and less likely to fall to delusions of grandeur and invention. but with the acknowledgement of the fact that looks aren't everything comes something far more sinister. the knowledge that if it isn't about the way that i look, then it might just be about who i am.
i've never questioned myself like this before. i've never thought, what's wrong with me, that he doesn't want me? it's always been, what the hell is wrong with him? how could he possibly not want me?
i don't like this feeling, and i don't like the situation that brought it about. and i don't really know how to get rid of either, other than to ignore them.
so that's the path i think i've chosen (although i gave lengthy consideration to something much more passive aggressive). i have a paper due tomorrow. i'll throw myself into academics and pretend that nothing ever happened. ever. and i mean that in a since oh, 1999, kind of way.
emma thompson would be so proud.
posted by lindsay at 19:28 :: 1 comments
08 November 2006 : cherry on top.
you know it's going to be a good day when you have tiramisu for breakfast and bill drops by to fix your laptop.
if you find guerilla graphics on a wall at school on your way to a lecture on bio-art, things are going exactly as they should.
if it's november in indiana and 65 degrees outside, you're just not going to stop smiling.
if you look down and notice for the first time this fall that the leaves have started leaving their imprints on the sidewalk, it starts to feel a little like your birthday.
if you've been feeling under appreciated and kind of lonely lately, and then someone vaguely familiar walks into the theatre and smiles at you faintly, hands in his pockets and head ducked low, and you all at once remember that once he wrapped his arm around your bare waist, kissed you on the temple and said, "you're amazing, kiddo," well, there's really just nothing more to say.
well played, wednesday. well played.
posted by lindsay at 21:33 :: 2 comments
07 November 2006 : excerpts.
"you wanna like, go to taco bell later and talk about math or something?"
freaking charming.
posted by lindsay at 23:10 :: 2 comments
04 November 2006 : hmd, part 3
a single night.
five friends.
four cocktails.
two main events (one strange but entertaining, one shameful).
walking around trying too hard. like wearing a badge.
my hair was pinned back and it felt like i was made entirely of eyes.
the words graceful and sinful, they seem to interlock like puzzle pieces. sliding out of the mouth so easily.
this is not what matters. i hope my big mouth doesn't get me into trouble. playing it cool turns brittle when you're being questioned about something you would give anything to make inconsequential. i don't even know him.
nighttime on the couch was mostly satisfied. there will always be something to want, but i carried home with me the strangest satisfaction. listened to the cure and sang until my throat hurt.
surreal sunday morning. too much gin, cigarettes still scraping at my chest, someone's lips on my surprised mouth, 38th street fuzzy behind dry eyes.
i would like to reiterate that a man's word is his bond, and i'm still busy being that girl.
posted by lindsay at 23:13 :: 0 comments
03 November 2006 : brought home.
i guess i was too busy with the business of filling out forms and hurdling the language barrier to really notice them. a family of small, dark people - mom, dad, two babies with enormous eyes. i had to show them how to use a car seat, a seatbelt. they huddled together in the backseat of the car, leaving me nervous and alone in the front. driving is one of the most frightening parts of this job. i have one car seat, but they have two babies. what if i get pulled over? who's going to recognize that getting this finished is more important than obeying child safety laws to the very letter?
they were going to leave without shoes. i pantomimed it being cold outside and they laughed at me before finding socks and tying laces.
the drive took 30 minutes. they didn't know where we were going. they had never met me before. all i had for credibility was my smile and the blue case folder that marked me as a member of a specific organization.
but they came anyway. in country for less than 24 hours, they followed me outside and climbed into the backseat without hesitation.
i guess at some point you hedge your bets, you assume that you've got to trust someone, even if it's the slightly timid white girl with the nose piercing and the scarf that sheds green hair all over everything.
like i said, i wasn't paying much attention to anything other than filling out forms and my hands at ten and two. the speed limit 55 on 465 east is so difficult to obey.
but sitting in the hot, crowded, airless office with all the screaming children it got to me. i saw their faces stoic and unbothered in the commotion. she breast fed the baby calmly and they listened intently when i asked them questions, but were not too concerned when i was unable to convey anything i meant.
we dialed the 800 number and i put them on the phone in turn; the translator told me their answers as best she could. neither of them could spell for her in english the names i needed, so we guessed phonetically - myself and a burmese woman located anywhere conspiring.
it was the birthdate that stopped me. the forms almost finished, just waiting for shaky (but legal) signatures. 12/2/82 - i wrote it down and then stopped. 12/2/82 - one day before my own date of origin. i looked at the man sitting next to me with the sleeping child.
they were so young. so incredibly young. and for once, impending 24 didn't seem like a crisis. how could it?
in 24 years, i've done a lot of whining, lost my father to heart disease, written about a zillion blog entries, and remained in school to put off the real world as long as possible.
in 24 years, he had married, fathered two children, fled his home to live in a refugee camp on the thai border, and then given up everything to come to the united states and find something better with his family.
his wife had sky-blue polish on her toenails.
i stopped with the business of being brisk and smiled at them with as much meaning as i could muster, since i wouldn't have the words. when we parted, he shook my hand and thanked me. i said, "i know you have no idea what i'm saying, but you two are my favorites so far."
and puppet show time again - they understood tomorrow and 8 (after i held up fingers), but i left having no idea whether they knew what the two had to do with each other.
and a feeling of calm assurance. everything is relative certainly, but it just means you do what you have to do.
posted by lindsay at 07:17 :: 2 comments
01 November 2006 : on the way.
it was an absurdly normal moment, but momentous in its association.
i stood outside tapping ashes from my cigarette on a busy street downtown and looked up to the darkening blue of a fall evening to see fire falling from the sky.
the reasons i left california and returned here are numerous and complex, but one stands out fresh and clean and simple amid the confusion that i still haven't quite worked out.
a crisp morning in late september, colder than it should have been. we hopped into the cab of his truck and headed south. he could have carried the entire world on his shoulders, they were that broad.
the cd player didn't work so well but it didn't much matter because neither did the muffler. i bathed my face in sunshine and wished he would let me smoke, wished that i weren't too polite to light up without permission.
instead i watched middle america fly by, beautifully austere under the blue sky - cinderblock buildings and empty fields and machines whose origins and purposes i wouldn't venture to guess. we sent jokes back and forth affectionately through indianapolis and into cincinnati, past florence and lexington and on into tennessee.
he drove recklessly 30 miles over the speed limit, passing blind on mountain roads and braking without warning. i loved it. i wore the danger of the day on my sleeve. our destination was remote, peaceful, but it was the getting there that mattered. we got stopped in traffic near pigeon forge so he pulled a u over the median and we stopped for lunch at an unremarkable chuck wagon of a restaurant, barbecue so spicy it made me choke.
somewhere we passed a huge factory in the middle of nowhere, smokestacks spilling white stains against the afternoon, the emptiness of the surrounding countryside only emphasizing the smells and sounds of human innovation. his gaze wandered and i followed it, forgetting about the road ahead and his foot heavy on the gas pedal. he was entranced, and so was i entranced.
he didn't look at me, i'd never seen him shy before. three years later i wouldn't call it shy - just the uncertainty of a little boy incapable of naming his wonder. "i just get all excited when i see something so...industrial. i love industry."
he was a little bit hank rearden, a little bit hank kimball, and entirely charming. i held back my delight and let him have his moment, but i would never forget how his eyes shone over something so simple as a factory.
we arrived in one piece.
tonight i was startled into this memory when it dawned on me that the sky was not raining fire but it was only the product of a man perched tenuously on an exposed beam three stories up, sanding down metal and making sparks drip onto the dirt below him like water.
i put my cigarette out and made my way inside, a little warmer for the recollection of that perfect fall day, fresh home in the midwest and still afraid of occupying space in the world.
it's the inconsequential moments that comprise the bulk of beauty. if i wore a hat, i would have tipped it - to the evening, to the construction, to the life that's been built here in indianapolis.
posted by lindsay at 23:26 :: 0 comments
this is maybe the best offer i've ever recieved, in regard to anything:
Lindsay. Come to AZ with me. I know you can go to school free other places but I think that is just shit and doesn't matter because I'm not in those other places and I desperately need your presence. We could find lots of Indians and Mexican immigrants and refugees and give them all our possessions and support and we could live off of cacti nutrients and knit clothing with the needles from the cacti and maybe we could see some of those rolly things that always bounce between two people having a shoot-out in Western movies. Think about it. Picture it. Us, slow motion, walking through Phoenix....tumbleweeds blowing all over. An image I HARDLY think anyone could resist. Fuck, woman. I'm begging you to come with me. I love you and need you. Come on. Who else could give such a damn good argument?
going to australia? one of the best decisions i ever made. there are so many people in this world i want to keep; i'm glad you're one of those who wants to keep me back.
Labels: Australia, When I grow up
posted by lindsay at 09:58 :: 2 comments
28 November 2006 : has removable calvarium!
as you probably know, because i've probably told you, i will be turning twenty-four over the coming weekend. so i thought it was time that i brought out the list.
this year for my birthday, i would like:
- one open shot at michael bublé, preferably in a public forum where many people besides myself will be able to benefit from the feeling of immense satisfaction that can only come from my fist hitting his face.
- for the guys in the home theatre department to stop playing the michael bublé holiday concert, so i can be rid of the aforementioned violent fantasy.
- the common sense to return the new blue winter coat i bought this week which cost approximately half of my weekly budget (and from which i have not yet found the stones to remove the tags; if only it weren't so beautiful!).
- stan or another gentleman much like him.
- for unc chapel hill's application deadline not to be this friday (it was nice while it lasted. so long, dr. escobar).
- sleazy, sweaty high school making out with someone who has about five days of stubble.
or, alternately, you could all just come out and get drunk with me on friday night. either way.
posted by lindsay at 21:19 :: 5 comments
22 November 2006 : this has GOT to stop.
so apparently, arturo escobar teaches at the university of north carolina chapel hill.
and NO ONE really thought that this was worth mentioning to me, even given all the hours i've logged recently searching for the perfect grad school. and all the hours i've logged following my favorite professors around saying, "where should i go to grad school? what do you think of the university of kentucky? is it going to hurt me that the department chair has a Ph.D. from IU and there's that whole institutional snobbery towards IUPUI thing? where should i go to grad school? what's a good program? where should i go to grad school? what's a personal statement?"
out of all of that, i got - the university of memphis (to which i am applying, if for no other reason than southern accent + jacob grace) and indiana university.
arturo escobar (who is the only anthropologist whose work i've read regularly and eagerly and consistently when assigned it and also when not) aside, unc chapel hill has a really freaking cool graduate program, about which reading sort of made my heart hitch. in the good way. in the six days of stubble and flared jeans way. in the qdoba nachos and cold beer way. in the colonial gardens way.
and no-one said a word. it might be nice to live within driving distance of an ocean again. which got me thinking (and just thinking) about how i've been limiting my possibilities. so i started over again, with a broader scope of imagination. i may be getting a little big for my britches, but...brown! columbia! nyu! holy FREAKING CRAP, MAN. these programs all look amazing.
everything is so good! i've actually been breathing in excited little bursts of hot air, like i'm running a marathon or watching porn!
i can't wait to email arturo freaking escobar!
and this is what it comes to, partly because the ivy league has never impressed me just for being ivy league or vice versa: it doesn't really matter what the school is or where it's located, as long as i'm happy and successful and studying the one thing about which i've maintained a passion longer than six months. the university of kentucky and the university of memphis (and yes, maybe...just maybe unc chapel hill) are eagerly awaiting the remainder of my application materials, and i eagerly await the end of this year.
anthropology! it's gold!
(p.s. i don't actually watch porn, dr. escobar. if you googled your name and somehow stumbled upon this, i mean all of this in the most sincere, mature and flattering way possible. do you need a new research assistant?)
Labels: When I grow up
posted by lindsay at 15:31 :: 4 comments
19 November 2006 : coats and overcoats.
something was flickering on the television, but the evening we'd planned was pushed aside for serious conversation. it happened so rarely between you and i; when it did come about, everything outside the two of us was in my eyes inconsequential.
we sat on the couch, that couch i knew so well. the dirt of my life, of your life, of the lives of everyone who knew you and used you and came to you was piled up in the creases of the gray cushion cover. i slept here some nights, because you were too angry or too tired to deal with me. i slept here some nights, because i was too scared to crawl into bed with you. i might be rejected. i slept here some nights because you were so large, so overwhelming in your sleep - all heavy limbs and slick sweat like some horrifying aftermath - that i would awake pinned to the wall, unable to breathe and unable to wake you.
you were sprawled per usual, the size of you intimidating to the entire house. i was curled as small as possible, per usual, taking up as little space as i could so i wouldn't accidentally brush against you. this way i could be both close and careful, feel your heat without making you startle - sometimes the sensation of skin against your own skin made you angry.
this is what you said: what are you going to do?
i curled my toes tightly against the rough cushion, studied my flat feet and long toes next to yours. you pressed the sole of one foot against the sole of mine and i unfurled a little, aching.
this is what i said: with my life?
your affirmation wasn't really needed; we both knew i was only stalling for time. you waited, breathed, and asked me what it was i wanted.
i smiled, looking under my eyelashes at my belt, at my knobby knees.
this is what i said, and i meant it more than you'll ever know: i want a garden.
your surprise delighted both of us. you huffed out a short laugh, reached out a hand and squeezed my bare ankle. a garden, you said, shaking your head. you rolled us both cigarettes and considered this with smoke curling around your face.
it seemed so obvious at the time. a garden meant stasis, it meant home. it meant i'd be staying for a while. it was everything i'd been wanting since the long drive across the continent, in those four syllables.
after a minute, you put down your cigarette and turned to face me squarely. you can use my backyard, i wouldn't mind. i pictured it, trying not to let you see that i was having trouble breathing. that all i wanted in the world was to jump on you, kiss every part of your face i could reach. that tiny square of grass behind your house, it would be filled entirely with my flowers.
yeah. i'd be staying for a while.
Labels: old chestnuts
posted by lindsay at 21:55 :: 6 comments
: onward and upward.
i've never been one to shy away from admitting embarrassing things. for instance, all of you by now should know very well that i love bon jovi, buffy the vampire slayer, gilmore girls, pasty boys who look like jesus, and cats (yes, in that crazy old lady way).
but this particular movie, i've never been quite able to admit to - mostly because it has no redeeming value. you can't collect un-cool points for this movie.
so i'm not going to tell you what it is. i'm only going to tell you that it made me feel better.
like, someone with warm hands threw a large, soft blanket of better over me while i lay on the couch last night (it didn't hurt that both the dog and the cat were sleeping on top of me and i was very cozy).
and that blanket lasted through the night and has so far endured the entirety of this day. maybe it's because this is the first sunday in months that doesn't mean another week of hellish intensity is going to start in less than twelve hours. i really have nothing of importance to do until next weekend.
but most of what has been going on with the craziness in my head is about this: i am scared out of my fucking mind. everything that's coming up in the next few months leaves very little room for failure, for breathing. i've got to be on fire.
and i love my life here. pretty much everything about it, i love. i've been happier in indianapolis than i have been anywhere since i moved out of my mom's house at 16. so the thought of leaving all of it to start somewhere else, again, put the jitters in my belly and my toes. i would sometimes have trouble lighting a cigarette, i was shaking so badly.
then i sat down to watch this movie, because it's a dumb girly movie, but one of those with a mildly a-typical plotline that still has the ability to make me wonder positively about what's to come.
and someone said something like this: sometimes you have to force yourself to take a step for which you're not ready, because if you wait until you're ready, it's never going to happen.
and that opened up my chest a little, made my eyes stop stinging and unclenched my tired fists. i breathed, and i knew that it was true.
i'm not ready for this, i'm not ready to move on, to be alone or to start over. i'm not ready to wave goodbye to indianapolis and head south to a city that i haven't at this point even driven through. i'm not ready to live by myself.
but if i just suck it up and do it, it's going to turn out okay.
because honestly, i'm good at things. and i have yet to really fail at anything.
i'm not embarrassed to admit how much i'm going to miss it all, though. i'm not embarrassed to admit that i love all of my friends fiercely, and i love the theatre fiercely (and a job such as that is never going to fall in my lap again), and that i love every block of this city with an overwhelming passion that's a little bit ayn rand and a little bit country.
so just promise it'll be here when i get back.
Labels: Two steps forward
posted by lindsay at 14:54 :: 2 comments
17 November 2006 : tiny whiny tightrope
i found myself yesterday on a rainy, cold, wild goose chase for two charming young burmese gentlemen who needed to be escorted downtown for social service issues. 16 miles, three apartments, twelve non-english speakers and one cup of coffee later, i found myself in the vestibule of a very large, very empty church, having been directed there mostly by luck and the phrase "english school!" said vehemently over and over again.
luckily right behind me came a congenial older fellow with a shock of silver hair and a super-cool name, who peppered me with questions about who i was and what my business was (while providing the answers i needed in a very kind manner).
the next thing i knew, i was exchanging handshakes and phone numbers with him, before calling the day a mostly-failure and heading to yats for some rice and beans (which was delightful).
note to self:
that giant flashing neon billboard that's been following you around proclaiming the words, "YOU HAVE TAKEN ON TOO MANY RESPONSIBILITIES THIS FALL," yeah, remember that?
well, just for the record, nowhere in that phrase are contained any of the words, "BUT GO AHEAD AND VOLUNTEER TO ORGANIZE AND TEACH ESL CLASSES IN NORA TWO NIGHTS A WEEK, CAUSE IT WILL BE KINDA COOL."
that's all.
Labels: Refuge to spare
posted by lindsay at 15:10 :: 0 comments
14 November 2006 : crisis averted, i hope
the sun came out today, which was a nice start.
things are feeling a little better, a little calmer, since i woke up this morning in an unfamiliar bed, all sweaty bangs and mascara stains on my pillow. just the way i like it.
like i said, all i've needed was to spend some time with a few people who would be genuinely thrilled to see me. and it took about ten minutes after i rolled into town, i must say, to run into three such people. a few more were found throughout the evening.
mission accomplished.
i giggled a lot last night, was turned on by music and entertained by charming gentlemen. hugged cera sunshine for about 12 minutes straight and drank some delightfully crisp cider. devoured a meatball sandwich that was actually larger than my head, and made way for culpability to march out the door. it was narrow, but he made it past without breaking me open.
and for the record, i'm sorry i've been looking at you so much.
i just really like your face.
Labels: Two steps forward
posted by lindsay at 13:58 :: 4 comments
12 November 2006 : un-chosen
i've got to get my priorities straight, and try to maintain a little bit of integrity. by that i mean, i should be able to be the same person no matter who i'm with or what i'm doing. nothing should change just because my surroundings are different.
i work with a woman i don't know how to place. she's tiny - less than five feet - with a shock of bright red hair and totally rubenesque. originally from the bronx, she talks fast and she talks loud, and her laugh is all cigarettes and cheap vodka, bawdy as hell and contagious to boot. she knows what she likes and what she doesn't, and will never hesitate to tell it like it is. to your face. until you cry. and she'll never feel bad about it.
i like her, a lot. she takes everything i say at face value, and she laughs at all my messes, which make them seem a little further away.
we are outside on this strange, warm and humid november day. i'm a mess today, no makeup, frizzy hair and dirty clothes. spending my day hoping once again that the evening will bring something worth getting excited about; something that won't backfire on me.
she lights a cigarette and crouches down on the sidewalk where i sit sprawled against the blue painted bricks, gossiping lightning fast about everyone we work with. i wonder briefly what she says about me when i'm not around, but decide that i don't care all that much, and i've given the workplace little to work with in the last 13 months.
the girl she is talking about is a girl i can't stand. someone i've never spoken to, but because she's got that air about her. every time i walk past the customer service desk, her eyes follow me full of judgment and disdain. i know all about this - it's a thing girls do. i know i intimidate her, but i don't really know why. still, i'm not in the mood to be generous and her stares are getting on my last nerve.
"i'm prettier than she is," i say, knowing it's true but not sure why i'm announcing it.
"for sure," the redhead tells me, taking a drag.
"maybe that's all it is," i say. "have you ever noticed how fat girls tend to be really critical of other fat girls? you'd think that they'd be jealous and annoyed at the skinny little girls, band together against the beauty myth, but instead they're just all critical of each other. maybe she doesn't like that i'm confident."
the fact that i needed to announce my physical superiority over hers belies my proclaimed confidence. i'm so tired.
later that day, the girl in question would speak to me for the first time. she was surprisingly friendly, but my patience was thin.
tonight, i had that feeling rise up in me again. i'm prettier than she is, i thought. it didn't make me feel better at all, and i stopped it short, because spacing between the eyes and a nicely shaped nose do not a whole make. and i know it.
i've often fallen into the trap of thinking that if i could only be prettier, things would be better. i wouldn't be lonely, i wouldn't mess up so much. as though a smaller waist size or a boyfriend would magically make me less lazy, more motivated and less likely to fall to delusions of grandeur and invention. but with the acknowledgement of the fact that looks aren't everything comes something far more sinister. the knowledge that if it isn't about the way that i look, then it might just be about who i am.
i've never questioned myself like this before. i've never thought, what's wrong with me, that he doesn't want me? it's always been, what the hell is wrong with him? how could he possibly not want me?
i don't like this feeling, and i don't like the situation that brought it about. and i don't really know how to get rid of either, other than to ignore them.
so that's the path i think i've chosen (although i gave lengthy consideration to something much more passive aggressive). i have a paper due tomorrow. i'll throw myself into academics and pretend that nothing ever happened. ever. and i mean that in a since oh, 1999, kind of way.
emma thompson would be so proud.
posted by lindsay at 19:28 :: 1 comments
08 November 2006 : cherry on top.
you know it's going to be a good day when you have tiramisu for breakfast and bill drops by to fix your laptop.
if you find guerilla graphics on a wall at school on your way to a lecture on bio-art, things are going exactly as they should.
if it's november in indiana and 65 degrees outside, you're just not going to stop smiling.
if you look down and notice for the first time this fall that the leaves have started leaving their imprints on the sidewalk, it starts to feel a little like your birthday.
if you've been feeling under appreciated and kind of lonely lately, and then someone vaguely familiar walks into the theatre and smiles at you faintly, hands in his pockets and head ducked low, and you all at once remember that once he wrapped his arm around your bare waist, kissed you on the temple and said, "you're amazing, kiddo," well, there's really just nothing more to say.
well played, wednesday. well played.
posted by lindsay at 21:33 :: 2 comments
07 November 2006 : excerpts.
"you wanna like, go to taco bell later and talk about math or something?"
freaking charming.
Labels: Charmed I'm sure
posted by lindsay at 23:10 :: 2 comments
04 November 2006 : hmd, part 3
a single night.
five friends.
four cocktails.
two main events (one strange but entertaining, one shameful).
walking around trying too hard. like wearing a badge.
my hair was pinned back and it felt like i was made entirely of eyes.
the words graceful and sinful, they seem to interlock like puzzle pieces. sliding out of the mouth so easily.
this is not what matters. i hope my big mouth doesn't get me into trouble. playing it cool turns brittle when you're being questioned about something you would give anything to make inconsequential. i don't even know him.
nighttime on the couch was mostly satisfied. there will always be something to want, but i carried home with me the strangest satisfaction. listened to the cure and sang until my throat hurt.
surreal sunday morning. too much gin, cigarettes still scraping at my chest, someone's lips on my surprised mouth, 38th street fuzzy behind dry eyes.
i would like to reiterate that a man's word is his bond, and i'm still busy being that girl.
Labels: Blog vomit
posted by lindsay at 23:13 :: 0 comments
03 November 2006 : brought home.
i guess i was too busy with the business of filling out forms and hurdling the language barrier to really notice them. a family of small, dark people - mom, dad, two babies with enormous eyes. i had to show them how to use a car seat, a seatbelt. they huddled together in the backseat of the car, leaving me nervous and alone in the front. driving is one of the most frightening parts of this job. i have one car seat, but they have two babies. what if i get pulled over? who's going to recognize that getting this finished is more important than obeying child safety laws to the very letter?
they were going to leave without shoes. i pantomimed it being cold outside and they laughed at me before finding socks and tying laces.
the drive took 30 minutes. they didn't know where we were going. they had never met me before. all i had for credibility was my smile and the blue case folder that marked me as a member of a specific organization.
but they came anyway. in country for less than 24 hours, they followed me outside and climbed into the backseat without hesitation.
i guess at some point you hedge your bets, you assume that you've got to trust someone, even if it's the slightly timid white girl with the nose piercing and the scarf that sheds green hair all over everything.
like i said, i wasn't paying much attention to anything other than filling out forms and my hands at ten and two. the speed limit 55 on 465 east is so difficult to obey.
but sitting in the hot, crowded, airless office with all the screaming children it got to me. i saw their faces stoic and unbothered in the commotion. she breast fed the baby calmly and they listened intently when i asked them questions, but were not too concerned when i was unable to convey anything i meant.
we dialed the 800 number and i put them on the phone in turn; the translator told me their answers as best she could. neither of them could spell for her in english the names i needed, so we guessed phonetically - myself and a burmese woman located anywhere conspiring.
it was the birthdate that stopped me. the forms almost finished, just waiting for shaky (but legal) signatures. 12/2/82 - i wrote it down and then stopped. 12/2/82 - one day before my own date of origin. i looked at the man sitting next to me with the sleeping child.
they were so young. so incredibly young. and for once, impending 24 didn't seem like a crisis. how could it?
in 24 years, i've done a lot of whining, lost my father to heart disease, written about a zillion blog entries, and remained in school to put off the real world as long as possible.
in 24 years, he had married, fathered two children, fled his home to live in a refugee camp on the thai border, and then given up everything to come to the united states and find something better with his family.
his wife had sky-blue polish on her toenails.
i stopped with the business of being brisk and smiled at them with as much meaning as i could muster, since i wouldn't have the words. when we parted, he shook my hand and thanked me. i said, "i know you have no idea what i'm saying, but you two are my favorites so far."
and puppet show time again - they understood tomorrow and 8 (after i held up fingers), but i left having no idea whether they knew what the two had to do with each other.
and a feeling of calm assurance. everything is relative certainly, but it just means you do what you have to do.
Labels: Refuge to spare
posted by lindsay at 07:17 :: 2 comments
01 November 2006 : on the way.
it was an absurdly normal moment, but momentous in its association.
i stood outside tapping ashes from my cigarette on a busy street downtown and looked up to the darkening blue of a fall evening to see fire falling from the sky.
the reasons i left california and returned here are numerous and complex, but one stands out fresh and clean and simple amid the confusion that i still haven't quite worked out.
a crisp morning in late september, colder than it should have been. we hopped into the cab of his truck and headed south. he could have carried the entire world on his shoulders, they were that broad.
the cd player didn't work so well but it didn't much matter because neither did the muffler. i bathed my face in sunshine and wished he would let me smoke, wished that i weren't too polite to light up without permission.
instead i watched middle america fly by, beautifully austere under the blue sky - cinderblock buildings and empty fields and machines whose origins and purposes i wouldn't venture to guess. we sent jokes back and forth affectionately through indianapolis and into cincinnati, past florence and lexington and on into tennessee.
he drove recklessly 30 miles over the speed limit, passing blind on mountain roads and braking without warning. i loved it. i wore the danger of the day on my sleeve. our destination was remote, peaceful, but it was the getting there that mattered. we got stopped in traffic near pigeon forge so he pulled a u over the median and we stopped for lunch at an unremarkable chuck wagon of a restaurant, barbecue so spicy it made me choke.
somewhere we passed a huge factory in the middle of nowhere, smokestacks spilling white stains against the afternoon, the emptiness of the surrounding countryside only emphasizing the smells and sounds of human innovation. his gaze wandered and i followed it, forgetting about the road ahead and his foot heavy on the gas pedal. he was entranced, and so was i entranced.
he didn't look at me, i'd never seen him shy before. three years later i wouldn't call it shy - just the uncertainty of a little boy incapable of naming his wonder. "i just get all excited when i see something so...industrial. i love industry."
he was a little bit hank rearden, a little bit hank kimball, and entirely charming. i held back my delight and let him have his moment, but i would never forget how his eyes shone over something so simple as a factory.
we arrived in one piece.
tonight i was startled into this memory when it dawned on me that the sky was not raining fire but it was only the product of a man perched tenuously on an exposed beam three stories up, sanding down metal and making sparks drip onto the dirt below him like water.
i put my cigarette out and made my way inside, a little warmer for the recollection of that perfect fall day, fresh home in the midwest and still afraid of occupying space in the world.
it's the inconsequential moments that comprise the bulk of beauty. if i wore a hat, i would have tipped it - to the evening, to the construction, to the life that's been built here in indianapolis.
Labels: Charmed I'm sure
posted by lindsay at 23:26 :: 0 comments