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30 January 2007 : clothing of contention
tonight, i have a story so circular it might make you dizzy. one for the history books. a story about growing up, and moving on.
it's a story about a sweater - nay! - the sweater.
it was the winter of 1999.
a weekend off from the rigors of life at the indiana academy. cera sunshine and i were, for some unfathomable reason, with my mom at the kokomo mall. and cera and i were, for some unfathomable reason, compelled to walk into new york and co.
that's where i found it: black, ribbed, stretchy, belted, threaded with tiny bits of silver. the cardigan i'd been waiting my entire life to find. i ran to it, ran my fingers over its rough surface, picked it up and rubbed it against my face. i couldn't speak. cera, too, sat in stunned silence as we admired the sheer ingenuity of its creation.
we each bought one.
the minute i got home, i removed the belt, rolled it up and stored it in a box for later use (i just found it last night, in a box of belts and scarves) and slid into its tight sleeves. it was the beginning of something beautiful. for more than two years, that sweater was my most faithful companion. four, five, six days a week i wore it. it looked good with every tshirt i owned.
i was wearing it the first night i hung out with niqke and jen (it was one of the six black layers i peeled off in their room). i was wearing it the day i decided to move to wisconsin. i was wearing it the night i met lindsay and michelle. i was wearing it the day i met the reason (boy) i moved to california. i was wearing it the day i met scott. i was wearing it that night in providence that i got drunk and ended up hanging out with the security guard in niqke's dorm at johnson and wales.
it came to an end in the late spring of 2002. amidst one last round of visiting friends before my big move to california, i made a stop at ball state en route to richmond. on a bench outside one of the dormitories, i changed my clothes to accomodate the next stop. it wasn't until i was safely tucked away at earlham that i realized my sweater was exactly where i left it - folded up on top of my tshirt, sitting on a bench in muncie, indiana. when i made it back to muncie at 3am, the tshirt was still there but the sweater was gone.
i was heartbroken. i would never again find anything so beautiful. so fitted. so sparkly. it took me months to move on. i tried other cardigans - grey, yellow, brown, red, black. nothing was the same. nothing so perfectly complemented my collection of red tshirts. nothing looked quite so right with my cream colored knit cap.
in the intervening years, i tried to steal cera's sweater every time i saw her. i'd sneak it into my backpack as i was packing up to leave after a weekend in madison, but she would always find it. punch me in the arm, stuff it away in the closet and watch me like a hawk until i was out the door.
i resigned. my time with the sweater was through - i would just have to move on. it wouldn't be the first time i got my heart sartorially broken; a few years later i would fail to show up for a planned weekend visit and in retaliation, cera would donate every item of clothing i'd ever loaned her to goodwill (a story which, now, never fails to crack me up: i'm the cheating husband whose clothes are on the lawn).
fast forward to christmas of 2005. in a stunning move of selflessness and devotion (and perhaps guilt over the aforementioned episode), cera gifted me with her the sweater during an eventful christmas weekend. it wasn't exactly the same - hers was a size smaller than mine - but over the years it had mellowed and stretched enough to allow me the sinful bliss of regression. we rekindled our flame. i pulled out all my red tshirts (though, to my credit, i left the knit cap packed away) and i began wearing the sweater again. four, five days a week. eventually, the hole in the shoulder got a little too big, the hole in the armpit got a lot too big. and honestly? i'm just not that into sparkly anymore.
still, i'd never give it up. i pull it out on those occasions i need to be shabby chic, or just comforted. it's one of the things that transcends the six month rule of goodwill donations.
and yet, tonight. tonight i went to goodwill in search of an end table and a coffee table. goodwill had neither of those things, but what goodwill did have...what goodwill did have was the sweater, in mint condition.
in the correct size. three dollars and ninety nine cents. and the tag was this week's color - 50% off.
i stared at it in awe for a moment. reached out tentatively and then pulled back, a little shy. then i ran my fingers over it, lifted it gingerly from its hanger and buried my nose in it. just for a second - it had that particular goodwill scent of mothballs and sadness - before i put it back. gave it one last caress and walked away, without looking back.
you can't go back. once the rift is created, things can never be the same.
i left goodwill tonight with a green plaid miniskirt, a black scoopneck sweater, a beautiful brown vase and a fond smile. i can't help but wonder if that sweater was exactly the same specimen i'd left on that bench in muncie, five years ago. and i hope some other hopelessly naive 19 year old picks it up and loves it for all it's worth. today, for once, goodwill did not disappoint.
i don't have any endtables, but i sure do have my memories.
posted by lindsay at 20:06 :: 1 comments
29 January 2007 : dear frank charlemagne
a promise is to be taken with a grain of salt; these were recorded in 2000 and 2003, respectively. keep it in mind.
1. live goodnight elizabeth
2. clover
that second song? oh, it's about the reason (boy) i moved to california. uhm, he had dreadlocks. enough said.
oh, and it was recorded in a bedroom in foster city, california with an mp3 player and a microphone. i'm pretty sure myself and the cellist were both pantsless.
fucking PRICELESS, my late teen years.
love,
lindsay
posted by lindsay at 20:12 :: 6 comments
25 January 2007 : clocks and eyelashes are not real life.
moving on is a strange, sly beast.
you don't necessarily want to do it. you've been dreading it since, say, november. but you knew it was coming, and you couldn't do anything about it. you couldn't even prepare, because it was too early - no one wanted to discuss anything so long before the fact.
this is not like dying your hair, or making the switch from ultra-low rise to plain old low rise. it's your entire life, every foundation.
but suddenly, one day, you wake up and know you're ready. it's sort of like, hey, this is going to happen anyway, and i'm tired of waiting. if i have to do it, then i want to do it my way - and i want to do it now.
well, i've got plans. mostly they revolve around red potholders and a giant map of the world, but they also have to do with strength. with knowing that at some point, i was always going to have to form a singular identity, to be funny and worthy and sketchy comedic without backup. to be me and just me, without anyone to model myself after or a common thread to hold on to.
and i decided on sunday afternoon that i was done waiting for that, and i was done holding on until the very last moment.
yesterday i put down a deposit on what is perhaps the most beautiful apartment in indianapolis. it also might be the cheapest apartment in indianapolis - how i got so lucky, i'll never know. but everything coming together so properly and so quickly seemed like a sign. so i took the chance.
i'll be moving in two weeks - which is a month before my lease here is up. there are a lot of reasons for that, including that the landlord was reluctant to offer me a short term lease (and i so desperately wanted the apartment), so i said "let's make a deal - you get a tenant right away and i get the apartment." another part of it is that i'm tired of being panicked about not knowing where i'm going to live come march first.
and part of that is that i want to get into my new life post-roommates as soon as possible. not because i don't love them dearly, and not because i won't miss them, but because they have been such an enormous part of my identity for the last two years and it's time for me to figure out if i can stand on my own two feet. it was coming anyway, so i may as well dive right in and see if i can come out on the other side unscathed.
paying rent on two places for a month is worth it if for nothing else than my peace of mind - i'm not going to have to couch surf, or move back in with my mom (not that she's not awesome, but she's 90 minutes away, and my life is solidly here), and i'm not going to wind up squatting in the theatre for six months with no place to go.
so tonight i say, three cheers for my first baby step into actual adulthood. wish me luck (and perhaps a quick boyfriend), since i've never lived alone before and my excitement only slightly outweighs my terror.
posted by lindsay at 14:26 :: 3 comments
21 January 2007 : an open letter
the previous post, however, does not apply to things such as apartments. in the nature of this afternoon's adventures, i submit the following:
dear beautiful apartment:
i've been watching you for a long time. i drive past you every morning on my way to buy coffee. you've been beguiling, all sturdy and brick with your yellow woodwork and fenced in yard. i've wondered for three years exactly what you were like on the inside. what you were really made of. what made you tick.
today, we met for the first time, apartment. and this is what i have to say.
i love you. i love your hardwood floors. i love your tall ceilings. i love your huge windows. i love your big balcony. i love your closet which is actually the size of my bedroom on michigan street. i love your clawfoot bathtub. i love your ridiculously low rent which includes all utilities. i love the cobblestone street upon which you sit. i love that you're less than a block from the theatre. in short, i love every single thing about you, apartment.
i am willing to do anything and everything that it takes to have you. i will beg and i will plead, i will be shameless and wanton. i will offer money and signatures and legal documents. i am opening my soul, baring everything i have. i would give up my new red mary janes and my bangs and my childhood skateboards hoodie just to spend six months in your arms.
please, apartment, do not forsake me. i know that there are many outsiders who would labor to keep us apart. the obstacles are high, the weather cold, the road harsh. don't give in.
i'm here for you. please say you're there for me, too.
with ever pulsating devotion,
lindsay marie.
posted by lindsay at 21:32 :: 2 comments
: someone's just not that into something.
step back, step down, step off.
it's been like a mantra the last few weeks.
backing down is something i've always struggled with; sometimes i do it too much, sometimes i can't get a grip on it no matter how badly i want to.
right now, its the latter. that feeling in the pit of your stomach that's about wanting something and knowing you're not going to have it, it gives me pause when i am making calculations about how to proceed.
i think one of my most self-defeating qualities is the tendency to hold on. to be hopeful. to wear my heart on my sleeve. to remember your name when we're old and gray and you haven't thought about me in 25 years, since we only met for five seconds in a busy pizza place in lima, ohio.
this is definitely a post about a boy, but it's only abstract because that flows in the same vein as my desire. maybe it had to do with my feeling like i needed to hide from everyone around us that i wanted him, or that i felt that way because i thought that's what he would want. either way, i sometimes detached from reality when i saw him; the man in conversation was not the same man who kissed me so voraciously was not the same man walking down the street.
i'm pretty sure that's not healthy, and i know i didn't like it. i didn't like how i could go from zero to ecstatic and back in 60 seconds. for once, i could see myself investing so much without any return, and for once, i realized that there is no way to make that okay. so i'm stepping off. stepping back.
not stepping down though; it snowed pretty hard today and i'm wearing really tall boots that make me ankle-wary.
posted by lindsay at 14:07 :: 0 comments
15 January 2007 : come on night
we have an unfortunate tendency to view change retrospectively.
we get used to that. we take it home and cuddle with it, make it our special banana smoothie in the morning. it's too many movies and too many books - when did we start expecting happy endings? when did it become necessary to tie up every possible loose end? a transition with a finish line so impossibly tight leaves no room for movement.
we've changed ourselves out of change, because we want those blue skies, that reconciliatory kiss. we want to look back on the last six months and say, "yeah, that was pretty dark - but look where we are now. it was all worth it."
i get that.
but don't you ever look up from a sentence or your teacup and think, HOLY CRAP. I'M IN TRANSITION AND I HAVE TO FIGURE IT OUT BEFORE ITS TOO LATE TO INFLUENCE ITS COURSE.
it's tough, honestly. transition, like most things, doesn't rely on the individual, but on the individual plus friends, family, coworkers, environment and climate. you can bear down as hard as you want and it doesn't mean you're going to be able to turn that wheel to the right. i've lived so much of my life carefully at 10 and 2 and i've still been left speechless with the violation shaking in my hand, unable to decipher its meaning.
and right now, well, right now i am looking forward. things are going to change, but they haven't yet. they haven't even started to change yet. but every morning i open my eyes, i know its going to happen. in six weeks, i leave the happiest home i've been able to make since leaving mom's at age 16. i didn't choose that - it was handed to me. four months after that, my gas tank inevitably marked full, i will head as far south as i've ever dared. i didn't choose that, either - it kind of chose me.
i know its coming. which gives me the time to sit back and think about how good its going to be. how bad its going to be. i can do anything. no-one knows me in lexington, kentucky. i could be new, different, british! i could jog a mile every morning, or cook myself balanced meals, or paint my living room bright red. i could suck up all my timidity and be friendly, frenzied, manic. i could be successful, i could take chances.
but i don't know what's going to happen. and i'm frustrated by sitting here in january, not knowing what february will bring. i do not like all of these things i've had to let fall from my hands. i do not like that i am making plans based on maybe. and i do not like that all of these decisions: where will i live, who will i see, what will i study? are being made by people who are not me.
because i think we can, and we should, choose. how things are going to go. who we are going to be. what we are going to love, and why. i've been doing a lot of that lately. i said, i'll be strong, and confident, i'll be wise and i'll be brave and i'll be ready. i had to fake it for a while, but it's getting easier. i started slow, with a boy, and decided to work my way up from there.
it's not always working out the way i hope - the most i've gotten was a couple of dizzy kisses on a dirty old couch that left me feeling simultaneously innocent, sixteen, brazen and busted.
but there are other situations to be diffused. and i'm done with looking forward worst case. maybe its just that i'm in the world's tiniest, most adorable coffeeshop right now, in a town in southern indiana that leaves no room for wondering. just another place i could make a life.
i like knowing that. here? lexington, memphis, tucson, birmingham? i could be new, i could be different. hell, i could be british.
so i'm just gonna stop waiting.
posted by lindsay at 13:38 :: 3 comments
02 January 2007 : just gravy.
so, i don't really believe in new year's resolutions. since they never work and all. on thursday night, having dinner with niqke and her family, i was implored by a young boy to share one (along with the rest of the table), so i hastily declared that i would discontinue the practice of bringing home boys from the theatre.
good in theory, good in practice - no more annoyed roommates, no more couches that smell like sweaty bassist, no more seven people trying to take hot showers in one morning, etcetera.
but i wouldn't call it a resolution. more like good common sense.
i will say that i have embarked on a mission to become at least slightly healthier, which so far involves a 30 minute boxing session every afternoon and some ridiculously sore back/shoulder muscles. this was not a specifically new year activity, however - it just so happened that the miracle of a punching bag was delivered to me at christmas, and a kindly not un-young gentleman accompanied me home on friday night to put it together (a task i could not have completed myself if only because the stand is approximately three feet taller than i am).
i have also given serious consideration to giving up the cigarettes. this is a many splendored thing. a 30 minute workout is seriously more difficult if you smoke immediately before and after; the two things go hand in hand. plus, i spend approximately 1/4 of my weekly budget on cigarettes. give that some consideration. plus, it's been, oh, FOUR YEARS, since i've been interested in/pursued by any gentleman who was a smoker.
so, i'm doing it for the boys, see.
but it's not about a new year, it's about coincidence, bad timing, conclusion and gin & tonics. i'll quit smoking, i'll get into shape, i'll stop dallying with musicians (if for nothing else than my frail adolescent heart), and i'll continue being brave and brazen. when i woke up at 10:30 on monday morning (after falling asleep to the simpsons at 10:30 on sunday night), i stepped out onto the back porch, lit a camel, and said "rabbit fucking rabbit," as i crouched under the bleak sky. i'd say it's going to be a long haul.
truthfully, though? were i going to make a resolution, it would be this:
i resolve to be conscious and aware of the fact that i am now too old to be the girl who gets drunk at the party, takes her pants off, and makes out with strangers.
posted by lindsay at 23:15 :: 2 comments
01 January 2007 : year in review: the whatever version
albums i could not have done without
- stars / heart
- the winterpills / the winterpills
- band of horses / everything all the time
- caleb engstrom / building day one
- death in vegas / the contino sessions
- the lucksmiths / where were we?
absolute best moments
- holding my big brother's newborn baby for the first time
- standing at the top of a sacred aboriginal mountain
- that night at fionn maccools when i realized i had the world in my pocket
- offering to get down on one knee for tom calma at a meeting in his office (and getting away with the joke)
best new people
- smashley, mary underpants and the rest of the au crew.
- lisa and jenny (not new, i know, but still the best people)
- cam-ron who moved to canadia
- frank charlemagne
best shows you likely missed at the irving theatre.
- e.p. hall, paleo, these united states
- lamps, megafaun, arrah and the ferns, collections of colonies of bees
- theanti, BigBigCar, them roaring twenties, brazil
- david andrews, paleo, the scourge of the sea
- mike bloom, cameron mcgill's string quartet, margot and the nuclear so and so's
worst moments
- when i realized that every girl under 25 who walked into the theater on saturday night was wearing the same outfit, and that outfit consisted of tapered jeans and ballet flats.
- realizing that indianapolis is not forever.
- i won't go into specifics, only that it was at the theater and i looked at shari, hugged my knees, and said, "oh, i'm in trouble."
breakthroughs
- realizing that indianapolis is not forever.
- that whole grad school thing.
- telling a boy i liked him, because i did, and not because he was an impossibility (and therefore safe).
- discovering that i have motivation, character and integrity.
best christmas presents
- an entire boxing GYM, with a 100 pound heavy bag
- guns, germs, and steel the miniseries on dvd
- a mural sized map of the world
that's all i got, because i'm bored with this. happy new year anyway, guys.
posted by lindsay at 19:12 :: 6 comments
tonight, i have a story so circular it might make you dizzy. one for the history books. a story about growing up, and moving on.
it's a story about a sweater - nay! - the sweater.
it was the winter of 1999.
a weekend off from the rigors of life at the indiana academy. cera sunshine and i were, for some unfathomable reason, with my mom at the kokomo mall. and cera and i were, for some unfathomable reason, compelled to walk into new york and co.
that's where i found it: black, ribbed, stretchy, belted, threaded with tiny bits of silver. the cardigan i'd been waiting my entire life to find. i ran to it, ran my fingers over its rough surface, picked it up and rubbed it against my face. i couldn't speak. cera, too, sat in stunned silence as we admired the sheer ingenuity of its creation.
we each bought one.
the minute i got home, i removed the belt, rolled it up and stored it in a box for later use (i just found it last night, in a box of belts and scarves) and slid into its tight sleeves. it was the beginning of something beautiful. for more than two years, that sweater was my most faithful companion. four, five, six days a week i wore it. it looked good with every tshirt i owned.
i was wearing it the first night i hung out with niqke and jen (it was one of the six black layers i peeled off in their room). i was wearing it the day i decided to move to wisconsin. i was wearing it the night i met lindsay and michelle. i was wearing it the day i met the reason (boy) i moved to california. i was wearing it the day i met scott. i was wearing it that night in providence that i got drunk and ended up hanging out with the security guard in niqke's dorm at johnson and wales.
it came to an end in the late spring of 2002. amidst one last round of visiting friends before my big move to california, i made a stop at ball state en route to richmond. on a bench outside one of the dormitories, i changed my clothes to accomodate the next stop. it wasn't until i was safely tucked away at earlham that i realized my sweater was exactly where i left it - folded up on top of my tshirt, sitting on a bench in muncie, indiana. when i made it back to muncie at 3am, the tshirt was still there but the sweater was gone.
i was heartbroken. i would never again find anything so beautiful. so fitted. so sparkly. it took me months to move on. i tried other cardigans - grey, yellow, brown, red, black. nothing was the same. nothing so perfectly complemented my collection of red tshirts. nothing looked quite so right with my cream colored knit cap.
in the intervening years, i tried to steal cera's sweater every time i saw her. i'd sneak it into my backpack as i was packing up to leave after a weekend in madison, but she would always find it. punch me in the arm, stuff it away in the closet and watch me like a hawk until i was out the door.
i resigned. my time with the sweater was through - i would just have to move on. it wouldn't be the first time i got my heart sartorially broken; a few years later i would fail to show up for a planned weekend visit and in retaliation, cera would donate every item of clothing i'd ever loaned her to goodwill (a story which, now, never fails to crack me up: i'm the cheating husband whose clothes are on the lawn).
fast forward to christmas of 2005. in a stunning move of selflessness and devotion (and perhaps guilt over the aforementioned episode), cera gifted me with her the sweater during an eventful christmas weekend. it wasn't exactly the same - hers was a size smaller than mine - but over the years it had mellowed and stretched enough to allow me the sinful bliss of regression. we rekindled our flame. i pulled out all my red tshirts (though, to my credit, i left the knit cap packed away) and i began wearing the sweater again. four, five days a week. eventually, the hole in the shoulder got a little too big, the hole in the armpit got a lot too big. and honestly? i'm just not that into sparkly anymore.
still, i'd never give it up. i pull it out on those occasions i need to be shabby chic, or just comforted. it's one of the things that transcends the six month rule of goodwill donations.
and yet, tonight. tonight i went to goodwill in search of an end table and a coffee table. goodwill had neither of those things, but what goodwill did have...what goodwill did have was the sweater, in mint condition.
in the correct size. three dollars and ninety nine cents. and the tag was this week's color - 50% off.
i stared at it in awe for a moment. reached out tentatively and then pulled back, a little shy. then i ran my fingers over it, lifted it gingerly from its hanger and buried my nose in it. just for a second - it had that particular goodwill scent of mothballs and sadness - before i put it back. gave it one last caress and walked away, without looking back.
you can't go back. once the rift is created, things can never be the same.
i left goodwill tonight with a green plaid miniskirt, a black scoopneck sweater, a beautiful brown vase and a fond smile. i can't help but wonder if that sweater was exactly the same specimen i'd left on that bench in muncie, five years ago. and i hope some other hopelessly naive 19 year old picks it up and loves it for all it's worth. today, for once, goodwill did not disappoint.
i don't have any endtables, but i sure do have my memories.
posted by lindsay at 20:06 :: 1 comments
29 January 2007 : dear frank charlemagne
a promise is to be taken with a grain of salt; these were recorded in 2000 and 2003, respectively. keep it in mind.
1. live goodnight elizabeth
2. clover
that second song? oh, it's about the reason (boy) i moved to california. uhm, he had dreadlocks. enough said.
oh, and it was recorded in a bedroom in foster city, california with an mp3 player and a microphone. i'm pretty sure myself and the cellist were both pantsless.
fucking PRICELESS, my late teen years.
love,
lindsay
posted by lindsay at 20:12 :: 6 comments
25 January 2007 : clocks and eyelashes are not real life.
moving on is a strange, sly beast.
you don't necessarily want to do it. you've been dreading it since, say, november. but you knew it was coming, and you couldn't do anything about it. you couldn't even prepare, because it was too early - no one wanted to discuss anything so long before the fact.
this is not like dying your hair, or making the switch from ultra-low rise to plain old low rise. it's your entire life, every foundation.
but suddenly, one day, you wake up and know you're ready. it's sort of like, hey, this is going to happen anyway, and i'm tired of waiting. if i have to do it, then i want to do it my way - and i want to do it now.
well, i've got plans. mostly they revolve around red potholders and a giant map of the world, but they also have to do with strength. with knowing that at some point, i was always going to have to form a singular identity, to be funny and worthy and sketchy comedic without backup. to be me and just me, without anyone to model myself after or a common thread to hold on to.
and i decided on sunday afternoon that i was done waiting for that, and i was done holding on until the very last moment.
yesterday i put down a deposit on what is perhaps the most beautiful apartment in indianapolis. it also might be the cheapest apartment in indianapolis - how i got so lucky, i'll never know. but everything coming together so properly and so quickly seemed like a sign. so i took the chance.
i'll be moving in two weeks - which is a month before my lease here is up. there are a lot of reasons for that, including that the landlord was reluctant to offer me a short term lease (and i so desperately wanted the apartment), so i said "let's make a deal - you get a tenant right away and i get the apartment." another part of it is that i'm tired of being panicked about not knowing where i'm going to live come march first.
and part of that is that i want to get into my new life post-roommates as soon as possible. not because i don't love them dearly, and not because i won't miss them, but because they have been such an enormous part of my identity for the last two years and it's time for me to figure out if i can stand on my own two feet. it was coming anyway, so i may as well dive right in and see if i can come out on the other side unscathed.
paying rent on two places for a month is worth it if for nothing else than my peace of mind - i'm not going to have to couch surf, or move back in with my mom (not that she's not awesome, but she's 90 minutes away, and my life is solidly here), and i'm not going to wind up squatting in the theatre for six months with no place to go.
so tonight i say, three cheers for my first baby step into actual adulthood. wish me luck (and perhaps a quick boyfriend), since i've never lived alone before and my excitement only slightly outweighs my terror.
Labels: Two steps forward
posted by lindsay at 14:26 :: 3 comments
21 January 2007 : an open letter
the previous post, however, does not apply to things such as apartments. in the nature of this afternoon's adventures, i submit the following:
dear beautiful apartment:
i've been watching you for a long time. i drive past you every morning on my way to buy coffee. you've been beguiling, all sturdy and brick with your yellow woodwork and fenced in yard. i've wondered for three years exactly what you were like on the inside. what you were really made of. what made you tick.
today, we met for the first time, apartment. and this is what i have to say.
i love you. i love your hardwood floors. i love your tall ceilings. i love your huge windows. i love your big balcony. i love your closet which is actually the size of my bedroom on michigan street. i love your clawfoot bathtub. i love your ridiculously low rent which includes all utilities. i love the cobblestone street upon which you sit. i love that you're less than a block from the theatre. in short, i love every single thing about you, apartment.
i am willing to do anything and everything that it takes to have you. i will beg and i will plead, i will be shameless and wanton. i will offer money and signatures and legal documents. i am opening my soul, baring everything i have. i would give up my new red mary janes and my bangs and my childhood skateboards hoodie just to spend six months in your arms.
please, apartment, do not forsake me. i know that there are many outsiders who would labor to keep us apart. the obstacles are high, the weather cold, the road harsh. don't give in.
i'm here for you. please say you're there for me, too.
with ever pulsating devotion,
lindsay marie.
Labels: Two steps forward
posted by lindsay at 21:32 :: 2 comments
: someone's just not that into something.
step back, step down, step off.
it's been like a mantra the last few weeks.
backing down is something i've always struggled with; sometimes i do it too much, sometimes i can't get a grip on it no matter how badly i want to.
right now, its the latter. that feeling in the pit of your stomach that's about wanting something and knowing you're not going to have it, it gives me pause when i am making calculations about how to proceed.
i think one of my most self-defeating qualities is the tendency to hold on. to be hopeful. to wear my heart on my sleeve. to remember your name when we're old and gray and you haven't thought about me in 25 years, since we only met for five seconds in a busy pizza place in lima, ohio.
this is definitely a post about a boy, but it's only abstract because that flows in the same vein as my desire. maybe it had to do with my feeling like i needed to hide from everyone around us that i wanted him, or that i felt that way because i thought that's what he would want. either way, i sometimes detached from reality when i saw him; the man in conversation was not the same man who kissed me so voraciously was not the same man walking down the street.
i'm pretty sure that's not healthy, and i know i didn't like it. i didn't like how i could go from zero to ecstatic and back in 60 seconds. for once, i could see myself investing so much without any return, and for once, i realized that there is no way to make that okay. so i'm stepping off. stepping back.
not stepping down though; it snowed pretty hard today and i'm wearing really tall boots that make me ankle-wary.
Labels: Two steps forward
posted by lindsay at 14:07 :: 0 comments
15 January 2007 : come on night
we have an unfortunate tendency to view change retrospectively.
we get used to that. we take it home and cuddle with it, make it our special banana smoothie in the morning. it's too many movies and too many books - when did we start expecting happy endings? when did it become necessary to tie up every possible loose end? a transition with a finish line so impossibly tight leaves no room for movement.
we've changed ourselves out of change, because we want those blue skies, that reconciliatory kiss. we want to look back on the last six months and say, "yeah, that was pretty dark - but look where we are now. it was all worth it."
i get that.
but don't you ever look up from a sentence or your teacup and think, HOLY CRAP. I'M IN TRANSITION AND I HAVE TO FIGURE IT OUT BEFORE ITS TOO LATE TO INFLUENCE ITS COURSE.
it's tough, honestly. transition, like most things, doesn't rely on the individual, but on the individual plus friends, family, coworkers, environment and climate. you can bear down as hard as you want and it doesn't mean you're going to be able to turn that wheel to the right. i've lived so much of my life carefully at 10 and 2 and i've still been left speechless with the violation shaking in my hand, unable to decipher its meaning.
and right now, well, right now i am looking forward. things are going to change, but they haven't yet. they haven't even started to change yet. but every morning i open my eyes, i know its going to happen. in six weeks, i leave the happiest home i've been able to make since leaving mom's at age 16. i didn't choose that - it was handed to me. four months after that, my gas tank inevitably marked full, i will head as far south as i've ever dared. i didn't choose that, either - it kind of chose me.
i know its coming. which gives me the time to sit back and think about how good its going to be. how bad its going to be. i can do anything. no-one knows me in lexington, kentucky. i could be new, different, british! i could jog a mile every morning, or cook myself balanced meals, or paint my living room bright red. i could suck up all my timidity and be friendly, frenzied, manic. i could be successful, i could take chances.
but i don't know what's going to happen. and i'm frustrated by sitting here in january, not knowing what february will bring. i do not like all of these things i've had to let fall from my hands. i do not like that i am making plans based on maybe. and i do not like that all of these decisions: where will i live, who will i see, what will i study? are being made by people who are not me.
because i think we can, and we should, choose. how things are going to go. who we are going to be. what we are going to love, and why. i've been doing a lot of that lately. i said, i'll be strong, and confident, i'll be wise and i'll be brave and i'll be ready. i had to fake it for a while, but it's getting easier. i started slow, with a boy, and decided to work my way up from there.
it's not always working out the way i hope - the most i've gotten was a couple of dizzy kisses on a dirty old couch that left me feeling simultaneously innocent, sixteen, brazen and busted.
but there are other situations to be diffused. and i'm done with looking forward worst case. maybe its just that i'm in the world's tiniest, most adorable coffeeshop right now, in a town in southern indiana that leaves no room for wondering. just another place i could make a life.
i like knowing that. here? lexington, memphis, tucson, birmingham? i could be new, i could be different. hell, i could be british.
so i'm just gonna stop waiting.
Labels: Two steps forward, When I grow up
posted by lindsay at 13:38 :: 3 comments
02 January 2007 : just gravy.
so, i don't really believe in new year's resolutions. since they never work and all. on thursday night, having dinner with niqke and her family, i was implored by a young boy to share one (along with the rest of the table), so i hastily declared that i would discontinue the practice of bringing home boys from the theatre.
good in theory, good in practice - no more annoyed roommates, no more couches that smell like sweaty bassist, no more seven people trying to take hot showers in one morning, etcetera.
but i wouldn't call it a resolution. more like good common sense.
i will say that i have embarked on a mission to become at least slightly healthier, which so far involves a 30 minute boxing session every afternoon and some ridiculously sore back/shoulder muscles. this was not a specifically new year activity, however - it just so happened that the miracle of a punching bag was delivered to me at christmas, and a kindly not un-young gentleman accompanied me home on friday night to put it together (a task i could not have completed myself if only because the stand is approximately three feet taller than i am).
i have also given serious consideration to giving up the cigarettes. this is a many splendored thing. a 30 minute workout is seriously more difficult if you smoke immediately before and after; the two things go hand in hand. plus, i spend approximately 1/4 of my weekly budget on cigarettes. give that some consideration. plus, it's been, oh, FOUR YEARS, since i've been interested in/pursued by any gentleman who was a smoker.
so, i'm doing it for the boys, see.
but it's not about a new year, it's about coincidence, bad timing, conclusion and gin & tonics. i'll quit smoking, i'll get into shape, i'll stop dallying with musicians (if for nothing else than my frail adolescent heart), and i'll continue being brave and brazen. when i woke up at 10:30 on monday morning (after falling asleep to the simpsons at 10:30 on sunday night), i stepped out onto the back porch, lit a camel, and said "rabbit fucking rabbit," as i crouched under the bleak sky. i'd say it's going to be a long haul.
truthfully, though? were i going to make a resolution, it would be this:
i resolve to be conscious and aware of the fact that i am now too old to be the girl who gets drunk at the party, takes her pants off, and makes out with strangers.
posted by lindsay at 23:15 :: 2 comments
01 January 2007 : year in review: the whatever version
albums i could not have done without
- stars / heart
- the winterpills / the winterpills
- band of horses / everything all the time
- caleb engstrom / building day one
- death in vegas / the contino sessions
- the lucksmiths / where were we?
absolute best moments
- holding my big brother's newborn baby for the first time
- standing at the top of a sacred aboriginal mountain
- that night at fionn maccools when i realized i had the world in my pocket
- offering to get down on one knee for tom calma at a meeting in his office (and getting away with the joke)
best new people
- smashley, mary underpants and the rest of the au crew.
- lisa and jenny (not new, i know, but still the best people)
- cam-ron who moved to canadia
- frank charlemagne
best shows you likely missed at the irving theatre.
- e.p. hall, paleo, these united states
- lamps, megafaun, arrah and the ferns, collections of colonies of bees
- theanti, BigBigCar, them roaring twenties, brazil
- david andrews, paleo, the scourge of the sea
- mike bloom, cameron mcgill's string quartet, margot and the nuclear so and so's
worst moments
- when i realized that every girl under 25 who walked into the theater on saturday night was wearing the same outfit, and that outfit consisted of tapered jeans and ballet flats.
- realizing that indianapolis is not forever.
- i won't go into specifics, only that it was at the theater and i looked at shari, hugged my knees, and said, "oh, i'm in trouble."
breakthroughs
- realizing that indianapolis is not forever.
- that whole grad school thing.
- telling a boy i liked him, because i did, and not because he was an impossibility (and therefore safe).
- discovering that i have motivation, character and integrity.
best christmas presents
- an entire boxing GYM, with a 100 pound heavy bag
- guns, germs, and steel the miniseries on dvd
- a mural sized map of the world
that's all i got, because i'm bored with this. happy new year anyway, guys.
posted by lindsay at 19:12 :: 6 comments