this is my winter song to you.

it starts as a dull ache under my clavicle bones.

when i stretch to relieve the ache, it becomes a throbbing pain right down the center of my sternum.

and i know i won’t be getting any sleep that night.

not due to the pain, mind you. but for some reason, that pain precedes a night of restless restlessness, not just a lack of sleep. no amount of down time i try to force upon myself seems to help. and it’s the tossing and turning that kills me the most. wrapped in blankets and darkness with closed eyes, i can still see the red numbers on the alarm clock ticking away the minutes of coveted sleep time.

i used to lie in my bed when the insomnia was bad, hoping beyond hope that the combination of warm blankets and inky darkness would trick my body into surrendering to sleep. as i’ve grown older, and learned to recognize the warning of pain in my chest, i’ve come to embrace the whole insomnia thing.

it still sucks, and some nights are definitely worse than others. but lying around tossing and turning does nothing but irritate me, so sleepless nights turn into collections of solitary hours where music is made, writing is accomplished, and coffee is consumed. i’ve learned to function on no sleep – especially at work. working at a coffee shop in the early morning does wonders for a sleepless body, as there’s plenty of caffiene to stall the need to close my eyes and drift away.

it’s the day after an insomnia success that frustrates me. i come home after work at one, abnormal muscle fatigue from biking on no rest pulling at my thighs. sometimes, i can’t even change out of work clothes before collapsing into bed. but an hour later, i am awake again, feeling as though that one hour of sleep made up for a night of none. i am productive and i feel fully-rested, but around 8 or 9, i inevitably fall asleep, still in the same clothes, and usually in the middle of doing something productive, and sleep heavily until the same time the next morning.

perhaps it’s my body trying to regulate me. trying to teach me a lesson for all of those sleepless days, one right after the other. trying to scold me for pushing myself so hard all of the time that i didn’t make time for it.

maybe i sould just learn to listen to my body.

it’s the season of possible miracle cures.

it’s not about the presents.

it’s never been about the presents.

maybe it’s because thanksgiving never felt right.

there were thanksgiving dinners spent at the farm; my aunt and uncle’s place. a 180 acre christmas tree farm nestled into the woods at the end of a dirt road. those thanksgiving dinners involved everyone (usually) from my mom’s side of the family: aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, and family dogs. everyone brought a dish or two to pass, and we always came home with tupperware containers full of leftover food. there was always too much dessert, and you could usually count on aunt sue to say something snippy and granny to mumble something that never made any sense, but always made everyone laugh.

or, thanksgiving would be spent at my aunt nancy’s place with my dad’s side of the family. these dinners involved mom, dad, jamey, and myself, as well as my grandmother, my aunt nancy, and my uncle bob. bob was always too nice to everyone, and never believed you when you said that you didn’t want a soda. dinner always felt strained, and you could count on nancy to cut every little trace of fat off of whatever meat she decided to prepare that year. the radio station in michigan that plays christmas carols 24/7 from thanksgiving on would be blaring from the stereo in the basement, and after dinner, the ladies would sip drip coffee laced with international delight creamer and dad and bob would sip whiskey and cokes. jamey usually stuck with soda.

it’s not that thanksgiving was ever bad. there were times where it wasn’t that great, but it was never what i’d call “bad.” it just never felt right with one family split into separate parts.

christmas was never “bad” either – but as a kid, i remember christmases where mom had to work, or jamey was gone snowboarding, and it never really felt like a family kind of thing. we’d exchange gifts whenever we were all home at the same time, and then we’d zip off to visit both sides of the family. christmas day usually ended in the van driving home on I75 at 10pm – blowing snow, jamey and i asleep in the back seats, dad snoring in the passenger seat, and mom softly singing along with the radio as she navigated us home.

college changed everything.

to me, christmas was always a real vacation. for the last 4 years, christmas break meant the end of a semester; not spending family time feverishly writing final papers, putting together research projects, and memorizing lines. in college, thanksgiving break is for preparing for the end of the semester. a delicious 4 day break 2 weeks before everything is due – sure, everyone wants to go home and spend time with the people they love, but how can you enjoy your time at home when you’re consumed with other things? friends-giving was always my preferred celebration of choice; a day of potluck, too much food, an evening of drunken bliss, and all from the comfort of chicago. the rest of the long weekend would be spent with leftover food, warm leftover wine, and a stack of research books.

christmas is when i go home. christmas starts in chicago – wandering downtown in the snow to admire the lights. cold noses and frozen fingers, excitedly clutching brightly colored packages. the anticipation of seeing friendly faces and wagging tails. the all-night packing and coffee consumption in order to prevent over-sleeping and subsequently missing my ride home. then, taking the train 5 hours into michigan, making sure to get there early in order to secure a window seat. watching the snow-covered landscape fly past the windows. the phonecalls to mom and dad letting them know that amtrak is going to be late again. the happily searching eyes at the train station, and the following bear hugs. the car ride back to holly, peppered with stops for a meal and a hot cup of coffee. pulling into the driveway and seeing the street signs decorated as candy canes. the wagging, wriggling furry bodies spilling down the stairs and into my arms. the resulting wet face from happy and energetic tongues. the smell of home. climbing the stairs to my old bedroom, and seeing that mom has laid out fresh sheets and pillows on the new futon that resides where my bed used to. forcing my little brother into an affectionate hug despite his protests. the smell of my mother’s delicious home cooking. the chocolate pretzels and multitude of cookies decorating the counters, and the white chocolate chex mix concoction cooling on the stove. helping mom cook christmas dinner and sneaking tastes when she isn’t looking. watching the snow fall outside while curling up next to the fireplace. waking up with sleepy legs due to the weight of a warm, furry body. the smell of freshly ground coffee and the early morning sounds of my mother rustling around in the kitchen. still feeling the need to ask to go out. the exchanging of thoughtful gifts, and the surprised and happy responses. visiting grandparents and watching my brother fill his pockets with the chocolates that grandma always leaves in decorative bowls on the endtables. the re-packing, the goodbyes. the see-you-soons. the pats and giving of dog treats. the car ride back to the train station usually with dad because mom is working. the do-you-want-me-to-stop-so-you-can-get-coffee questions. hugging dad at the train station, and pretending not to notice when he gets misty-eyed. the twinkling lights of the city as we pull into union station.

but this year, it’ll be different. jamey will be going into navy seal training soon, granny is gone, and everyone gives the i-don’t-need-anything-this-year speeches.

it doesn’t matter.

the best part of going home for christmas is the love. and even though i call chicago home now, whenever my family is all together, it is home.

 

 

 

 

maybe all i need is a shot in the arm.

this may or may not have been influenced by the latest episode of community.
and by “may or may not have,” i mean that it was.

are people inherently good? or are they inherently evil?

inherent: existing in someone or something as a permanent and inseparable element, quality, or attribute.

so, by definition, wouldn’t people be both inherently good and inherently evil? that both good and evil are traits that exist in every human being?

it’s the idea of multi-tasking; the ability to do or be more than one thing at a time; the ability to say one thing and mean another. also, the idea that humans are complex beings capable of both feeling and doing a wide range of things.

take the idea of the “little white lie” for instance. were you to plan a surprise party, you would tell a little white lie to the guest of honor to get them out of the house so that guests could arrive in secrecy. you would be deceiving them, but with good intentions. there are also instances where the evil is perhaps more prevalent, and instances where the good is more prevalent.

it’s a matter of yin and yang; light and dark; black and white. but there are always shades of gray, and no one person is capable of being completely good or completely bad. the worst person you can think of has, at some point in their life, done something good, and the best person you can think has, at one point in their life, done something bad. my personal interpretations regarding good and bad are going to be different from yours, and yours are going to be different than the next persons and so on. something i may only find slightly offensive may put you off completely, and etc etc. however, having different interpretations of words and meanings don’t mean that good and evil, in some way, don’t exist in all human beings.

the fact that human beings are capable of being both good and evil make us, well, inherently human.

in other news, my hamstrings are still sore from wednesday’s dance audition.

i have read the right books, to interpret your looks.

audition info sheet says, “think pop/rock with a flair for lady rap and journey-esque rock ballads.”

friend says, in regards to afore mentioned audition notice, “you’ll be fine. just unearth the pop diva within you.”

hi, uh, my name is lindsey, and in case you haven’t noticed, i don’t HAVE a pop diva buried somewhere inside of me. a whiny emo kid, sure, but i’m pretty positive that this “pop diva” you’re talking about just isn’t there.

we’ve all had those journey-esque rock ballad moments – during drunken karaoke or in dressing rooms before a show. and in all honesty, i could probably pull one of those out of my ass if need be. but i’m sitting here, scrolling through the music on my itunes for ANY pop/rock diva song that i could potentially, as you say, “rock out” on at this audition, and the closet i get to pop diva is jenny lewis. who, realistically, isn’t a pop diva.

so, i compromise. and i download some kelly clarkson (which, interestingly enough, my boyfriend has a lot of, minus the album i actually need), some rihanna (you know, for that lady rap flair thing), and dig up every sara bareilles song i own (she counts, right?). friends suggest taylor swift (no) or pat benetar (over done?), and the smartasses suggest KISS. dad suggests something i’ve never heard of, and my boyfriend seconds the pat benetar vote.

but now i’m at a loss. not only do i get incredibly nervous before a vocal audition, but when i get that nervous, i also tend to forget words, or get myself off-beat – neither of which are conducive to “rockin’” auditions. which is why i’m pretty sure i should play it safe and sing songs that i already know (by default of guilty pleasure).

which leaves sara bareilles, one rihanna song, and/or one kelly clarkson song.

yeesh.

can’t i just sing some johnny cash and call it a day?

sara spelled without an “h” was getting bored.

apparently, people do read this blog. sorry for not keeping up with it as well as i could have. i’m going to try to update more regularly, i swear.

although, i must take this time to point out that every time i promise to invest in updating again, i inevitably falter a few months down the road, stop for a bit, and then write something along the lines of, “i’m sorry, i was busy, i won’t do it again.”

you’ve been warned.

 

life is good, ya know? shit happens and there are good days and bad days, but overall? i can’t really complain.

more updates/cynicism/sarcasm/things-i-think-are-funny-but-no-one-else-does later when i’m not supposed to be working.

is he dark enough? enough to see your light?

sometimes, good things happen.

sometimes, the good things gradually evolve into not-so-good things, and when you finally sit down and think about them, you realize that you aren’t happy and that something needs to change.

i guess i’ve finally started to learn that my own personal happiness is more important than than the happiness of others.

er, well, kind of.

my personal happiness is more important than the happiness of others at the expense of my own. i suppose that’s what i meant to say.

i used to be the girl who always tried to make others happy – i had the jobs, the grades, and the test scores for my parents; the great customer service and work ethic for my boss; the performances for my directors; and until lately, an exorbitant amount of patience and understanding for the guy i was seeing.

i can’t do that anymore.

i’ve come to realize just how much my mental well-being suffers when i try to make everyone else happy but myself. and that is absolutely no good.

it’s not that i’m going to start running around and self-destructing – far from it. but i’m going to start doing things for myself again – hanging out with people who make me happy, doing things that bring a smile to my face and make my stomach ache from laughter, writing and playing music because i can’t seem to go a day without it, auditioning for things that i’m passionate about instead of only doing it because “well, it would pay.”

being an adult is about finding the balance between work and play, happiness and compromise. i’m working on it.

tiredness fuels empty thoughts
i find myself disposed
brightness fills empty space
in search of inspiration
harder now with higher speed
washing in on top of me

desole, if someone is prayin’ i might break out; desole, even if i scream, i can’t scream that loud.

according to old man webster, there are more than nine different definitions of the word “broken.”

this one is my favorite:

broken: imperfectly written or imperfectly spoken

i’m not falling apart; i’m not depressed, i’m not angry, i’m not hopeless. i’m just a moody, broody individual, although i suppose that was written in the fine print at the bottom of the “struggling artist” contract i signed. and at this point in my life, i am feeling slightly broken.

we’re all imperfectly written – we’ve got our faults, our vices, our mistakes, and our regrets. no one has a distinctly planned out future, and try as we might to plan ahead, life always happens.

which, makes me think: the fact that we’re imperfect is in itself, perfect.

i’d rather not be perfect. i’ve tried for so long to be that girl; to make the grades, to work hard, to bust my ass. and it’s not that there’s anything wrong with those things – it’s just that i’ve lost sight of my opportunities to really enjoy life. i’ve gone to bed early because of opening shifts at the coffee shop, missed out on shooting the shit with good friends because of rehearsals and other committments, declined invitations for fun and adventure because i’m trying to be responsible.

well, i’m sick of it.

i want to travel. i want to spend more time with the people that make me happy. i want to spend a day reading in the park and playing music and not feel guilty for “wasting the day.” i want to learn how to put my own happiness before the happiness of others, even though i seem to have a lot of trouble doing that. i want to learn how to speak up when things get shitty instead of biting my tongue and hoping that they get better. i want to spend more nights staying up late and enjoying the moment instead of worrying about early morning responsibilites. i want to learn how to say “no” and not feel guilty about it.

i’ve started to fulfill these wants, and i already feel like a happier, more satisfied person.

suck it, life. i’m going to enjoy you, whether you like it or not.

njósnavélin.

njósnavélin by sigur rós. (also known as “untitled #4 from the album ( ). )

a friend once told me that you could fall in love to that song.

in other news, i still laugh every time i step into the shower when i see that the shower head hasn’t moved from its 6-inches-too-short-for-my-height position.

give my gun away, when it’s loaded – is that alright? yeah, alright with you?

‘you are what you love. no? you are, completely and only, what you would die for without, as you say, the thinking twice.’

- DFW, “infinite jest”

and now, my current song obsession (because it’s absolutley beautiful):

“Rootless Tree”

What I want from you is empty your head
They say be true, don’t stay in your bed
We do what we need to be free
And it leans on me like a rootless tree

What I want from us is empty our minds
We fake the thoughts, and fracture the times
We go blind when we’ve needed to see
And this leans on me, like a rootless…

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
And all we’ve been through
I said leave it, leave it, leave it
There’s nothing in you
And did you hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me so good
That you just let me out, let me out, let me out
Of this hell when you’re around
Let me out, let me out, let me out
Hell when you’re around
Let me out, let me out, let me out

What I want from this
Is learn to let go
No not of you
Of all that’s been told
Killers re-invent and believe
And this leans on me, like a rootless…

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
And all we’ve been through
I said leave it, leave it, leave it
There’s nothing in you
And did you hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me so good
That you just let me out, let me out, let me out
Of this hell when you’re around
Let me out, let me out, let me out
Of this hell when you’re around
Let me out, let me out, let me out
Hell when you’re around
Let me out, let me out, let me out
Hell when you’re around
Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out
Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out
Let me out, let me out, let me out

Fuck you, fuck you, love you
And all we’ve been through
I said leave it, leave it, leave it
It’s nothing in you
And did you hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me so good
That you just let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out
Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out
Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out
Let me out, let me out, let me out

Let me out, let me out, let me out
Hell when you’re around

Let me out, let me out, let me out
Hell when you’re around

Let me out, let me out, let me out
Hell when you’re around

- damien rice

i am turning in revolutions; these are the scars that silence carved on me.

at the risk of sounding like a pretentious little fuck, i’m just going to throw this out there: i’m reading a 1000+ page book for fun, and i love it.

i attempted to read infinite jest in september of 2008 – shortly before DFW passed away. i just couldn’t get into it – his sentences were complex, his footnotes endless, and his wandering writing was something that i couldn’t seem to wrap my preoccupied brain around. i was in the middle of rehearsing 6, sometimes 7 days a week, going to class 4 days a week, working 2 part time jobs, and trying to graduate – i guess saying that i was preoccupied is a bit of an understatement. needless to say, my first edition hardcover copy soon found its way back onto my bookshelf where it gathered dust and sat, further untouched, the bookmark wilting sadly around the 100 page mark.

i’d been meaning to pick it back up and revisit the multitude of characters and storylines, but i never seemed to have the time to devote to the undertaking. and until i heard about the “infinite summer” idea via a good friend, it seemed like DFW was doomed to a lonely life at the bottom of my bookshelf.

there’s something about immersing yourself in good literature with someone else that is incredibly appealing. maybe it’s knowing that someone is going through the ordeal with you; maybe it’s just nice to know you have another human being with whom you can converse and discuss ideas with; maybe it’s simply that “misery loves company.” whatever it is, as of june 21st, i found myself cracking the cover of infinite jest for the second time – but this time, i’ll finish it.

i’ve got deadlines now. i’ve got people with whom i can discuss the book with, all who are roughly reading it at the same rate i am. and for some reason, the book is holding my interest this time around. i can’t seem to put it down – when i’m not reading it, i’m thinking about it. i find myself laughing out loud at DFW’s dry sarcasm and ingenious wit, laughing at things that i didn’t seem to understand the last time around, and just thoroughly enjoying myself.

at this point, i’ve successfully passed the point where i left off last time, and my interest is only growing with no sign of decline. it looks promising.

as a recent college grad, i’ve got more free time to read than i’ve had in the past 4 years. granted, working two jobs and racing to auditions keeps me busy, but i am overjoyed to finally be reading something again, just for the hell of it. i’ve already made a list of my next conquests:

1) finish “infinite jest”

2) re-read “the man without qualities,” volumes 1 and 2

3) re-read sartre’s “being and nothingness”

4) finish reading kerouac’s collections of journals, “windblown world”

5) possibly re-conquer “atlas shrugged” and “the fountainhead”

ambitious? maybe. pretentious? sure – why not? but now that i have the time, why not revisit some of my old favorites? maybe i’ll even find some new things to read. either way, it feels incredible to finally have the time to read whatever i want, whenever i want. i haven’t experienced that freedom in a long time.