Je n'a pas beaucoup de temps

Tell me something. Talk to me. Tell me anything. Tell me about breakfast foods, if you want.
Just tell me.
Let me know.
Get back to me.
You know, when you can.
When it's convenient for you.
I want to be convenient.
I want to be more than convenient.
I want to be the most convenient thing.
The most amazing thing.

I don't know if that's me.

I like it when people smell nice.
But it's their own scent.
Not something else's.

I like it when people have their own individual, funny laugh.
I really like it when you can pick it out of a crowd, like a face or a certain pair of hands.
Or when they really like music.
People who like music are the very best kind of people.

Je veux le premier saison du O.C. ...est-ce-que quelqu'un peut m'aider?

Oh, and January?
That is quite enough of you.

Reasons to leave this month behind:
1. It is snowing and blowing and cold.
2. I cannot go outside for a run in my beautiful new running shoes.
3. I cannot go outside in my beautiful new boots that will be ruined in aforementioned snow, blowing, and cold.
4. February means I get to go to Denver in three weeks to pick out a grad dress and get away from all this.
5. Not that it won't be snowing, blowing and cold there, too;
6. But probably less snowing, blowing and cold.
7. January has seemed very, very long.
8. Maybe the change in monthly scenery (if you know what I mean) will give you a kick-start. Or rather, a return-to-the-start.
9. Cold, dry hands. Who needs them?
8. The second half of the end of our childhood starts in two days.
9. What's up with that?
10. That is quite enough out of you, Lyndsay.

11. I want to watch the O.C. . It is not on Netflix. Does anyone own the first season so that I can  borrow it and watch it?

La reve adolescente

Let you put your hands on me, 
In my skin-tight jeans.

It feels like there is a sordid lack of things to say or reflect upon as of late. I guess just because more of the same just keeps on happening, over and over, again, repeat, and I'm not really sure how I feel about that.
Wait, yes I do. I feel impatient. I am a very impatient person. If someone were to say I was a patient person, I would have to call them a liar. Or realize that they don't know me very well.
And that maybe they don't even want to.
Maybe they do, though.
They're elusive like that.

"It should be kept on the down-low. Like, in Australia probably."

It's kind of like our own inside joke, 
But it's not funny.

Buvez plus de the

SERIOUSLY, BRAIN, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
LOTS THAT'S WHAT

You don't know me, at all. And I'm starting to think that you don't actually care that much. About knowing me. Or about anything to do with me. And maybe I expect too much. No, I do. I expect too much. I need too much. I need a lot of tea, and a lot of...knowing me. Why can't you just know me? Know me.

That would make this easier on me, and my well-developed tear ducts, that you can actually work out, much like an eagle's ciliary muscles. I would much rather write another bio exam tomorrow than a math exam, if anyone's keeping track. Or score. 

Maybe I shouldn't have barreled. I barreled. 

Barrel rolled.

Head first.

My ankle got caught on the door.

Now my Achilles tendon hurts.

That must be why.

Mustn't be for lack of new running shoes.

No.

And my head told my heart:

"Let love grow."

But my heart told my head,

"This time, no, 

This time, no."

Ralentissez, s'il vous plait. Arreter completement.

Hi there, folks.
I am tired. I feel physically exhausted from all this...this. My cell cycles are all out of whack, those special math-brain-cells spending FAR too long in mitosis, trying to reproduce as fast as they can and fill themselves with all this information I know I'll never remember come Tuesday. I don't even know how to ask for help because there is just nothing that works. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Maybe it would be better if my brain wasn't currently under seige from a thousand bajillion other things, like chinook-induced headaches, sentence structure for blogging (whaddafucccck), directing my soft palette upwards while I sing, where it plainly does not want to go because I simply do not have a single ounce of energy left for that, (plainly my adrenal cortex is malfunctioning, it should be releasing cortisol in this period of long-term stress that will metabolize fats and proteins into glucose to be used by my braaaaaain), zombies (?), overexposure to nail polish fumes and/or hand lotion toxins, if they are present, which they are, maybe, I don't know, whiny country songs, whiny inner dialogue with myself, whiny outer dialogue with others (mostly Katie), missing people, missing certain people, some of who know it, and some of whom maybe don't, wanting a hug, (a really, really good hug...Hannah, I hope you are up to the challenge as soon as I see you tomorrow), maybe a nice nap, and having no clue how to properly end this long, drawn-out sentence because I forget how it started.
Can I just tell you...
No.
I can't.

That's against the rules.

I'm so tired of being lonely.

Un demi de mon cerveau

What do I need?
What DO I need.
I need...I need. I need a lot.
Mostly, I need a hug, I think.
Maybe.
I don't know.
What do I need?

Maybe Hannah? Rachel?

...Yeah. I think so.

And a hug.

I think so.

Et bien

Sometimes, all it takes is someone telling you that you are a strong person, to make you teeter.

What am I doing?

Attends, Hannah!

AND I HAVE LOTION
A SHITLOAD OF LOTION
LIKE PRETTY MUCH A LIFETIME'S FUCKING SUPPLY

This is just a sneak preview:

Attends! Attends!

I'm funnier than this.
I'm not this awkward.
I say funny things.
I'm a nice person, on my good days.
But when I'm not a nice person, it can be funny?
I'm a funny person.
I'm funnier than this. Witty. Smart. Sometimes.
Maybe. Maybe I forget how to be funny.
But I am.
Funny, I mean.
I want you to know that.
Just thought you should know that.

I should study logs.
Not like trees.
See?
I'm funny.

Fuck, I wish I was funny.

Finalement, le frustration

Can't you just
Can't I just
Can't we just

D       A      Em      G

Blue skies, long runs, callused fingers, nervous systems, double-napped cones, welted knees, missing best friends.

C'est a votre tour

Up off my knees, you can't give me what I need.

I guess I'm just leaving it up to you, now.
Not that any of this is fair.
It wasn't you that saved me.
It wasn't him, either.
No, that would be the people who seem to know inherently what I need.
H, K, K, R, A, C...
So there's no point in what I'm feeling.
Other than the selfish feeling of being frustrated.
And a little bit weary.

Wary.
Weary?

Eff. And that's not an abbreviation for anything. It's just a letter.
Just a single syllable.
Nothing means nothing but nothing.
Nothing nothing nothing nothing.

That song made me clench my teeth and clench my fists and want to cry out at the selfish injustice of this whole situation. I guess I'll sing instead.
I had three chai tea lattes today.
And I still feel like a crazy person.
Or wait, maybe that's why.
But I don't think so.

L'amour est un oiseau

I tried my best, it wasn't much;
Couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I told the truth,
I didn't come all this way to fool you.


The space between the hand and the mouth. 
Whatever.

J'attends pour ta voix

It is about finding the common focus, it is about support, it is about being able to take chances and make decisions as one unit instead of 4 eyes. It is about whether or not you can let another stranger into your creases, and into your bruises. (Which I have plenty.) It's about whether I'm going too far, or not far enough, or whether my legs are strong enough to balance with the added weight of you and your heavy, heavy thoughts. It's about whether I can learn to make origami and drive a car.
It is a support structure.
A cast, or a bridge, or a frame. (What is a four letter word for door frame?) It is about adapting, not leading, not following, but knowing and trusting and believing and folding. Not cards, but souls. It is about knowing when to let go, hold on, lean forward, press harder, lean back, tiptoe, or just watch the clouds amiably through frost-covered sunroofs. It is about waiting for moments and for telephone calls. It is about watching for ships and doppelgangers. It might also be about music.
It might be that I don't understand, so correct me if I'm wrong.

"This is not what I had planned."
"Darling, is it ever?"

And don't be so abstract that you don't think I know what's going on.

What I kept for me:

I made an origami crane
Folded, folded folded
Upon myself
For you to untangle.
"Are you scared yet?"
For you to unfold
Folded, folded, folded.


I've already been there
I have creases and my edges
Are soft
Soft, soft, soft
Bruised, like a peach
I've always
Bruised, like a peach
Soft, soft, soft
Folded, folded, folded.


But your eyes are grounded and guarded
They're not full of space and (planets)
Too far for my to grasp
Far, far, far
Soft, soft, soft
Folded, folded, folded.


I learned to make my own dinner
When you weren't there
I chopped, and chopped, and chopped
Until there was nothing left but soup
Chopped, chopped, chopped
Far, far, far
Soft, soft, soft
Folded, folded, folded
Upon myself.

Je suis, tu es, il est, elle est, nous sommes, vous etes...

What is happening to people lately? It's not just the astrological signs that are falling apart.
But thank goodness that's over.
See, Christina told me in the car on the way to ballet that the zodiac signs have shifted, found a thirteenth one, and now the whole damn thing shifted, making us lose our astrological identity! etc. etc.
Anyways, for a good two hours, I did not feel like myself. It was crazy. I was crazy. Plus, I am so not an Aries. I looked it up, and I'm like, hell no, that is so not me. I felt a little bit like I had misinterpreted my entire life.
Or something.
Because that's how I am. I am obnoxious and emotional and unsteady, materialistic, stubborn, sensual and compassionate and I crave comfortability and stability. I am a Taurus! Ha-ha!

That has got to have been the most dramatic 2 hours of my life. Identity crisis much?

Ha-ha. I also feel like a bit of a loser now for writing a blog about this. But now that I know that occasionally people talk about reading my blog while I'm not EVEN THERE, I feel like I need to share this experience with the community.
Also, I feel like I need a real ringtone.
It used to be Seasons of Love. That seems cheap now. I want something different.
So, I thought, "Hm, we'll go with some Charlie Winston."
But then I was like, no, because when my phone rings I want people to know it's mine.
So then I was all like, "Gotta go with Under the Sea, or something."
And then I thought, "No, that's embarrassing."
And then I was all like, "Well maybe a different Disney song?"
But my inner pretentious indie kid is really all for Charlie Winston because nobody's ringtone is freaking Charlie Winston.
But I try to suppress that pretentious indie kid as best I can, until I start playing my guitar chords.

Today was a good day.
Probably mostly because of Flying Rhino Junior High. (I hope you'll at least read this one, Leanne.)
Maybe some other stuff too, other than my identity crisis.
Maybe.

Des chansons nouveaux

I have sheltered my heart in a place you can’t touch;
So I will share this room with you- and you can have this heart to break;
I’m a roller-coaster too, and it’s nice to meet you;
The truth gets so distorted when everyone knows best;
Lover, please do not fall to your knees;
It sounds like we would of had a great deal to say to each other;
Could it be all your fears that we hide behind? Like bricks in the wall I wanna see them fall down;
That secret that we know, that we don't know how to tell, I'm in love with your honor;
Every question you took the time to sit and look it up in the encyclopedia;
And are we there yet?
Back to the sky on your own;
I will take, the chain from off the door;
Just sitting here and trying to decipher, what's written in Braille upon my skin... 
IF PEOPLE WANT A PIECE OF YOU, THEN THEY'RE MISSING SOMETHING FOR THEMSELVES;
(at least out loud...)

Sur la cote melodramatique

Here is where I stand, steadily, happily, and not too haltingly.
Here is where I rest, comfortably, without waking, without echoes in my ears.
Here is where I move, flowingly, without fear of you breaking my fall.
Here is where I am, taller, stronger, with or without a flipped meniscus.
Here I am.

Elle est peur de la noirceur

...I mean she sleeps and all, but still-
She's afraid of darkness.
So when the lights are out,
She has to hold my hand...
I don't understand.


If my life were a flavor right now, it would be that flavor that nobody quite knows how they truly feel about.
Like bubblegum.
Except I do know how I feel about bubblegum. I dislike bubblegum anything quite strongly.
And I don't dislike my life. Au contraire. Although I do have funny scratch marks on my wrist, seemingly from some sort of feline encounter I remember nothing about. And I do have crooked bangs, because I'm horrible at trimming my bangs, and everytime I try they just seem to get worse and worse. But I rather think it could be one of those things that people remark upon endearingly when they pass:

"Oh, look, there's the girl with the crooked bangs."
"They match her eyes."

There are quite a few people with matching eyes though. I can be replaced.

I'm not afraid, of anything!
Be it mountains, water, dragons, dark or sky
I'm not afraid of anything!
Tell me where's the challenge if you never try?
So watch me fly...
I'm not afraid.

Croyez-moi quand je le dis...

This doesn't make any more sense to me than it does to you.
But I can't help that anymore.

...me, more than you
but you, still
and still, i'm here
like I was
just different
less willing to
fold
and
break


and I know it's not on purpose
and I know it's not a love song
but I also know that I am here
and I like here
and I can't help it that
you aren't

Please try to understand. Or at least let me know what I'm supposed to understand.

Et maintenant?

There's something between us
That nobody else needs to see... 




This is me. This is me being happy for my friends, and being sad with certain friends, and celebrating how great I feel, and making up songs, and singing Broadway with horrible accompaniment (by me, needless to say), and doing what Katie tells me today, and being buddies with social teachers, and dancing again (maybe hopefully. Stupid knee).
With only a little bit of guilt-tripping.
And a teaspoon of regrets.

Vous etes adulte? Non, je ne le crois pas

Lately, it has come to my attention that my life needs to be much more oriented around silly, cheesy remarks such as this.

Happy birthday to my bestest of all bestest friends; Hannah Unterschultz. You are a thing of beauty, talent, crazy eyes, smiles, laughter, and, most of all, a force to be reckoned with. You make my life a safer, huggier, lovier place, and I hope I do even a fraction for you what you do for me. I don't know where I would be today without you. And all those cliche-y things.
I will probably buy you a present.
Just not today.
Today, you are an adult, and can't throw a temper tantrum when I don't have a present for you.

Et si mon moine ne voulait danser

Question: How long can Lyndsay put off studying for her math test tomorrow?

Answer: Very long.

Things Lyndsay does instead of studying for her math test:
- Goes for sunset runs at 430 (gotta stay hale and healthy, after all, for, you know, her math tests, optimum brain function and...stuff)
- Plays Regina Spektor songs a la piano (you know, to decide whether these are options for musical theater project...which is also something that I need to do)
-Goes searching for more Regina Spektor songs online and prints them out (just to, you know, keep my options wide open)
-Writes pointless blog entries that nobody ever COMMENTS ON
- Has anger management issues
-Eats half a shrimp ring
-Contemplates the secrets of the universe (i.e. Is there a wrong way  to slice apples, and if there is, what is it, and why is it wrong, and what makes it so wrong? Is an increased frequency in nosebleeds caused by changes in pressure in the air around you, or by karma?)
- Strums random notes on guitar, trying to be indie (or pretentious, some of the notes after all, are vowels, Jacob)
-Eats more shrimp
-Wishes people would comment on her blogs, so that she has something to look forward to on days like this
- Wishes it were supper time
-Eats more shrimp
(Repeat)

Seulement un peu de pluie

I wish the stars would turn you in

And leave me standing in the wind

And he said, "But you don't understand."

My head is still, but my mind is turning, turning round again.

Un autre an qui s'approche, et qui fait retour

Usually, I like to do this. But it's hurting me a bit to see them stay ...and go. What will the people say?
I don't feel bad. Well, a little, yes. But mostly I was just wondering, and hurting, and I can't make any more excuses.

Somewhere, amidst the hottubs, the snuggies, the bros, the explorations, the hiding spots, the Jolly Ranchers, the matching toenails, the sensitive Superfiremen, Leanne and Katie's kisses, the thesaur(i?), the gold stars, and the awkward hugs, it became 2011.
What's up with that?

As another of my fellow bloggers, I feel like I should be writing some sort of review of the year.
But maybe I'll get back to you in a week, a month, a year-
Because I'm just not sure how I feel about this one yet.