Boxing Day Party

I really enjoy having secret movies. Memories to recall and favorite foods. I enjoy unanimous hatred of luaus, but only because our luaus have been so good in the past.

Even though they make me think, I like questions like, "Why are you studying that?" because when I'm honest I have no idea. Who would have thought when I was who I was?

More than anything, I like exclamations of, "HOW THE HELL DID I DO THAT?"

Home can be so good.

My sort of grown up Christmas List,

This morning, Ross and I wrote his letter to Santa. It went something like this:

Dear Santa,
I have been a very good boy this year. I learned how to pee on the big boy potty and I always help grandma clean up my blocks.
I would really like a dump truck. I would also like candy, a horn, and a bell, but the important one is the dump truck.
Merry Christmas!

I believed in Santa for a very long time. Longer than most kids, because my parents needed me to believe in Santa. They didn't want me to ruin Santa for my two younger sisters. I may have been as old as 12 when I finally stopped believing.

I had a burst of nostalgia while sitting under the Christmas tree tonight. What if I decided to believe again, just for the night. Just to preserve the magic of Christmas. What if I snuck upstairs (only after everyone was asleep) and left a letter for Santa where no one would find it.

This is what it may look like:

Dear Santa,
I've been as good a girl as any other year (which I think is pretty good). I know you only bring presents to children who believe, but I've mustered up the strength to believe again this year.
There aren't many things I want but there are a few. Could you leave me a cure to this restless feeling I have? Is there an antidote you can make up in the north pole?
Could you leave me a glimpse of the future, so I might know what career I'm headed toward?
Could you leave me love?
Could you leave me a fun filled New Years Eve?
Merry Christmas Santa,
Lindsay

I have this thing eating away in my head,

It happens every time.

My mouth opens and I let all the wrong things out.

I want to ask those around me to just stand it and let me pretend. I won't do or say anything more than a person in the corner would. I'll place a lamp shade on my head. I can pretend.

Suspended reality,

I spent eight hours in a soaring box. They gave me single serving dinner and a glass of wine. The plane was mostly empty and I had four seats to myself. I stretched out, leaned my face into the upholstery and let my ears pop. This is where time stood still.

This suspended moment is full of fairy lights and wrapping paper.

It snowed in Staten Island before Christmas for the first time that I can remember. It will snow again on Sunday, and we will have snow on the ground for Christmas. My brother put on his boots and covered my window with snow balls.

As long as I think about this, Christmas, I don't need to think about London and the ever present fact that I am not there anymore. Because no matter where home is, home is more beautiful in the days preceding Christmas.

The Process

On Thanksgiving, I think I am a joy to be around most of the day. I help in the kitchen, I watch my brother, and I even set the table.

Then we eat, and my mood changes. I'm so full it hurts and I mostly hate that feelings. So, its become something of a tradition for me to go upstairs and lay in Gagi's bed while I wait for the digestive process to do what it will.

I have eaten a very large meal for this semester. At times, I lost track of how full it was, but I see it now, I feel it now. All I'm asking for is time to digest. Time to step back.

I need the mental equivalent of Gagi's bed and a closed door.

Thoughts in the first person,

I don't frequently study. Part of me believes it is unfair to expect students to prepare for an exam which will test their knowledge of a subject they will forget soon after. I would love to see students tested for what they have acquired, through doing their homework and listening in lectures. I know there is no way to do this, and I know that tests will continue exist.

Really, all I am trying to say is I don't frequently study. I prefer to go into exams with whatever knowledge I have. Its all very nerve-racking and exciting, and its worked out for me okay over the years. I could have done better, but I did just fine.

I don't frequently study.

For the past five hours I've been studying for my History of Islam exam which shall commence in 9 hours. Five hours isn't unheard of, I know, but remember that I don't frequently study.

This studying has lead to acquiring more knowledge on this subject than I had ever prepared for. Its like living in a loft apartment and suddenly coming into the possession of a sectional couch. Just where the hell are you supposed to put the thing, know what I'm saying?

This knowledge has lead to thoughts, and those thoughts lead to emotions. I have a sudden birds-eye view of an issue. Okay, maybe not a birds-eye view, but I'm sort of standing on a fence. I can see for farther than I expected. Look at this big beautiful topic that's around us!

Then suddenly it occurs to me, no one knows about most of this. Listen, I am not saying that I think we should all go out and read the books and solve the worlds problems. I am not so ignorant as to believe that is possible. What I am saying is something unexpected.

I just had a sudden vision of going home and talking to my parents about some of it. I wanted to show them, LOOK you're confused! I could compose a power point! I could hand out index cards!

But then I remembered why it is I get depressed on my breaks - because my parents don't care. Then I thought, when was the last time I saw my parents riled up about an issue. The sad answer is that it has been awhile. As far as I can see, they don't think about things the way I do. They aren't excited about shocking facts which are literally just scattered around waiting to be picked up and collected. They'll just shrug, and then give me the face I hate. The face which is them telling me, you're too young to understand. Don't you know, they say, we've been through school and we've seen it all.

So this is my new fear. Am I being ignorant and too young? Is it just my parents or is this an epidemic in all of the adult human race? Is it inevitable? Am I just being young?

No answers.

Morning,

I want to be here, I don't want to be sick. I want to experience, I don't want to stay in bed. I want to look at the grey sky, not at the back of my eyelids.

But its so cold outside, and not matter how many scarves I don a breeze still finds my collar bone.

This all goes a very long way to persuading me to stay under my covers and read a book instead of walking around and being reminded of where I will be in two weeks.