Sinister: stuck to his couch back east, depressed, but you know he's safe, at least.

[lindsey baker]

hello sinister.

perhaps i have posted too often of late. i suppose i say that and hope you 
all think 'no, lindsey, we love you!'; and saying that, i'll go on.

i have become minorly obsessed with a few things recently; the one i think 
i'll tap on about tonight is time.

or rather, more accurately, counting.

the existence of the phenomenon of continuous counting and why people count 
to begin with struck me after i covered the three-abe festival. when i was 
walking that path back to the paper, and noticing just how many pebbles they 
really do dump on icy sidewalks, i realized i knew exactly how many days 
(and subsequently weeks) it had been since i met The Boy.

and i knew, too, exactly how many days (and subsequently weeks) were left 
until his return. i knew the day we met, and the day he left, and every day 
i have talked to him.

and that got me thinking further.

my roommate has been talking about how she is bored with life and the world, 
and feels like she is waiting for something to happen, rather than preparing 
for something to happen. and i, in my shallow understanding of the cosmos, 
told her i thought the waiting and the preparation for things to happen were 
inseperable and constant, though i think the waiting, at times, is, in fact, 
the preparation. and i think perhaps that has something to do with the 
counting.

we count from the day we are born until the day we die; we chronicle each 
year and event and day, and the more we have, the higher the number gets, 
the more we have to celebrate. which is a bit odd, it seems, for the higer 
the number gets, the longer a person has lived, and the less time he has 
left.

the higher the number gets, too, the bigger the celebration, the milestone 
and the congratulations on another year of waiting gone by.

hmm.

i don't like waiting.

and i really hate counting.

but i realize now, too, that i have no choice but to do both, always, until 
i understand why i have done it for a lifetime. and then i will have 
prepared, i suppose.

two weeks. fourteen days.

and then i will begin a new cycle of chronicle of anticipation of 
celebration of wait for


xxx your lou

ps. i promise no more spastic posts after this one for a while.

pps. i also feel as though i should include that i noticed something at the 
newspaper yesterday. sitting on the arts and entertainment desk was the bag 
of my ex-boyfriend. and spilling out of the bag of the ex-boyfriend was 
tigermilk. the only b&s cd i do not own. and the only b&s cd he has, bought 
after i lent him iyfs. fuckhead.

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