The start to the day is slow but good. I’ve caught up on Love Island, I’m rewatching old New Girl and House. For lunch, I make a bowl of miso soup, the only soup I want when I’m sick, and it’s perfect even with my lacking sense of smell and taste. Things take a turn after lunch. If there are two things you should know about me it’s that I love drinking hot water and I’m a klutz with no depth perception. Regarding the latter point, I grew up in a household that didn’t drink from the tap, so I’ve made it a habit to boil water before drinking it while in Bristol where I don’t have a Brita. That’s why my Hydroflask was filled with hot water instead of room temperature or cold water. So, while lying in bed and being a miserable lazy ass, my water bottle missed my cup, and I poured boiling water all down my hand, and onto my bed. Immediate pain. My hand is immediately searing, hot, and red. I’m in tears for the umpteenth time that week as I rush to turn the tap on to cool it. Would you believe me that this isn’t even the first time I’ve burned myself like this? In December of last year, I accidentally knocked my water bottle over and burned my leg so badly, I now have scars that run all the way down the front of my calf. It’s rotten. Because of my reluctant experience with burns, I know the protocol to let my hand run under cold water for twenty minutes. After thirty, the pain won’t stop. My hand still feels hot to the touch.1 I take two ibuprofen and wait another thirty minutes. None of the pain subsides. I’m crying again or maybe I haven’t stopped since this whole mess started. I’m ill, I can’t do anything right, my summer is wasting away. Are these days truly supposed to be the best days in my life? Why do they hurt?

I want to call Mom, but I don’t. It’s only six in the morning, and anyway, what could she possibly do from miles away? Even without getting her on the phone, I know my mother would tell me to go to urgent care, an option I always reject. Maybe it is in an effort to feel close to her or maybe it’s because the pain is so unrelenting, I give in and call Student Health services. They tell me to go to the hospital close to campus, only a ten or so minute walk. I can make it. I can make it, and then I’ll tell my mom I’m okay. It’s nearly 3 o’clock now, and my sick day is ruined. I feel overexerted, but I make it to the hospital only to be immediately lost and then confused about why the emergency room is on the third floor. I wait in line so that I’m allowed to sit in the waiting room, and I’m called almost instantly. Apparently, I’ve gone to the wrong location, and I’ll need to go to the Urgent Treatment Clinic which is an hour away by bus.

If there is yet another thing you should know about me, it’s that I am a victim to the sunken cost fallacy.2 I leave the hospital, hungry and dehydrated, trying to find the nearest bus stop which ends up being in the centre, a longer walk than I thought from the hospital. The second level of the bus is suffocating. Plenty of the seats remain vacant, but with multiple women speaking on the phone, it feels more cramped than it is. I sit stiffly, still clutching a pamphlet I was given by an ER practitioner that contains information on which hospital to go to. She even circled the correct address for me: “Lindsay, you’ve come to the wrong place, you mug”. Actually, the woman was very understanding when correcting my mistake, in fact, she told me that I’d ‘done the right thing’. Maybe that’s what keeps me on the bus, but it doesn’t feel right. Burning up, my fingers on fire, my nose is stuffy, my throat is dry, and the bus is so hot.

We’re farther and farther from the centre of town, and by the time I’m inside the clinic, it’s nearly 4:30. It’s humiliating to be there now. An hour on that suffocating bus did reduce the pain in my hand, but in for a penny, right? I went through another awkward conversation about my hand at reception and then took my place in the waiting room, a place I would be for the next two hours.

I oscillate between reading my book and watching other patients wait their turn. Each poor soul comes in and must tell the receptionists their plight, and if they’re loud enough you can hear them. It’s how I know Chloe’s daughter fell off a horse and hurt her wrist. The mother is blonde in a black leggings, a butter yellow athleisure top, and a pink and blue vape. Her child is a thin blonde girl, maybe ten or so, with a limp wrist. It’s a natural beauty that I feel terrible about being jealous of knowing that her wrist could very well be broken. They come in after me. So does another woman with a burn, who has covered her left bicep with a compress, claiming to have burned it with a clothes steamer. I feel so ridiculous now that the pain in my hand is truly subsiding.

It’s harder and harder to focus on my book, but somehow I manage to finish it. Unfortunately, it makes the time move even more slowly. I’ve missed dinner, and now I’m hungry. My nose is running, and I’m still quite hot. The vinyl purple seats are uncomfortable, and the overhead lighting washes the entire room in a sickly yellowish hue. I should get up and leave, but I can’t. I have to be able to tell my mother that, at least physically, I’m okay.

Children are bored and unhappy. A young girl with a bandage on her forehead, a story for which I never learned, seems to be the exception as she dances around in front of her mother who is holding a giant Peppa Pig plush. Though there are many adults in the clinic, I am mostly surrounded by the children waiting next to their parents, and I am stuck looking over the empty seat next to me. I think about what I would do if my mother was here. If it were today, no doubt we’d sit and read next to each other. Maybe I’d be able to lean my head on her shoulder like the girl in front of me does with her mother. They’ve been there before me, and clearly exhausted, yet not tired of each other. At one point, the mother, whose hair is a dark cherry red color, makes a call (likely to the girl’s dad) to inform whoever that they’re still in the clinic and that they’ll have to adjust plans for dinner. The daughter is tired but not of her mother. I try flipping my book to ignore them and the twist in my stomach.

There is something that I can’t ignore, however, and that is the mother and son to my right. As the hours pass, the child, likely between eleven and thirteen, is growing more and more restless, and more and more hostile. The things he says to his mother are beyond offensive, no doubt to get a rise out of her. He calls her a “pig” and body shames her. He calls her “a piece of shit”. At one point, he grabs her arm and twists it, then says, “I want you to have to sign up for this, and make you wait”.

“I’ve been waiting with you this whole time,” she counters. Chloe and Cherry Mom and I are exchanging glances. At times my mouth was actually agape, and I didn’t care who saw my reaction. Who on earth would speak to their mother like that? To wish someone harm in that way? Who on earth would let themself be spoken to like that? At most, the mother keeps telling him “No” and “Stop” without truly raising her voice or giving him consequences, as if she doesn’t believe she can control him anymore. She’s a shell, and I’m torn about whether I’m supposed to tell her son to shut up. Is it my place? Will the mother be angry on her son’s behalf? This is how men grow up to be the worst people you’ve ever met, I recognize bitterly. My name hasn’t been called, and I don’t know how long it might be, so I hold my tongue.

He’s hungry, I try to remind myself. He missed dinner just like I did. Children are learning to regulate themselves, and he’s in pain. He’s sitting in a wheelchair because he’s done something to his foot, and needs to see if it’s broken. I know this because he won’t shut up about it. I’m trying to remember these details so as to cut him some slack, but he’s relentless and he’s old enough to know better. He keeps grabbing the arm of the wheelchair and rattles it because his mother keeps telling him to stop. He tells his mother to “fuck off” and ultimately Cherry Mom and her daughter move to the other side of the room. “Was that my fault?” he says almost sadistically. Of course it was, and we all know it. His mother says nothing.

It’s ironic that it’s called urgent care when it’s so slow. I spend the rest of my time waiting trying to block out Charlie and his mother, and hoping that this mess will end soon. Finally, they call my name, just my first name since I am sure they can’t pronounce my surname, but I know it’s me. A man named Andy walks me back, has me flip my hand over a couple of times, then tells me I can go. Two hours of waiting, less than five minutes when I was seen. The heat in my hand has abated, but the pain of the day still lingers. I’m going to be fine. It doesn’t feel like it. I try to shake off whatever this feeling is as I walk through the sorry lot in the UTC stuck waiting. Finally on the 76 bus to head home, I text my mother for the first time in weeks. It is nearly 8 by the time I get to my flat–plenty of time for me to think about the sick day I had and what I know. I can take care of myself because I have to take care of myself. But sometimes I wished I didn’t have to.

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Love Island is not a game show that tests trivia or knowledge. It’s not a battle of strength or athleticism. It’s just hour-long episodes of hot people having the most boring conversations imaginable. I turned on Love Island so that I could watch something without thinking, but I haven’t been successful in that endeavor. I watch each episode being reminded of how much society hates women. It’s subtle, and then it’s not.

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There is a consensus, it seems, among the islanders and the viewers of the show that there are different rules in the villa than there are ‘on the outside’ which makes sense. There aren’t any phones or connections to people outside the house. You have no privacy. Twelve people sleeping in one room actually makes me want to throw up. And time moves faster in the villa. It’s why you can couple up with someone and feel a connection with them enough to kiss them within twenty-four hours of meeting them. But misogyny is misogyny whether you’re in Mallorca or watching it play out on ITV. I hate watching the women on the island face it without being able to truly push back on it. And I hate the viewers who watch the show each night and ignore it. But I can’t pull myself away. At least writing this gives me a little bit of my sanity back. I’m not so far gone. I hope?

During the Unseen Bits episode, I watched a clip of Priya and Lorenzo talking about driving. Lorenzo outright stated that men are better drivers than women and that Priya must have flirted with her instructor to pass her driving test.2 At sixteen. She laughs this off, telling him that she wouldn’t have flirted with anyone so young, and he doesn’t believe her. He doesn’t apologize, and she doesn’t even go looking for an apology. They cut to the next scene. I felt fucking crazy.

In earlier episodes, George, a 28-year-old bombshell (who was quite ugly, sorry), was only interested in two women in the villa, both 21. No one said a thing. Different rules in the villa, I guess. Except for the fact that Jasmine made a comment about how she was worried that she might be judged for liking Kavan (21) because she is 27. Right. Got it.

I’m watching Samraj call Priya embarassing and her telling him to ‘fuck off’ only for him to start telling everyone in the villa that she swore at him without giving the reason as to why. Lorenzo can’t remember names of the girl he’s slept with, meanwhile Priya is made fun of for having a list of names on her phone. Aidan, for pretty much no reason, tells Jasmine that her personality is off-putting when he’s not coupled up with her. Even if you don’t like Jasmine’s outspoken nature, I truly believe Aidan only acted like that because he was angry at her for calling the men out for behaving so poorly during that day’s challenge. Actually, everything Aidan does makes me want to tear my skin off my body and rip it up again and again until I have a pile of Lindsay skin confetti. If you watch his anger towards Yasmin for talking to Lorenzo, it is not about his feelings or the status of their relationship but about how she’s going to make him look bad. Watch him. Everytime he brings it up, it’s about how she’s embarassing him, what other men will perceive him as, and he can’t handle it. He’s so nasty to her. It’s a power trip, and he makes me sick.

Ope’s behavior made me so grossed out, and at times his anger unsettled me, but so did the reaction to him leaving. Everyone hugs him, sending him off like they didn’t all just have a problem with his attitude literally hours before. The men, especially piss me off in their loyalty to each other. I’m not trying to reduce Ope’s character to his worst moments on the show or condemn friendships on the island, but can we not all see that this is the start of rape culture? The tolerance of men’s misogyny is what leads to worse crimes. Men protect each other and the way they ignore each other’s problematic behavior.3 They pretend it isn’t a problem, and the producers of Love Island do the same. The girls get negged and pretend that it’s normal. It isn’t. Even in the most stable relationship, Sean ‘tests’ Lola on her loyalty to him. We know these islanders aren’t in love, but I also know they aren’t even being treated with basic fucking respect. Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining.

There’s so many other things I could say, but each episode I spend in disbelief that anyone would put themself through this, and that some people might be watching it without noticing all the rape culture dogwhistles I’m seeing. I’m shocked that women meet men like these in real life, outside of the world of reality TV. I’m watching this show at my lowest. I have no energy to do anything good with my life which means I’ve signed my death sentence to finish this season. But I’m not gonna do it without complaining and pointing out this bullshit. I’m wondering if ‘turning your brain off’ can ever be done with shows like this. The most I can do is call it out and continue to tell myself that what I’m watching is, in fact, a problem.

You have to know what to look for when you’re watching this show, otherwise you might start believing that Jasmine and Lorenzo should still end up with each other when deep down you know that Lorenzo is a misogynist and self-interested prick and that Jasmine has spent her time on the show sticking up for herself and the other women. In what world do they make sense together? Give me a reason besides the fact that you think they’re both attractive, and I’ll show you my third tit. This behavior is not normal. There’s different rules on the island, but get a fucking grip. Don’t be a mug.

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If you’re watching the show right now and want to talk to me about it, please reach out. I’m losing my mind. If you’re not watching the show, I’m so happy for you! Do not be tempted. Save yourself!!!

This is going to be a stupid list because I’m stupid and I thought this would be funny. But before I begin, I’m going to be serious and I’m going to be cheesy and overly sentimental because that’s just who I am. Suck it up or keep scrolling, I don’t mind.

I want to reiterate my thanks to the people who are actually named in my official diss. Dr. Samantha Matthews is a delight and completely unflappable. I keep coming back to that word because I can’t think of one better. Anyone who has worked with me, let alone helped me with my writing, knows how overwhelmed I get. That woman was so calm and so helpful and immune to my personal brand of stress. I’m so grateful she was assigned to me. Next is Dr. Noreen Masud. I took ‘Literature and Trauma’ second year with her and it changed my life. Not only was I introduced to Dorothy Allison and Bastard Out of Carolina (subject of my diss), Noreen is why I started to really care about my intrinsic motivation. Since taking her class I took my education way more seriously and even though I still obsessed over grades, there was always something driving me beyond external measures of success. She’s a Mr. Keating for me. O Captain, my captain and all that.

And lastly and most importantly, Mother Dearest. I asked forced Mother Dearest to read the MHRA Style Guide and she did. She knows it better than I do now and I’ve been using it for three years. Mother Dearest proofreads my essays, she corrects formatting errors, she takes every call, she asks questions and she finds the things I miss. She is a woman who does not realize how much of a weapon she is, and I will try always to remind her how great she is wherever I can. I genuinely would not have finished this work without her help and support and encouragement. Oh wow, Lindsay loves her mother and found a way to bring it up again. What else is new?

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Okay. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, here’s a list in no particular order of all the dumb things that got me through my dissertation.

1. 8 kg of peanut butter (approximation, but I started the diss in January and I’ve gone through about 7.5 tubs since returning to the UK)

2. Robert Sean Leonard fan edits. Specifically this YT compilation.

3. A study playlist Erin made me (I would share it, but it’s too special to me. Get your own friend named Erin. I actually have 2. Jealous?)

4. ‘Bet On It’ from the High School Musical 2 soundtrack

5. ‘I Have Confidence’ from the Sound of Music

6. We’re Here to Help with Gareth Reynolds and Jake Johnson (found it in the last week of the diss, and I love it)

7. The Bald and the Beautiful with Trixie Mattel and Katya Zamolodchikova

8. ‘777’ and ‘Fly as Me’ by Silk Sonic (I <3 Bruno Mars)

9. ‘To Noise Making (Sing)’ by Hozier

10. ‘Work Bitch’ by Britney Spears

11. Pretty much every song by Hannah Montana (especially ‘Let’s Do This’ and ‘I Got Nerve’)

12. Lily Allen

13. ‘Bongos’ by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion

14. ‘Hiss’ by Megan Thee Stallion

15. ‘Tuned-in Freestyle’ by Megan Thee Stallion

16. This Pinterest Board I made that basically has the 2026 version of ‘Live Laugh Love’

    

17. Jelly Beans (special shoutout the coconut ones)

18. Yoga with Adriene (If Adriene Mischler has no fans, I’m dead)

19. Petty Crimes with Ceara O’Sullivan and Griffin Stark-Ennis

20. Normal Gossip

21. Annie’s Mac and Cheese (shoutout again to Mamma for sending)

22. M&S Shortbread Tea

23. Cam and her Cats YouTube Channel (Special shoutout to Campell. She is probably the only ‘study with me’ creator that I like)

24. Deleting Instagram

25. Phineas and Ferb

26. ‘I Am Me’ from Starlight Express

27. ‘Just Fine’ by Mary J. Blige (if you still feel bad after listening to this song, something is really wrong)

28. The diss care package made by the uni (free chips, coffee, sweets, granola bar, and a free pen. So lush)

29. The Hamilton soundtrack (shut up I know)

30. Mario Kart instrumentals (specifically the Coconut Mall one)

31. Planning my future summer plans (going to London in July with Mother Dearest!)

32. Jamaica Kincaid (I read Annie John, Lucy, and wrote an essay on A Small Place. I love this woman)

33. Going to my Caribbean Lit Seminars

34. Allotment sessions (taking a break from writing by going to a garden was probably one of the best things I did for myself this term)

35. Listening to the entire 5SOS discography from start to finish (Do NOT listen to that Unplugged EP. It is so bad)

36. One Direction (I wrote an essay about lesbian 1D fans around the same time which was super fun…might release it on here)

37. House MD (I love this show so much you guysssss)

38. ‘Titi Me Pregunto’ by Bad Bunny

39. This playlist I made inspired by Bastard Out of Carolina

40. Apollo by Brian Eno (I love this album with my entire heart)

41. Hiroshi Yoshimura (and other ambient music)

42. Those Trader Joe’s Indian Food Pouches (I love the Madras Lentil ones)

43. UNHhhh

44. The Royal Court episode with Harry Styles

45. Southern ASMR Sounds (specifically the videos where she makes sandwiches)

46. ASMR in general (Not everyone’s thing, but I love it and I don’t care)

47. ‘Everything is Embarrassing’ by Sky Ferreira

48. The NYT Games

49. Oatmeal

50. Post-it Notes (I’m keeping that company in business thank youuuu)

Okay. That’s all I can think of off the top of my head. Do you see why that couldn’t go in the diss? I know these things didn’t directly apply to my work, but they allowed me to survive working on this project. Acknowledgements aren’t even part of the word count, but I know that if I put this in the doc, my marker would give me an ‘Outright Fail’. There are so many other people I could seriously thank, but it’s truly impossible to list out everyone who helped me. I keep thinking about all the support I got from my friends and family just for writing this stupid essay.

Guys, I can’t lie to you. It’s not a good piece of writing. My dissertation is pretty shit. I haven’t gotten my grade back yet, but I know this is not getting a 1st. And yet, I had so many people who were rooting for me and I never had to doubt that there were people cheering me on. I know that no matter what I get on it, their support isn’t going to waver just because I get a 2.2 (which is what I’ll probably get, let’s be honest). I’m so lucky and I’m so thankful, and even though I decided to shout out the dumbest things that got me through my degree, nothing means more to me than the people who have continued to support me throughout my entire academic career. If I was on stage they’d be playing me off, so I’ll go now, but before I do, let me just say one more time, thank you, thank you, thank you!

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If you thought the November recap was short, get ready for the breeziest monthly report to ever grace this substack.

I’d like to issue my deepest apologies for getting the April recap out to you so late. I was in the trenches of writing my final essays and my dissertation. I had to focus my writing energy on Dorothy Allison and Jamaica Kincaid instead of writing about how I finished yet another tub of peanut butter (spoiler alert). This will be a shorter recap simply because I’ve been writing a lot recently and I still need a little bit of a break. Still, I can’t leave you hanging. Here’s all 30 days of April plus 5 days of May. Hope you enjoy!

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Reading: chose to read one book and take my time with it. The vignettes of Braiding Sweetgrass were perfect for a slow read. Very easy to pick up and put down (in a good way!) Would recommend. Currently have started Great Expectations. Close your mouth!

Eating: Got free radishes and turnips from the allotment I volunteer at. Never had a parsnip before…not bad! What an exciting life I lead, right? Anyways…also made this recipe for blondies (sans walnuts), got through tub 7 of peanut butter for this year (now onto tub 8), and a plethora of Easter candy sent over to me by Mother Dearest.

Playing: “Thank you Noah Kahan” we all say in unison (new album is lush!), lots of Beastie Boys, some more Lana, still on my One Direction bullshit, also got through the entire 5sos discography while editing my Caribbean Lit Essay so there’s that, also also listening to Apollo by Brian Eno. Who’s shocked!

Obsessing (over): Essays. NEXT!!!! (real answer: Phineas and Ferb; don’t know why I love watching television made for children, but I do. Sue me)

Recommending: If you still have essay deadlines, print out your essays when you edit them. Your computer is not your friend and neither is ChatGPT. Also recommend getting your Mother Dearest to read everything you write if you have one of those…

Treating (myself to): Got burgers with Erin by the harbor during spring break (mine was veggie duh) and pints at Arnolfini (need one right nyow)

I told you there wouldn’t be too much this month, but I hope this scratches an itch. May is already shaping up to be so busy and there’s lots to discuss, so I can’t wait to share. And now that I don’t have my diss weighing me down, I have so many ideas for lindsayland. Look out for more activity (hopefully) soon, and have a great rest of the month xx

Lindsay

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Bright Young Women tells the story of Pamela, the eyewitness of a murder by the first celebrity serial killer. In it, she never once says the defendant’s name and begrudgingly, grits out only the bare minimum when describing him. I am not a true crime fan so much so that I did not know who the book was discussing. This is, I think, the reason why I was able to enjoy this book, but why I am sure others weren’t. This book would be perfect if it was completely fictional, but it’s not.

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I had a vague guess that Knoll was discussing a specific person, but I made a deliberate choice not to research or indulge my speculations until after finishing the work in its entirety. I hate true crime for all the reasons I think most people are not true crime fans. I find it inappropriate to speculate about real people; it’s unhealthy and unethical. It desensitizes people to the tragedy and horror of these situations. Unfortunately, I can still understand some of the appeal; who doesn’t have curiosity especially when you add in that these things could happen to you? I’ve been known to enjoy crime novels now and again. Reading In Cold Blood made me sick to my stomach, but I could not put it down. Lines are blurry ones in crime fiction. The stories are fictional, yet so clearly based in truth. Is their connection to real-life part of the appeal? For me, with this genre, the answer is no. Reading In Cold Blood did not compel me to look up who Truman Capote based his two murderers on nor did Notes invite me to pick up another crime novel shortly after. I am not so enthralled and so hungry for these stories all the time which makes it easier for me to stomach fiction with fake people once in a while.

The lines are blurrier than I thought Bright Young Women. I’m glad I read this book under the guise that the book was fictional, inspired by true events, but not so precise to real life. Even as I write this, I am still not sure which exact details were verbatim to the real trial and which ones Knoll made up. I do not have an interest. It is because of my ignorance (which really was bliss) that I could truly enjoy this book and all of its merits. The premise of the work is magnificent. The execution, I think, is likewise excellent. The goal is to upend the narrative that the defendant was a suave or charismatic person, and it succeeds. These men are not crafting or skillful; they are scary, women-hating losers.

Most noteworthy in the book’s virtues is Knoll’s ability to seamlessly weave between past and present storylines. This story packs in two murders, one in 1974 and one in ‘78, the trial, and the legacies of the murder. It’s an ambitious maneuver to weave between these timelines, and quite satisfying to see Knoll’s efforts pay off. The legacy of murders like these lingers even into the present day which Knoll’s Pamela makes strikingly clear.

But there are some defects. While the structure of the book is quite compelling, Knoll’s writing is at times verbose. Given how loquacious I can be, if I am noting that the prose is too wordy, it just might be. I did not think this to be a problem for a character like Pamela who is known for her rigidity, perfectionism, and attention to detail. It makes sense that someone as Type A as the pre-law, sorority president would be extra meticulous and perhaps overzealous in the amount of detail she put into her account. However, the other character, Ruth, does not seem similarly tightly-wound but still has the same type of overdetailed prose. For that reason, I believe the writing style is a blemish of Knoll’s rather than an intentional choice for her characters.

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My last criticism is about one I flagged earlier. Why tell this story at all? This story could have been even more powerful if the entirety of the story was imagined. Knoll could have played with that tension between what is true and what is real, but perhaps less explicitly. One could argue, and some have, that the book is not any different than the very stories Knoll is trying to avoid. While the grounds for this argument are debatable, the degree of exploitation that Knoll reaches in this text is low. Still, I don’t think we could say it’s zero, so it is a question worth considering. Perhaps part of the appeal with Notes on an Execution, a book I have already mentioned is similar to this one, is that the work is completely fictional. Even as Kaukafa places more attention on Ansel, one does not miss Kaukafa’s message, one I want to repeat here: MEN ARE FUCKING STUPID AND TERRIFYING.

This book was like clenching and unclenching a fist. Tense, but relieving. The more time I have spent away from it, the more I think your enjoyment of this book will depend on how much you know about it. I hope reading a review like mine does minimal damage to this ignorance, but I also know that some decisions are better if they are informed. Knoll’s intentions are good. When she sings, she does so in perfect harmony. It’s a shame that Bright Young Women isn’t always on key.

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During the semester, every meal is a rest stop on an F1 track: get enough fuel to get back to work. It’s not sad; it’s just how it goes. Still, I have been trying to eat mindfully. Ugh. Just that phrase makes me want to upchuck. I know there are benefits of slowing down, just not the specifics. I can’t be arsed to really memorize anything. I’ve been trying to be mindful at meals for years, so I already do some good-for-you things like the Japanese tradition of pausing before you eat. I limit what I allow myself to do during meal times. I can read, play the NYT games, or practice Duolingo if it’s the morning. The most helpful practice I’ve implemented is setting a timer. If I don’t, I eat my entire meal in three bites. I do the same thing with drinking water so I don’t chug the contents of my Hydroflask in two seconds. I know that last one is especially strange, but it’s the only thing that has actually gotten me to slow the hell down.

That’s all well and good, but let me say, it’s lonely and it’s boring. On the day I called my mom I was at lunch chomping away on some carrot sticks and stopped mid-chew because I didn’t want to keep going. People love “embracing boredom” nowadays. On the right day you’ll catch me saying the exact same thing.1 I get that welcoming silence and focusing on your food is important, but goddamn. The mind wanders. I hate being hungry, but I hate eating. Also, why do I have to eat three times a day? It’s so exhausting. I know it’s worse to skip a meal, and I’m happy that I actually commit to taking a break to eat, but sometimes I wonder: Am I a hypocrite? I want to feel more zen and all that, but when I think of eating alone in silence as the way to achieve some kind of vague enlightenment, I want to choke.

Last week I wanted to challenge myself. In an effort to embrace solo meals and encourage productive rest, I decided to eat at least one meal a day in silence without my phone or any other distraction. My goal was to see if I would feel any of the benefits of this supposed mindfulness or if this was just a stupid waste of time that would have me crawling back to playing Wordle even faster. Here’s how it went.

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Day 1

On the first day I bit the bullet (pun intended) and ate lunch without any distractions. The immediate thought as I set the time for twenty minutes was “I hate this”.2 Great start. The entire meal was me in agony, caught between the desire to get the meal over with as fast as possible and wanting to align the end of my meal with the end of my timer.

I will say the silence allowed me to articulate why I was so upset. I felt like somehow I was depriving myself of the break I wanted and thought I deserved. Instead of a break that included crossing off extra to-dos or reading I was just…sitting. And chewing. And overchewing the same bite longer than necessary to drag out the time. I tried to counter this feeling by thinking about what I was gaining but came up empty-handed. After one meal I knew it was going to take longer than I thought before I stopped thinking this was a stupid idea. I can’t say I felt better even though I didn’t feel worse. And I still felt bored as hell.

Day 2

Tuesday I focused on all five senses as I chewed.3 It’s easy enough to distinguish different tastes, but it was a nice distraction to think about how chewing tofu felt different from rice from carrot in the stir-fry I was eating. I envisioned food breaking down. Gross. I opened and closed my mouth and listened to each bite. Grosser. The only benefit of eating alone is no one cares how dumb you look. I closed my eyes again and I did find it easier not to check the timer. By the end of the twenty minutes I still had a couple of bites left. That feeling of missing out did not go away, nor did the boredom, but I did feel prouder than the day before for getting through the meal.

Day 3

The start of Wednesday made me feel like this whole experiment was Sisyphian. I woke up that morning with a pit in my stomach that didn’t go away all morning. Live, laugh, love anxiety. I thought I was starting to push the rock up the hill on Tuesday, but I was dreading lunchtime more than I was on the first day.

Again I challenged myself not to look at my timer and I got fifteen minutes out of twenty before I checked on my pace. Not bad. I felt fragile all day and especially at that meal, but it was Wednesday that actually made me feel at least some of the benefits afterwards. I was so desperate to rid myself of that fragility that I felt more compelled to think of as little as possible. It helped. For twenty minutes I forgot about the morning and was not freaking out about what I had to do after the timer pinged. If I wasn’t doing this challenge I would have been looking for any distraction or noise to avoid my thoughts. I felt stronger, but I didn’t feel less fragile nor did I want to be too optimistic. I thought of Thursday and pictured a boulder at the bottom of a hill.

Day 4

Wednesday was an unforeseen struggle, but I knew Thursday was going to be tough. I made plans for coffee that morning and made an impromptu decision that afternoon to attend an event that evening. Almost none of the day went according to my normal routine. Nightmare fuel. To be on time for the event, I ate dinner way earlier, only adding to me feeling out of sorts. The reflections as I chewed were boring and unmemorable. I managed to eat slower and focus on each bite as I had been doing, but I was struggling to feel like any progress was truly visible.

I make efforts towards things I can’t see all the time. I brush my teeth and floss twice a day and I don’t freak out because my teeth don’t look whiter, but I know that if I didn’t they would be more yellow and my gums would bleed. Why, then, was this so tough?

Day 5

On Friday I wondered if I should do another week of this once this one was up. Double or nothing. I wanted this week to lift a fog, but I was not feeling enlightened the way I wanted to. Maybe I was searching for a cure and an end-all-be-all fix for anxiety, and that’s just not what this is. As I got through this meal, trying to salvage my routine, I felt myself reaching for my timer every two or three minutes. It made me try harder to focus, but to no avail. I couldn’t understand what made Friday so hard compared to Tuesday which felt relatively more easy. With two days left to go, all I knew was I did not want to keep going anymore.

Day 6

I didn’t feel nearly as annoyed on Saturday than I did the day before. That morning, I had been so busy that when lunch came around, I didn’t have enough time to psych myself up for how bad the next twenty minutes were going to be. Twenty minutes still felt long, but I managed to get halfway through eating before checking the timer. Saturday was the closest I felt to accepting this change in routine, like maybe I could do this forever. But maybe that was because I knew there was only one day left to go, and I knew that this would be over soon. I didn’t have much desire to hate the practice or revere it; I was just waiting.

Day 7

Like Wednesday, the final day of the week came with unforeseen anxiety which made closing out this week that much more difficult, but all the more relieving. For some reason, I managed to only check the timer after fifteen minutes and ended up finishing my meal well after twenty minutes was up. My guess is that because I was eating crunchier things which took longer, the meal dragged out more, but who can say for sure? There was nothing special about this meal compared to the others, no revelations or major frustrations. Like Saturday, it was just a lot of waiting, and even though I was the least concerned with the timer than I had been all week, I thought I’d feel a swell of accomplishment, but I didn’t feel anything–good or bad–about knowing I wouldn’t have to do this practice the next day.

Conclusion

At the end, I thought maybe I had chosen the wrong week to do this. Maybe I was too stressed and that’s why I couldn’t see the appeal. I know even if I had done this the week before when things were less stressful, I likely would have been bored and frustrated in a similar way. I also thought that maybe I should have stretched the challenge into two weeks or for all three meals. There are many other mindful eating habits I didn’t cover like choosing smaller portions, what exactly you’re eating, or how you approach the before and after a meal. I can concede that maybe the rigor of my experiment was lacking, but I did what I could this week. Plus, finishing the seven days gave me no motivation to up the ante, so I won’t be trying again in the near future.4

This practice was like holding a plank. When your abs burn because you’re holding yourself up, all you think about is how much you hate doing the plank and how grateful you’ll be once you can drop to your knees. Every time I sat down for a meal, there was so much to think about, but nothing was more on my mind than how much I wanted it to be finished. That, I thought, was the real problem. All eating in silence did was increase the distance between me and what I enjoy about having a meal: sharing it with people. I was less distracted, sure. I felt more resilient afterwards like I had just done a hard workout, but I began to look forward to meals even less.

I know what’s at the end of this semester, and let me tell you, it will not be pretty. For that reason, I have been more inclined to do the hard things that are supposedly good for me when I can tell I’m about to spiral or am already on that path. I’m trying to build safety nets, but if I fall, I don’t think mindful eating (in this case eating in silence) is the one I want to catch me. I might try it again if there’s a day like Wednesday when my mind really stirs, but until then, I think it might be better if I appreciate this for what it was, what it gave me, and especially what it didn’t. So yes, I guess I still think we should embrace boredom blah, blah, blah, but no, eating in silence isn’t the way I’m going to do it.

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March Holiday Celebrator!

March has plenty of holidays to keep the month interesting, and I do my best to celebrate them all in little ways. There’s Read-Across America Day on the 2nd, Girl’s Day on the 3rd, International Women’s Day on the 8th, Pi Day on 14th, St Patrick’s Day (and Hozier’s Birthday) on the 17th, and Spring Equinox on the 20th. There’s also Stephen Sondheim’s birthday on the 22nd which is always a great excuse to listen to “Agony” (footnote: specifically the Gavin Creel and Joshua Henry version). You better believe I celebrated every single one of these holidays in some way. The high-ticket holidays like Christmas or Thanksgiving are fun to celebrate, but I think there’s something even more special about small celebrations that don’t require a full day. Beauty in the mundane, life is beautiful and all that.

Hannah Montana Fanatic

Happy twenty years of Hannah Montana! If you read last month’s review, you know I started binging the show last month (before I knew about the upcoming anniversary thank you very much), but this month was all about the music. I blasted Hannah Montana songs over and over again, and I have no intention of stopping. There is something so special about these songs that are so clearly manufactured, but weirdly that makes their messages work more? I got really anxious this month, like really anxious. I don’t know why, but listening to overly cheery lyrics that tell me that ‘everybody makes mistakes’ and that ‘everybody has those days’ actually worked better than all the sad-girl music in my Liked Songs. It’s like the artifice that makes irony impossible. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good cry, but at the moment I don’t have time to wallow. For now, life’s what I make it so I’m gonna make it rock.

I <3 Caribbean Lit

Most of the reading I did for the month of March was finishing off the rest of the Caribbean Lit reading list, and I am not complaining in the slightest. This unit is, arguably, one of my favorites of my entire degree. It’s rare to enjoy the days when you have four hours of class from 1 to 5 without a break, but I love that seminar, and I refuse to miss it. All of my essay topics this semester are quite exciting, but I get especially amped to write for this class. I will be so sorry to see it go.

Highlights from the reading list that I read this month include Mermaid of Black Conch, Wide Sargasso Sea, and Cereus Blooms at Night which might be one of my new favorite books…of all time? Is that allowed?

A writer writes always

Billy Crystal said it first, Mother Dearest quotes it incessantly, and this month I lived it. You will have noticed a little more activity in lindsayland this month which is surprising but exciting. For some reason, I’ve just been on a writing streak, not just for Substack, but for everything. I wrote for lindsayland, my three classes (including the diss), for TWSS on a new commission, and for Bristol Women’s Voice, which you can find here or on their website. Not only that, I have a bunch of drafts and new ideas that I can’t wait to write, especially once school lets out. I’m plugged in, and I don’t know where the drive is coming from. You would think that after all the writing I have to do for school, writing after the school day would be like trying to eat another bite of an ice cream sundae when you’re so completely full. But actually, it feels like I’m slurping a milkshake without getting brain freeze or reaching the bottom of the glass. I will release less next month because April is the biggest push before my deadlines, but trust that things are in the works and things are coming.

Cardiff Explorer

Sneaking in one final badge under the wire to honor my weekend trip to Cardiff with Sydney dearest! Sydney is the fourth Sacramentan to find me in Bristol, and I am quite happy she did! Our weekend included the classic Lindsay Bristol tour (Farro and the Cary Grant statue) as well as a night in Cardiff. I’ve never been to Wales before, but I loved Cardiff Castle, Welsh cakes, and trying to read Welsh and then giving up immediately. I am proud to say that I can navigate the Welsh buses quite easily, and only got lost once(ish). There are a million things I could say about this lovely place, but nothing that would adequately paint a picture of my weekend. I will say, however, it can be nerve racking to travel with someone you’ve never traveled with let alone seen in person for three years, but Sydney was a delight and a treasure. I’m quite lucky.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the badges I’ve earned, and I’m curious to know what you might have earned this March. Do feel free to share if you have any ideas. I wish I would have had time to create some illustrations of each badge, but I was too busy. Please use your imagination of what an actual patch would have looked like and be thankful I didn’t clutter this post with AI-generated bullshit. I must say, April’s gonna be alot. I have two essay deadlines due on the 30th of next month, so if the recap is late next month…mind your business. Until then, stay hydrated and rest easy!

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Reading: Mermaid of Black Conch, Cereus Blooms at Night (YUM), Wide Sargasso Sea, Bright Young Women, Lucy

Eating: Coffee with friends, Samosas at BMW, Irish soda bread, Farro, Welsh cakes (so good we had to go back the next day for more)

Playing: New Harry Album (I have thoughts…keep an eye out), lots of One Direction, Hozier (the softer stuff), some Lana, lots of Brian Eno, so much Hannah Montana

Obsessing (over): Love writing right now, don’t know why but very happy about it

Recommending: Bob the Drag Queen’s YT channel. Keeping me fed.

Treating (myself to): Trip to Cardiff and seeing Sydney was a pretty big treat if I do say so myself :)

It’s blurry, but I remember the day she got you. At our aunt’s house, back before the pool was filled in, we’d taken a break from swimming to open presents. She was wrapped in a towel, you in festive paper. You, a laughably tiny thing even then, changed our lives forever.

Even before you, music was all we had. We grew up with CDs in the family room and car radios. She had some CDs to add to our parents’ collection and we made up dances that didn’t even minutely impress our mother. I saw the old Doowaps and Hooligans CD in her room the summer before she moved back home. That always makes me think of her, but looking at the cracked plastic case that day, I wasn’t curious enough to see if the disc was even inside. It wouldn’t have mattered.

When you entered our lives, she didn’t have a phone and barely used the computer, but you got her to quickly learn things no one else in our house knew. She had the first look at digital music and online presences. She was a pioneer, you were her guide; I was in awe. I can’t believe it now but, it used to be that anything she learned, she’d share with me. It was not an eagerness to share with me specifically, but more so because she didn’t really have anyone else. Was she lonely or were you and I enough for her? I know now we weren’t. I see now she was hurt, but I guess I didn’t know then. I was happy to be a part of the trio: you, me, and her, listening to every recession pop hit before there was the term ‘recession pop’ or the idea of ‘good taste’.

You were the tastemaker. To me, if you had a song on you, it must have been good. Because I loved her, I loved you, and everything she loved was worth loving. But you made new conditions. Suddenly, if you were in my hands, you had no power. I begged to borrow you and she’d refuse. I requested songs over and over and she wouldn’t play them. I wanted to listen to them together, but there wasn’t time anymore. She stopped sharing things. When you two went off together, all I could do was wait until I could have one of you, too. In the meantime, I waited instead for her to let me back in. I didn’t know that technology would evolve too fast, and that day would never come.

You wouldn’t recognize her if you saw her now. You disappeared and she set out to carve out the taste of an ‘individual’. Without music, I lost living room dances and Bruno Mars and knowing my sister. Some days I think I hate her and then I hate myself and then I miss you. It’s hard not to wonder if she feels the same.

I’m thinking about you today because ‘Talking to the Moon’ is playing on my phone. It was too easy to queue. And I wonder where you are now. Are you hidden somewhere in her room or did you get thrown away? Only you know. You were small, but you were the best thing and revolutionary in a moment. And, now like most good things between me and her, you’re forgotten.

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In many ways I’m longing for spring too, but I am tired of this ritual of everyone pissing on my leg and telling me it’s raining. I know it’s easy to hate winter, and, fine, sometimes I hate it too. I’m pretty sure that the last three winters I’ve spent in the UK have given me a Vitamin D deficiency. Winter can be bitter, but it does not lie about what it is. Winter is when soup and cups of tea taste the best and when scarves are the best accessory. And this is the only time when being sad matches the weather. You can be sad in the summer too, but it’s not the same. There is something to be said about the way winter is forgiving. Grey skies background internal gloomy moods. You can go to bed early because it’s dark out and/or because you’re depressed, and no one can say a thing. Still, I’ll also point out that it’s the time when snowdrops and daffodils bloom; don’t give me shit about how everything in winter is dead and lifeless. Winter points to what’s to come, but give her more credit for what she gives you in the moment.

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I get that things are bleak, and I understand wanting something to look forward to. I just don’t believe in expediting the process. The more I think about it, the more it makes me sick, the way we are pressured to prepare for the seasons and upcoming holidays earlier and earlier. When did everyone decide that they were the authority on when the seasons should be, as if they were in control of nature?

There are things to hate about every season, but there is a special hate for winter that I simply cannot tolerate anymore. I can’t deny that I specifically hate January with a passion; this is one opinion I have yet to change my mind on. Most days I hate the cold and rain and grey is not my color. Still, I wonder if people would hate winter less if they stopped thinking about it as something to “get through”. The same thing will happen with this precious spring everyone is pining for. You’ll be happy for one second, then complain of the pollen and of final exams. You’ll get bored, and before you know it, you’ll start longing for summer. Summer will turn into autumn on September 1st, if not sooner depending on when Trader Joe’s starts restocking the butternut squash mac and cheese. And as early as the day after Halloween, November will turn into a longer advent season to prepare for Christmas, the only time when winter is romanticized.

There are the same twelve months every year, so why do we feel like they have to get to these seasons earlier? Before I get off my high horse, I’ll ask: wouldn’t we all be better off if we started thinking more about how we were feeling in this present moment? Seasons change. There is no point in rushing. We’ll be here, same time next year. You’re racing to an imaginary finish line, and I don’t know why you feel the need to run when you could walk. Saunter, stroll, promenade into spring. I promise you won’t be late; you’ll be right on time.

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I don’t think group projects are completely awful, truly. My love/hate ratio with group projects is about a 10:90 or maybe a 20:80 with the right people. And don’t assume that this hatred extends to a distaste for collaboration. I love hearing new ideas and getting and giving help from my peers and tutors. I’ve learned a lot through the last three years and group projects have been supplementary to my degree. The same goes with the research that everyone ultimately ends up contributing to the final work; what I learn from others is arguably my favorite part. My problem with group projects is that it’s not just ideas. It’s logistics.

When I set out to write a personal essay, I know it’s more than just reading and writing. I have to plan a weekly timeline and log resources for when I’ll have to make a bibliography. I’m also scheduling office hours and emailing tutors as I go. Everyone has amazing perspectives and people always contribute, but I’ve only been in one group project where I felt like there were other people who were also asking “what, when, and how does this need to get done?” Without that person, I don’t have a final project that I want to attach my name to. Two years ago I was in a pass-fail class with people who let the pass-fail grade turn into complete apathy, and I went along with their bare-minimum mindset. Even though we passed, I hated our final project, and I wished I had said something as we were working on it. Second year and onward, I was careful about how and when I spoke up, but I always did. So now, knowing that I can’t control others, I control how I act which means taking initiative when I see no one else has, speaking up when I have an idea or am confused by someone else’s, and doing extra work if it means I can feel better about having it done. I’m now brave enough to ask for what I want. I’m open to other people’s ideas and opinions, but I care about taking pride in my work. Sometimes that means taking on more and speaking louder.

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Is it anxiety that makes me struggle with control or am I just a pushy bitch? Am I a big help or the group’s worst nightmare? It might be a bit of both. I believe our best traits are our biggest flaws. I think a lot; I worry too much. I give attention to detail; I get caught up in what doesn’t matter. I am happy to steer; I don’t want to hand over the reins. When it comes to a group project, I keep people on track, but I’m very a little somewhat bossy. I know what tasks need to get done, I have ideas on how and when they should get done, and I know that if there are things I can do, I’m going to do them. If the group chat hasn’t been made yet, I’m going to get everyone’s contact and set up a first meeting. I can make the GoogleDoc and design work on the final layout, poster, presentation, whatever. I can and will make the bibliography and double check everyone’s sourcing voluntarily. And if no one has articulated what the next step is, I’m asking what it is or I’m saying what I think it should be.

The most important aspect of my approach to group projects is to complain, but never to your fellow group members. If you volunteer to do more work, you shut your mouth and you do it. This is painful, but self-inflicted. I spend hours on my own work, extra housekeeping tasks, and reviewing everyone else’s parts over and over. I get through group meetings where no one has input on the outline I’ve made (because no one else has figured out how to organize their separate work). I die inside when everyone just says “yeah, that’s good” to the proposed plan I’ve been working on alongside my division of the research. I don’t need sympathy for doing too much, especially because I’m not fully in pain. It’s this aspect of group projects that makes me think I might be a masochist. I’m proud of taking steps to get what I want. I’m proud that I’m braver and can articulate what needs to get done. Then I kick myself for relaxing or trusting the process. When I take on the extra work, it’s painful, but a good kind of pain like tightening a corset until you can’t breathe or adding an extra weight to your chest press at the gym. And even though I never complain to the group, you can bet my everyone else gets an earful. “Woe is me” I bemoan, knowing full well my woe is self-afflicted. I can’t tell if I’m doing too much or if everyone else is doing too little. Talking it out is the only way I can get through. Complaining about these projects burns, but it is so sweet. I could wear it as a perfume and bathe in it.

In a perfect world, I’d be in groups with overthinkers and over-doers who also want to get ahead of the hidden tasks as fast as I do. But, mostly, my group project experience has been classmates who just wanted to get the project over with which makes them…normal. I actually don’t know that people should be as intense as I am. Still, I’ve learned about self-advocacy and time management and how to work through frustration in a productive way. I know there’s more to learn about setting personal boundaries and being a team player, but I know that I’ve come a long way in the last three years. These have been the necessary evils of my academic career. Group work is formative and character building, and so, so painful. But maybe if you’re like me, you’re a little freak, and you kind of love it.

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Exhibit A: Media

This is a rare moment where every type of media I’ve been consuming has been exactly what I need at the exact right time. The books (most of which are for my Caribbean Lit class) are delicious. Music has been great, so much so that I’m able to enjoy my old favorites and I have the energy to find new artists and songs too. I often use an analogy to taste when it comes to music. When the depression is really bad, music–even your favorite songs–taste stale. This month I’ve had an appetite, and it’s been fantastic. Same with TV. The House binging has continued and made way for Hannah Montana. Weird pairing, but perfect viewing to end the week. We must also add the addition of not one, but two podcasts that have been in my ears all month: Normal Gossip and Petty Crimes. I love hearing people’s gossip, and these two always scratch that itch. It is my belief that even in a gloomy month, if you have the right media to supplement long weeks and rainy walks to class, the days can get better.

Exhibit B: Socializing

I present to you one of the most obvious remedies to potentially bad months: talking to someone. This was a month of socializing to the best of my ability, getting out of my comfort zone a couple of times in order to try to feel better. Most notably was my appearance at a bar for the launch party of a magazine I wrote for. Shoutout to TWSS and for that previous sentence sounding more official than the event actually was. If this was a real court and a real case, I could probably fit in a statistic about how talking to people improves your mood which would be much more persuasive. But I don’t have to sway a jury. There is just you, dear readers, and you have all had conversations before, and know the power that can be had in talking to the right person after a terrible day. The evidence stands, however circumstantial.

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Exhibit C: Classes

One might think that having to go to class during such a dreary month like February can be burdensome, but this is not the case if the classes you take are actually good. And it turns out, if you’re not being forced to talk about Chaucer for three hours and put your phone down and engage in the seminars, you’ll find the discussion way more interesting. Who knew? Plus, I’m making slow, but steady progress on my dissertation which is great.

The only opposing evidence might be the schedule of my classes. I have words for whoever thought it was a good idea to give me 4 contact hours from 1-5 on a Tuesday, but I cannot accept bringing this evidence against the case for a good February seeing as this schedule is not unique to February alone. So…overruled?

Exhibit D: Warming up to Rain

Since I’ve been back, it has not gone a day in the UK without raining which is disagreeable in many ways. However, I would argue that rain, though inconvenient, is better than being freezing cold all the time. Last year felt like I was living in a block of ice. I spend my days indoors working on my schoolwork anyways , and at least when it’s raining, I can stay dry and warm. To be fair, warm is like 7-10 degrees Celsius instead of 3-5 but still. I don’t know the science behind why the rain keeps the temperature higher and maybe the warmer temperatures are a bigger issue about climate change, but I’m choosing just to embrace the fact that I don’t have to bundle up so severely. Normally, I must layer enough to feel warm for the walk to class, but get sweaty from walking, and then I sweat inside because the heat inside the classrooms is cranked up. Also, when else can you appreciate the rain? I guarantee that when it’s spring and it continues to rain, people will still be complaining about it. At least right now it’s expected. I say get an umbrella and get over it. Sustained.

Exhibit E: Regulation

It would be easy for me to counter all the presented evidence with a list of the bad things that happened this month, both in my life and globally. The proof of my good February does not negate that, this month, and many more to come will not be good. However, I can only speak for myself which brings me to my final piece of evidence: regulation. I have been trying to adjust as best as I can when I notice myself getting overwhelmed. For example, this month started with some pretty bad health anxiety for issues I’d never had before. I don’t know how well I handled it in the beginning, but I was also able to recognize that there were things I was doing to help myself through it. Since then, I have stopped Googling symptoms, I focus on the basics like sleep, water, and diet, and I always have someone to talk to (thank you, Mother Dearest). There are a lot of other things I do to self-regulate when I can. I can’t read the news when I wake up or before bed and I always get outside even on the days when I don’t have class or need to leave the house. All this to say, the little things add up if you point them all out, so relax.

Closing Statements

Even on the worst days and in the so-called worst months, it always surprises me how much I am doing. There’s a lot out of my control, but there’s a lot I can do. Perhaps, then, the verdict that I have reached is that a good February is one based partially on luck. I’m lucky all the media hits the way I need it to and I’m not too miffed about the rain. But it also comes down to mindset. In any part of the year, you can have a good month if you try, which means that yes, actually, it’s possible to have a good February.

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Here’s the REPORT btw

Reading: Augustown (good, really good), re-reading Bastard Out of Carolina (for the diss), The Bone Readers, Two or Three Things I Know for Sure (again, for the diss), A Small Place (I told you I’d read more Kincaid),The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (not bad for someone who doesn’t love Gothic lit)

Eating: on my 5th tub (1 kg each) of peanut butter for the year so do with that info what you will, also don’t order a Shirley Temple at a bar in the UK because they don’t know what that is and when you explain it to them, it’ll be the wrong ratio and will come with a lemon? (see below)

Playing: Bad Bunny, Lucy Dacus, “Everything is Embarrassing”, Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash (inspired by the diss), Mitski, Joan Baez, “End of the Day”

Obsessing (over): Hannah Montana. There is nothing subtle about the acting here, but I’m laughing more than I thought I would at a children’s sitcom from 20 years ago.

Recommending: Normal Gossip and Petty Crimes. Anonymous gossip podcasts, both of which are so good. NG is better in my opinion, but that’s just because I think the hosts on PC can be acquired tastes.

Treating (myself to): let myself have the night off and rewatched the live-action Cinderella which I feel completely normal about! I don’t have a revived obsession with Richard Madden or Cate Blanchett; I don’t even know why you would bring that up…

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When it comes to things I like to read, Annie John ticks a lot of boxes. Postcolonial literature? Check. Bildungsroman? Check. Mother-daughter storyline? Check. Check. Check. These combined make the short book (less than 200 pages) quite meaty. Kincaid gives more than enough to think about in the connections between ‘mother’ and ‘motherland’, between self and community, and between person and place.

The driving factor of Annie John’s appeal is its honesty. The novel focuses on its title character’s childhood in Antigua and especially on Annie’s relationship with her mother. The rupture turns unconditional love and adoration on both sides to bitterness, secrecy and contempt. Annie has the callousness and bitterness that only children can have and then some. I think it would be easy to read this and brush off the entirety of the story simply because Annie can be so unlikable. Yet, as I read it, I noticed Annie tells her story in a tone of self-importance and arrogance, but there is always a connection to community or her family underneath Annie’s obvious selfishness.The story reads like a confession in some parts, something that suggests Annie (or Kincaid) is telling me ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but you need to hear it’ and something else in me that thinks ‘Yeah, I do’. But there is a difference between honesty and authenticity. Annie is inexplicably honest, not to scandalize or shock, but because she can be nothing but honest. It is there that the novel also finds an authenticity that made me keep reading.

I look forward to reading more writing like this in which characters are deeply emotional despite themselves, who cannot help give into the love they are denying simply because that’s what comes from being honest and noticing things. It seems I always come back to love and attention. Annie John is a kind of Lady Bird or perhaps Lady Bird is a kind of Annie John. No matter what, Annie John is my first book by Kincaid, but I know it won’t be my last.

I’m trying to post more reviews to flex the muscles, so apologies while I find my review-writing legs again. ALSO! If you’ve read Annie John please comment and talk about it. And if you have recs on what of Kincaid I should read next, please please please share!

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Oden is made of fish cakes and root vegetables and hard boiled eggs and mushrooms. Dad has to get to the Japanese market before they close for New Year’s days in advance to get all the ingredients I’ve only ever seen in this soup. It requires him starting later than he wanted and then complaining, uttering a couple of expletives (likely “Goddamnit”), and making a mess. Between making stock, chopping vegetables, boiling eggs, and letting the soup meld on the stove, it takes him hours. Then he drives the pot over to my grandparents’ house and we have it for lunch.

Ozoni’s main ingredient is mochi and, when Dad made it for Mother Dearest and me, he added cabbage and mushroom leftover from his shiraae and oden prep. My ozoni was thrown together, barely squeezed onto the spare burner amid the oden simmering, and only made because we had no other ideas for breakfast. So I had two soups, distinct in their taste and preparation, and this year, more than any previous New Year, I thought about tradition and good fortune and prosperity and all the other good things I was supposedly willing into 2026 from drinking broth.

Maybe there is another tradition in Japanese culture that says if you have both good-luck soups, you’ll cancel out any chance of good luck for the rest of the year. Are you supposed to pick one and center your luck on one bowl? It’s funny that I care about the ozoni and oden so much. I’m not one who believes in luck, but in the days after New Year’s and for the majority of the month, I wished I had eaten more soup.

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The month after the greyish soups kept going on and it wasn’t getting any better. There were a couple of events, some good, some hilariously awful, that make the ‘wagon wheels’ or the konnyaku seem like empty calories. First returning to Bristol was exhausting and just being in Bristol felt exhausting too. Then, at an Epigram meeting last week, the senior editor, James, brought up an upcoming news subject that people might eventually be interested in. There wasn’t much he could say about how the event would turn out: ‘It’s early days’. It’s not a phrase I hear often, if ever, but it’s not hard to get. It means it’s too early to know what will happen. I don’t remember or care about what James was talking about (sorry James), but I did like ‘It’s early days’. It means ‘I don’t know’. It means 'I can’t predict’, and pushes you to hold off before coming to an assumption. It means it’s early days.

It is easier, I think, to celebrate surviving hard moments rather than talking about them in great length, but I don’t even seem to want to do that after a severe month. I cannot end defeatedly even after brutal months, and long-time lindsayland readers know this. But I don’t feel well. I am upset about what I should have and what I don’t. I’m angry that feelings won’t leave and that I haven’t done what I wanted to accomplish yet. Going into February, I feel better than I did in the middle of the month, sure, but worse than the girl from only thirty days ago who half-thought her luck would change after a couple bowls of soup.

I’m too tired to press hard on my relationship with luck and faith and hope. I believe there are things in my control and out of my control, and it’s hard for me to focus on the right stuff. I have never felt lucky, but that’s always been alright with me because I always feel tragically optimistic. It takes a lot out of me to always believe things will be better. It takes even more to hope that I will get better. I work for my happiness, sometimes less, sometimes more. I keep trying because things don’t make sense if I don’t. I know lucky soup can only get me so far, but I’m not ready to give up on it because who knows? Maybe that soup is actually working, digesting, if you will. Maybe it’s too early to tell. It’s early days.

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Reading: The Dragon Can’t Dance; Earl Lovelace, Annie John; Jamaica Kincaid (if you have a mom you should read this…oh, it looks like that’s everyone!)

Eating: um…soup? see other bites below

Playing: Ethel Cain, Bruno Mars (specifically Silk Sonic), Hiroshi Yoshimura

Obsessing (over): House MD, mildly problematic the way that any early 2000’s show is mildly problematic, but this one has Robert Sean Leonard as a handsome doctor so…

Recommending: Wake Up Dead Man. Live laugh love Josh O’Connor.

Treating (myself): got a haircut

I love November. Always have. Always will. But I have deadlines to meet (besides this one) so I’m going to give you a speed-run of what I can remember off the top of my head which I think is par for the course considering this month went by so quickly.

We started November finishing up both an essay and a group project that I put in too much effort into that did not pay off. Oh look, cynical Lindsay’s out to play. Coursework defined the month, so it’s got to be included in the report. Frankly, group projects should be forbidden in final year, but that’s just my opinion (and everyone else’s in my course). I’m sick of working, if I’m gonna be honest. I mean, I’ll keep doing it because I love my degree and all that nonsense, but it’s getting treacherous as we reach the end of the term. My god.

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Mid-way through the month was a bit of a blur. It was still a bunch of essay writing and coursework, but I did fun things too. I think? Yeah, I did. I went to Farro with Erin. Bricked. Crazy good. I went to a couple allotment sessions including one to celebrate bonfire night. Gotta love it. I’ve been keeping up with running even though it’s still just on the treadmill. It can’t be helped, but it was nice to have that outlet. This is a month of maintenance and waiting. A lot of November is liminal and I think that’s why people don’t like it. It’s a month a lot of people just want to trudge through before Christmas and that’s unfair. I wasn’t really doing anything too memorable, but I just took it day by day and it was fine. Better than fine. I can’t complain about the month itself. I like November. I can complain about the weather though. Pouring rain one week and then freezing cold the next. Why?

I ended the month with a final Thanksgiving across the pond. Erin came over, we listened to Arlo Guthrie, we had stuffing and pumpkin pie bars because those are the only things I need on Thanksgiving, and it was great. Thankful for Erin always.

And the finale for November is dramatic for all the wrong reasons. These past couple of days I have felt so behind on the deadlines that are getting closer and closer. I’m so stressed out which surprises no one, I’m insecure about my writing which should be even less of a shock, and I’m still gonna keep going which maybe just mystifies me. December is going to kick my ass. I can feel it. So before it does, I guess it’s been nice to reflect on November, even if writing this felt like when you have to eat cereal over the sink because you’re late for school. But that’s alright. Sometimes that’s just the way it goes. And with that, I’m off.

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Reading: Eve’s Hollywood, I Hope This Email Finds You Well, The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, An Autobiography of the Autobiography of Reading. All pretty good, but nothing stood out, you know?

Eating: Thanksgiving food as per usual, Annie’s mac and cheese because I’m five, rice cooker meals (put rice, vegetables, protein, and seasoning all together, turn it on, let it cook, and eat. so easy), peanut butter but we knew that

Playing: Bruno Mars (again???), Ashe, Conan Grey, Fiona Apple, Bob Dylan, and Lily Allen. See below.

Obsessing (over): It really has been a Bald and Beautiful month. Love Trixie, love Katya. Love the pod. Love rewatching UNHhhh. Can’t get enough.

Recommending: Take your afternoon break outside. I hate 3 pm so much. Then I go outside and I still hate 3 pm, but I’m outside!

Treating (myself to): Farro. Shocker!

So, yeah, I’ve been racking my brain as to what’s drawing me to this album and I’ve got…nothing. Well, nothing really satisfying. Sure, from the few Lily Allen songs I’ve listened to I know I like her style, but I’ve never given her this much attention.

The most I can say to answer the question: ‘Why this album?’ is that, at the moment, it feels complete. I like the way the album has a beginning, middle, and end. Maybe I like it because of how much is spelled out for me. Since I know it’s a narrative album that explores Allen’s experience from discovery to dealing with it to trying to move on. In that way, I feel comforted and guided through the words. And, perhaps, more simply, it just sounds good.

I don’t know if the answer to my question matters. Why do we like what we like? Why do we gravitate to this music and not that? I asked this too a couple of months ago when I listened to Imogen Heap’s Speak for Yourself and Ashe’s Wilson and felt particularly struck. I don’t know, but I like posing questions even if I don’t get neat answers. This album has made me question a lot of things that it probably didn’t intend to. Is being with someone really better than being alone? My answer after hearing ‘Pussy Palace’ is no. I guess I should be grateful that I’ve never been cheated on since I’ve never cared enough about anyone and they’ve never cared about me.

And, of course, the other thing on my mind has to be the publicity of cheating and affairs. This album, with songs like ‘Madeline’, is especially tantalizing. It is deeply personal and explicit in calling out Harbour. Forgive me for saying that I’m delighted that he’s being dragged. I’m not really a Taylor Swift fan anymore, but she kind of ate when she said ‘If guys don’t want me to write songs about them, they shouldn’t do bad things’. Like everyone else, I revelled in hearing the gossip. But also, because I am the way that I am, I scrutinized myself for why I care so much. Celebrity gossip is strange because we’re so far removed from what happened. I’m almost annoyed at how much I enjoyed hearing about the drama between these two celebs who I didn’t care about before the album’s release. But now, a week or so later since my first listen, the album is more than just the scandalousness of an affair or the bold move to release an album about the whole timeline. Now that they’ve broken up, there’s no impact on my life. All I’m doing is listening to an album and knowing that there has to be ‘more’ to why I like it so much. It’s too bad that I can’t place what that ‘more’ is…

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I don’t know what this piece is I think I just need everyone’s opinion on this album please and thank you. And go listen if you haven’t yet lol

I’ve come to the end of the month thinking, ‘That’s a lot, Robin’.1 A lot of good and a lot of bad and a lot of the same, but rather than bore you with the details of every single thing I did, here’s a list of things from this month that I’ve given ridiculous clickbait headlines (and what actually happened). Fair warning that nothing in my list is actually surprising.

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You won’t believe how much peanut butter this girl goes through in a month

Since her return to Bristol in September, Lindsay reports she is on her fourth tub of peanut butter each coming in at one kilogram a piece. That’s one pound of peanut butter a week and four pounds in one month. When asked to comment on her peanut butter obsession, Lindsay responded: ‘Peanut butter? I hardly know her’ before staring blankly off into space. We are unclear if eating excessive amounts of peanut butter makes you unfunny or if Lindsay’s just like that…

Self-proclaimed early riser stays up later than 10 pm and her reason why will SHOCK you

Despite an affinity for early bedtimes and a claim that she has ‘no social life’ Lindsay was seen at the Den and Terrace for a pub quiz on a Thursday night mid-October. She went for the cliched reason of ‘trying to get out of her comfort zone’ and was surprised to admit that she ‘actually had a very nice time’. Lindsay has an aversion to drinking on school nights, but despite being sober at this event, her clear head wasn’t enough to win for her team. Good thing too because the first place was free shots. Since that night Lindsay successfully engaged in other social outings unrelated to school work, but has not been to the pub since. Now that the days are getting shorter, you may not see her out until the pub gardens reopen.

Running on the treadmill is this 20-year-old’s only hope

After getting back into running this month, Lindsay says she will only be running on the treadmill in her building’s gym after attempting two scary runs around Bristol. She insists on running at 6 in the morning, but after two runs fearing those wandering the streets before the sun came up, Lindsay has made the switch to treadmill workouts. ‘I like them less than running outside, but I want to run when I want to run, and at least this way I might not get murdered’. Lindsay reports that treadmill runs have been going well, but she can’t wait for December when she will be safe to run in her neighborhood. She also wishes that men would stop committing violence against women because at the very least it would make her workouts just that much easier.

Girls go bananas for this new wellness tip

Apparently having friends and making time to see them can do wonders for your mental health. Lindsay was reminded of this fact when her good friend Erin came over to hang out, have tea, and bake banana muffins. Other than the girls’ impatience for baking times, the afternoon turned out to be a rising success for Lindsay’s mental health. She is proud to report that the muffins were also incredibly delicious and would be even better with peanut butter.

Dirty hands might be a good thing: here’s why

Lindsay has joined a new-to-her conservation club that hosts allotment sessions in which students can work in a community garden. After weeding, walking home with dirt on her hands has been both a disgusting and strangely gratifying addition to her Wednesdays, but she hopes to keep up with it as the term goes on. ‘I’m there for the free biscuits and because going makes me hate myself less.’

There you have it. That’s been my month, well, sort of. Clickbait never tells you the whole story and there is a lot from this month that I would rather keep to myself. I’ll leave you with a mini REPORT and be on my way. Hope you had a good month, and I’ll see you in November!

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Reading: Petals of Blood, A Flat Place (yum), The Sun Does Shine (good, really good), Never Let Me Go (messed me up), Bluets. Reaallllyy good reading month

Eating: banana muffins, peanut butter, homemade soup (got an immersion blender and i’m putting her to work)

Playing: so much Bruno Mars (more on that later?), ‘Baba Hanuman’ by Krishna Das (don’t know why), Bob Dylan, Fiona Apple, and the usual suspects

Obsessing (over): Bake-off. What am I going to do after the finale next week?

Recommending: Call someone. Reach out, I dare you.

Treating (myself to): Allowed to rewatch Dead Poets Society. I don’t remember getting a stomach ache the last time I watched it, but it was painful!2

We’ve all been there, haven’t we, folks? You set out to do something, you make the time for it, and you fail. And you think to yourself: ‘Wow, golly gee, I’m the worst!’ Well, I don’t think I suck. I know I suck. And if you know you suck too and you want to know what to do about it, keep reading.

Anyone who knows they suck, knows that feeling doesn’t go away. If you can acknowledge that you’ll always be awful, you’re on your way! This is not about changing so much as it is about how to cope and there is only one solution: suck less. Yes, that answer sucks, but bear with me.1

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If you want to know how to suck less, you actually need to know how to suck more.

I could write the most perfect essay and still suck. I have received high marks that should have mattered and should have reduced my suck levels, and they didn’t. So sucking less doesn’t mean achieving more. Sucking less is not extrinsic.

I could go online and find people worse off than me and tell them that they suck too. I’m proud to say that I have not and do not do this. I could find people better than me and try to convince them that they suck as much as me. Sucking less is not brought on by making others feel worse. Sucking less is not extrinsic.

Now that we’ve tackled that, let’s get to how to suck less.

Step 1: Embrace the suck!

This part is kind of fun. Listen to shitty music and wallow in self-pity. The world sucks and you suck and everything is awful. Absolutely no nice thoughts here. The glass is half empty. Nothing will get better. Cry a lot. Let it be. There is one condition. You get to be a miserable, ‘woe-is-me,’ hoodie-up, moody bitch, but it has to be self-centered. No worrying about other people’s suck levels and if people have it worse or better. That’s not allowed here.

Step 2: Try to be affirmed (and fail).

Call someone. Funnily enough, even though you suck, there are people not convinced that you’re awful. The fact that they don’t see how it confuses the hell out of you. Your talk with those blind fools might feel relieving, but, more likely, frustrating, like they don’t understand what you’re going through. No one’s words that will make you suck less. Just acknowledge that you have someone who will pick up your call.

Step 3: Do something that ‘doesn’t count.’

Sucky people have to get on with life. I hate it too. So do something that doesn’t count. I know I suck because I can’t do it all. If that’s you too, lean into it. Brushing your teeth is two minutes out of a 1440 minute day. Wash one dish. Answer one text. Hang your jacket up when you get home. Doesn’t seem like it means anything. Doesn’t seem to change anything. I know after I’ll still suck. If you’ve been using this mindset to let yourself do nothing, it’s time to reverse it. Do it anyway.

Step 4: Do something terrible.

You did something that doesn’t count. Now it’s time to do something terrible. These are the big things that really remind you of how much you suck. Prove it to me. Write a shitty essay. Hand in a terrible assignment. Submit a terrible CV. Audition for something and fail to get the part. Sucking less means doing something, even if that something is awful.

Step 5: Do something for someone else.

The suckiest people are the ones who only focus on themselves. You’ve been thinking about yourself for too long. You know it. I know it. Take the bins out for your flat mates. Volunteer. Hold the door open, for god’s sake. You’re always gonna come back to yourself. It’s just what sucky people do. But in these split moments, you can forget about your suck levels. It’s temporary, but take what you can get.

Step 6: Do something right.

You can’t actually take this step so much as you can recognize it when it happens. At one point, you, a sucky person, are going to do something you’re proud of. It’s going to feel foreign and wrong and bad. Yeah, it’s gonna feel bad when things feel okay. When that happens, write down how it feels or share it with someone or play a song to celebrate. For a second, you’re going to lie to your sucky self and let yourself think, ‘no, actually, maybe I don’t suck.’

Step 7: Rinse and repeat.

But in the end you do suck. The only thing to do is to keep repeating this cycle and to be okay with it. And if you’re not okay with it, just acknowledge it. You don’t have to improve or build self-esteem or hear words of encouragement about how things will get better. Sometimes, I don’t want to be positive and look for the good. I just want to suck less.

I write things like these and I think if I post it, I’ll solve my problems. I won’t and I haven’t. I still suck, remember? This is my Step 4. I’m doing something terrible because sucking is better than nothing. I think I’d suck a lot more if I didn’t try to suck less.

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September only has thirty days, one less than August, and yet, this month lasted an eternity. In part, I suppose traveling from one place to another, moving from summer to fall and vacation to term time are all reasons why this month’s pace seemed to lag. It was this month that saw two 5k’s (and a new PR) and then no running at all once I got back to Bristol. It was delicious home cooked meals and then a week of PB&J’s when I didn’t feel like doing a proper grocery shop. The difference between California and Bristol is not certainly as dichotomous as I make it out to be. Yes, it is California where I was able to see my family and have time to ‘do nothing’ and eat fantastic food (sometimes all at the same time). It’s also where I waited and waited, knowing that I was longing for more structure and routine. Bristol is the place where I spend the majority of the day alone, my days are filled, and the food I eat is what I buy. It’s also where I get to have space and time just to myself and learn and practice curiosity. I notice the month goes by slowly and awkwardly when interrupted by a change in location. Neither place is better than the other, but there is some…getting used to.

September feels transitional which comes at a cost. I spent a lot of time trying to ‘get back to routine’. This, of course, was followed by a lot of kicking myself when I was not entirely productive or optimal. All I want is to get back to a place where the days look the same and my responsibilities and tasks are clear and things make sense. Getting back makes it sounds like I’ve arrived at this magical productive place before and, actually, don’t know that I ever have. I don’t know that it exists. Still, it partly explains why this month ends with me feeling just a little blah. Bored. Meh. What are the other synonyms for when you feel “I don’t know, it was what it was’.

I don’t know that it’s as exciting or interesting to hear more about my moodiness this September and not so much about the events, but I cannot find it in me to fashion the amount of things that have happened in any compelling way or in a way that does not overwhelm me. I can only offer whatever this is, a brief REPORT as always, and an intent not to live October like I’m reading Roxana.

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September’s REPORT:

Reading: Roxana, The Metamorphosis

Eating: Okonomiyaki, poke, Peet’s Coffee, terrible airport meals (Aer Lingus, to the principal’s office), Biblos and Farro, delicious banh mi’s with Erin, also finished my first kg tub of PB since being back…

Playing: Ethel Cain, Ashe, Imogen Heap, Noah Kahan. Really into no music at all or only listening to one artist at a time

Obsessing (over): Bake-off’s back and I’m watching in real time. Loves it!

Recommending: Analog puzzle books and coloring pages. Just fun. Not a screen so yay

Treating (myself to): Biblos and Farro immediately after landing…duh

I wanted to talk to you about something that came up, and it's actually a little bit uncomfortable so I'll just get on with it. Recently I heard you say and I quote "Everyone hates me". Now, I know you might have thought that in earnest, but I think that's a lie. I think we should talk about your lying problem because it's getting out of hand.

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Let's begin with the first lie that 'everyone' hates you. I'm pretty sure immediately after you said it, you remembered that you have plenty of family and friends who like you a lot. Did you mean, 'I feel inadequate with who I am right now?' If so, I completely understand. If necessary, I can send you messages, gifts, and even contact info should you need proof that there are people in your life who do not ‘hate’ you, and that certainly we cannot chalk it up to ‘everyone’. With all due respect, ‘everyone’ is quite a lot. I don’t think you’re as important as you think. Let's try to use language that's a bit more conscientious.

That brings me to another point. You were overheard saying "I can't do this" in regards to starting the term. I find this to be a particularly tricky lie because you and I are both in the dark as to how the year will shape up, but to insist that you 'can't' is false. You can read the material assigned, you can go to lectures and seminars, and you can write your essays and take your assessments. I know this because you've done it for two years now. If by 'I can't do this' you meant, 'I'm overwhelmed and don't know where to begin', I suppose you've hit upon a valid complaint. Still, I don't find it particularly helpful to pretend as though you don't have any skill or capacity just because you're feeling stressed. Your anxiety and stress is inevitable, but lying isn't the answer.

Yes, I am being particularly pedantic and obnoxious about your choice of words here. It's only because I care about you, don't you know that? Where would you be if there was not this side of yourself who was there to remind you that saying things like 'Everything sucks' and 'This is the worst' or 'I hate everything' is unproductive? And you may not like the way I'm going about reminding you, and this may come across a little bit like a performance review or a visit to the principal's office, but we've reached a point where I need to speak to you plainly so that we might be able to see some improvements as the weeks go on.

I am not asking you to stop feeling overwhelmed or to suppress those tricky emotions and thoughts as they arise, but certainly, I'd like to remind you that the way you talk to yourself matters and, if I may be so bold, you're better than this. I know you well enough. You're mad I'm pointing these things out, but tough break, sweetness. You’ve also been spotted saying that you’re resilient and you try your best, so I know you can tell the truth. Your hyperbole and these lies you tell yourself will get you know where. I think it's going to be a tough semester, but I wonder how far you're going to get if you keep lying to yourself like this. Change your tune, buck up, and think before you speak. Here’s the truth: you’re going to be okay.

All my love,

Stickler Lindsay

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I wake up again around 5:30 which sounds early, but it's normal for me, and for Mother Dearest who is already up and whose coffee is already finished brewing. It's at this time that I prep my favorite pre-workout snack (a banana and peanut butter). Today, I let my sister’s dog lick the spoon. Don't tell my sister.

I knew what I wanted to do today yesterday, which is why I go back to the kitchen immediately after finishing my snack. The ginormous zucchini in the fridge that my dad has grown and never got around to using is still there. I’ve been planning to make zucchini bread with it all week. Today is the day.

Baking before 7 am is actually quite fun. No one is up (save the dog and the cat and Mother Dearest), the kitchen is quiet, and there are no messes because the kitchen hasn't been used since the night before. I must thank my past self for coming up with the idea to schedule a baked good to be ready to eat right after my run.

Following my run and breakfast,things take a little bit of a turn. I bathe and wash my hair and am supposed to sit down to start work, but I just really don't want to. I make some tea instead and I clean the mess I made in the kitchen and I wrap up some bread to give to my aunt and to the neighbors. When I do sit down to work, it begins with thirty minutes of checking my email, then checking my phone, then picking out a song to use so that I can post a picture of my zucchini bread online because priorities, I guess. It is around 11 o'clock that I actually feel like I am making headway in the work I want to do, and even then it all just feels overwhelming. Mostly because the work I have to do is work on my financial goals and my writing and linking them together (updating LinkedIn and looking into freelance opportunities). Gag me with a spoon.

Before lunch I try to cobble up some semblance of writing and nothing really sticks. I have nothing to pitch to any of the outlets I am looking at and nothing I even want to write for lindsayland which kind of sucks. I am stuck once again with the fun feeling that I am a failure at being creative. Yawwwnnn. We've read this one before, Lindsay.

Today is like many days that I have been having recently in which I constantly tell myself: get over it.

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After lunch and half of a shortbread cookie, I sit at the dining table again and think about what task I want to do next. Nothing. I want to write but I feel like I can't. I should fold some towels and get away from my computer. So I do. It helps actually. The entire time I think about all of the things I could be doing and then I pick up another towel. Because other things need to get done, but at the same time, these towels need folding.

It's the afternoon which is without a doubt my least favorite time of day and I am thinking about what I have done. I’ve done pretty much everything I want to do, but that’s not good enough for me. I feel I was too slow. I feel I was not productive enough. Then I think ‘You have zucchini bread. You’ve lost the right to complain’. I am right, you know. So, from here on out, I will not complain. I will instead talk about zucchini bread.

I researched a lot of recipes for zucchini bread before I landed on one from Justine Snacks. I only had one zucchini and I did not want to waste it on making subpar loaf. I looked at healthier versions and chocolate versions and muffins until I came back to Justine’s. I decided to shred the zucchini to see if I had enough before committing to a recipe, and I had plenty for Justine’s so I gave it a go.

I have followed Justine for ages, and, while her recipes are not actually very complicated, they intimidate me. In fact, I’ve only ever made her peach pasta before and that was literally only last month. She is a food content creator whose recipes are always saved for ‘when i get around to it’ which is never. Well, never except today. There was not a lot of technical skill in this recipe, save browning butter. There are a couple of things out of the ordinary with today’s baking feat. First, I actually made something instead of talking about making something and second, I didn’t alter the recipe in any way. I was on autopilot and had no hiccups whatsoever. I didn’t second guess anything. I just took orders, trusted the process, and got the loaf in the oven.

When I came back from my run, the bread had cooled just in time to be cut. The taste of the bread itself, by the way, was ridiculous. Beyond, beyond, beyond. When breakfast was over, it took me a while to start my day and actually begin my daily tasks. It was at this time that I began to focus on inadequacies and my shortcomings and my self-doubts.

Now, clearly, when I talk about zucchini bread, I am, of course, mixing clumsy metaphors about the importance of creation and making things even if you’re worried they won’t be perfect. Did we all pick up on those breadcrumbs? I’m sooo pensive, right guys?

I want to take this time to say we need to be harder on ourselves. I don't get to complain, and I mean it. Let’s take out stupid metaphors and let’s ground ourselves back into the reality of this morning’s baking adventure. I had time and energy at what? 6:30 in the morning? I had specialty ingredients like homegrown zucchini and miso and even the things that I take for granted like flour and eggs. And I had equipment like a food scale and a working oven. All of that means I had an immense amount of privilege. I’ve been lucky to have family members who taught me how to bake. I am able-bodied which let me bake at all and let go for a run while the bread was baking. When I think about what I have been complaining about and when I look at the day I had and the life I lead, there’s absolutely no reason why I should be complaining today. I didn’t get to work as early as I wanted to. I also could have stopped scrolling on my phone earlier. I could have written something today instead of deleting it. I would have felt more creative if I actually got off my ass and wrote more (which is partially why this will be published today). Most simply, I could have tried harder.

I care about nuance and giving ourselves grace. You’ll notice that I am still able to pat myself on the back for what I got done today, but the more I think about my bread and my day, the less acceptable I think it is to whine. I did what I set out to do today, and it came out great. Then, I wasted time and, yeah, it didn’t feel good to spend moments of my day the way I did. But it never does and it was definitely my fault. So, again, I’ll speak to myself here (and maybe to you if you need to hear it): get over yourself.

Days are long. It was just this morning that I had a moment of triumph and creation. It is this afternoon that I wished I had felt creative and productive for every following hour today. I couldn’t and didn’t and now I don’t care. Instead, I’m throwing every thought I had today that was filled with self-pity out the window and I am going to cut a fat slice of zucchini bread for myself and shut up.

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btw here’s the recipe: https://justinesnacks.com/brown-butter-zucchini-bread/