Lindsay and I: Notes from the Made, or The Laments of My Inanimate Self

Lindsay is the one who always gets to leave, to go out into the world, while I wait in here. She covered me up in eternal glitz and now I am stuck, forever poised to attack nothing. I knew she wanted to work, so I allowed this to happen. I knew she wanted me positioned a certain way, a way that she always wanted to be, so I let her cut me apart and reconfigure me. I knew she wanted me to have a second skin of meat, a skin that she always wanted to wear, so I embraced it when she laid this time-sink of a pattern over me. I knew Lindsay became numb to me, and no longer saw me for who I am, after so many days hours weeks months of spending time with me. So I started throwing beads off of my body. To make her have to care for me, see me, because I had become invisible to her.

We are the same, Lindsay and I, but it’s like she doesn’t even know it. She doesn’t even seem to realize that all the hours she spent working on me, I also spent working on her.

But I never remember, did I make Lindsay or was it the other way around?