My life in a nutshell

[d_aulnoy]

I'm supposed to be working. So I decide to make myself some tea to stir my creative forces to a roil or whatever. While I wait for the tea to boil, I tidy up - no point being lazy in the meantime, right? I also, in the process of tidying up, er, put on big chnky amber earrings and black lipstick, 'cause when you look good you feel good and you work ... good ... or, again, whatever. [As you might observe, this is not a very careful thought process: it could, in fact, be designated as a kind of a caffiene-induced adult onset ADD.] And I notice ... MY SPIKE RING IS MISSING!

Now, most of you have seen my spike ring. It's ugly as hell, and it hurts the unwary when they shake my hand all unknowing, and it snags on stockings and the expensive beading on your silk blouse and I love it. I made it myself, back when I was around sixteen and deep in my pseudo-biker phase. I still wear it, partially because it still fills me with that deep spirit of counter-cultural rebellion, and partially because it's incredibly handy at warding off bad blind dates or people whom I don't want to speak with at bars.

So: frenzy. I check my jewelry box, I check my desk, I check my bookshelves, I check my bench, I check my plethora of nooks and crannies, because I, like the squirrel, believe in having many hidey-holes. I check the black laquered box between the teal silk fan and the throwing knife: I check the clock designed to look like a pile of books which is further complicated and improved by its many super-sekrit hiding places. I check the pockets of my leather jacket: I check the pockets of my leather pants. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I waste half an hour tearing my room apart.

Then I look in my purse. There it is, in all of its spikey glory, neatly ensconced in a side pocket with my business cards and my little weeny sample vials of perfume. I think that this means that I'm getting old. Not just in that "Is it absent-mindedness or early-onset Alzheimer's" kind of a way, but ... a spike ring and a bunch of business cards and a little bottle of Lolita Lempicka's latest? I am now officially the equivalent of the guy who refuses to cut off his pony tail.

And, of course, that I'm damned good at procrastinating, as this entry brings it up to 3/4's of an hour. Now, if you'll excuse me, my tea is getting cold ...

Comments

[alice-ayers.livejournal.com]

Just called you, love. Friendship, not entirely procrastination.

[d-aulnoy.livejournal.com]

Dude - the cell phone? Sorry, been keeping it in the bedroom to recharge, will call you back ASAP.