Shoot The Messenger
Oh, the messenger bag was a mistake. Even with a be-pocketed jacket to stuff my great useless hands into, a mistake. I could scarcely have contrived a better way to humiliate myself, walking through thick summer crowds in bright sunlight with that thing bouncing off my hip, zip-tabs jangling at top volume with every lurch*, and one arm dangling
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Argh, I didn't even consider the mantra today. Mainly because 'they' plainly were looking this week. (Eventually I just shrugged the thing off, folded the strap over on itself a couple of times and pretended I was carrying some innovative new kind of canvas suitcase until I could get a shopping bag to stuff in that hovering hand. Graceful? No. Clever? ...Ish.)
Also, I cannot tell you how good it is to know there are people who feel as gawky and asocial as I do when Out In The World right now. It would WARM MY HEART if I had one.
THE YANKS CALL THEM 'BACKPACKS'
I call them that too, alternately! I don't know if it's an Americanism or not, though, like when I say 'flashlight' and have to kick myself in the shins. Or when I say that I will go do something instead of go and do something.
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::BURSTS out laughing::
It's just like that old rhyme about the centipede and the ditch.
What? What rhymes with 'centipede'?
Also, you have a morbid and overwhelming fear of death -- ? Of course you do! This is why we are friends.
It's not so much a 'fear' as a 'nagging', really. The part of my mind that won't leave a logical puzzle unsolved if it can possibly help it just won't leave death alone, even if intellectually I can concede that mortality is a problem with no solution and I should just think about Cartimandua or hedgehogs or the Greek Dark Age or something.
It only becomes an OMG GREAT TERROR when I think 'and here I am, still living with my family and single and with only one real-life friend and with a sucky job and -' and so on and so forth. Like: I have limited time left to be alive in! I should be living faster! (Which I suppose is the reasoning that leads to panic runs and tumbles.)
( ... )
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Although I will say you're a fantastic writer! I love how descriptive you are. I feel like I'm lurching too.
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Heh. Thanks! (I still feel like I'm using too many adjectives, though - my English teacher in school said once that a lot of writers confused talent with endless description, and it gave me sort of a complex. Admittedly I did write a short story that included the phrase 'gossamer lids'.)
You've just got to develop a swagger or something.
And now I have Patti Smith saying 'the artist must create a swagger!' in my head. I can't even remember what song that's from! Somewhere on 'Easter', I think. Damn. ::calls up Media Player::
Study Kanye!
Okay, a) no. And b) it's not my fault; I'm structurally unsound! I think that lateral curve in my spine put my hips on sideways: functional short-leg, and it switches legs. And c) no.
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