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i am my own rainbow
Feb. 26th, 2016 08:33 pmPacking, packing...
Oh my God, I just remembered the stupidest thing. A nugget of embarrassment from moving days past. This was back when I still expected everyone everywhere to find me adorable, always, so I'm guessing I was around nineteen or so? One of my first moves. Anyway. I had a lot of books, enough to fill up over a dozen boxes, easily, and somehow I decided it'd be the best idea ever to label each and every one of them 'Very Important Pornography, Box #? of [however many]' (because this was long enough ago that porn was still a tangible thing you had to walk into a store to buy, yes, I am older than dirt, thank you for noticing).
It took me weeks to sort out which books were in which boxes. Much annoyance. Many hours wasted. Also, I'm pretty sure the moving men thought I was insane rather than, y'know. Winsome and droll. Which, point.
I'm not gonna be doing that this time around. I'm, like, 97% sure.
I keep falling into these prolonged, grey-ish funks and then popping back out of them at the drop of a hat when it occurs to me that, hey, this isn't happening because of anything I did. It's not 'cos I'm some deadbeat, you know, one of those people who's always sweatily promising everyone that the check is in the mail. It's not my fault at all! I'm the one getting screwed over here! Me!
...I don't know, though. Is that really something to get all elated over? I have a knack for squee, I know, but this squee feels kind of...misplaced? Like I'm setting the bar really low for myself.
And -- ugh. Why can't I stop whining? I swear, I've had about a hundred small-but-good things happen to me over the last couple of years, and I haven't felt the need to talk about any of them in public! I can't believe this is what it took to push me into sharing mode. Whatever, just ignore me (she says, hitting the 'post' button with decisive finality.)
Oh my God, I just remembered the stupidest thing. A nugget of embarrassment from moving days past. This was back when I still expected everyone everywhere to find me adorable, always, so I'm guessing I was around nineteen or so? One of my first moves. Anyway. I had a lot of books, enough to fill up over a dozen boxes, easily, and somehow I decided it'd be the best idea ever to label each and every one of them 'Very Important Pornography, Box #? of [however many]' (because this was long enough ago that porn was still a tangible thing you had to walk into a store to buy, yes, I am older than dirt, thank you for noticing).
It took me weeks to sort out which books were in which boxes. Much annoyance. Many hours wasted. Also, I'm pretty sure the moving men thought I was insane rather than, y'know. Winsome and droll. Which, point.
I'm not gonna be doing that this time around. I'm, like, 97% sure.
I keep falling into these prolonged, grey-ish funks and then popping back out of them at the drop of a hat when it occurs to me that, hey, this isn't happening because of anything I did. It's not 'cos I'm some deadbeat, you know, one of those people who's always sweatily promising everyone that the check is in the mail. It's not my fault at all! I'm the one getting screwed over here! Me!
...I don't know, though. Is that really something to get all elated over? I have a knack for squee, I know, but this squee feels kind of...misplaced? Like I'm setting the bar really low for myself.
And -- ugh. Why can't I stop whining? I swear, I've had about a hundred small-but-good things happen to me over the last couple of years, and I haven't felt the need to talk about any of them in public! I can't believe this is what it took to push me into sharing mode. Whatever, just ignore me (she says, hitting the 'post' button with decisive finality.)