Argyronetia

So this is where all the action is, eh?
It seems like a tres chic place to be self indulgent, or rambling, which is self indulgence but with pretty sentence structure.

Okey- I can live with that. I bought a blue bag today, with some silver fluer de lis, and what appear to be wings. Now I can say all the things that a blue bag mean and or evoke in me.

I do belive this ten dollar dandy, paid for by a gift card given to me by the place I work for, for accidentially converting filthy debtors into happy capitalist payers, in the midst of an existential crisis, is a light canvas (or is cotton duck?) Sack.

A sort of stylish grocery bag if you will. But, I bought it because my beloved platic marilyn monroe bag has finally begun the slow inexorable march towards a cracked and fraying death. My prior bag, much loved, was bought during an ill advised trip to a dog grooming expo in Kansas City with my ex-boyfriend some four years ago at sears.

You'll grasp the root my loyalty when I explain that during my first exile into cubeville, my boss once stared fixedly at marilyns tit and then stammered " is that a nipple?" before gasping like a gaffed cod and retreating. Dammit, I loved that bag and it (she) loved me.

I was going to buy a cheap red cotton sack, with much the same fluer de lis, but I saw the blue and went with it. Red isnt treating me well, and I'm not one to put up with crap from primary colors.

Blue, light blue, baby blue, blue like the sky when you first know it's winter, blue like the walls of my sisters' room in a house and a life that no longer exists, blue like a 1 ml eppendorf tube, blue like the swimming pool of long razed resort, blue like the sahdows in a very white dogs fur, blue like the eyes of that miserable republican asshat who dumped me for my pro-choice pro-death non-anthropromorphic ways- in short, blue.

And silver, which has all the cliches, bangle bracelets and serving spoons, seshomaru, gintama, my Borzoi Vienna, fillings, the nail polish you wore at 13, a signet ring I gave to some guy who I went to scotland to break up with, colloidal silver making my infected gum stop hurting so effing bad, the color of good taste and not flash (gold is passe except for bond girls) the color of the sky when you desperately wnat winter to end. And old photographs.

Now, I'm like that dirty bird from the phantom tollbooth, you know, the refugee from context, because the root of all this nonsens is that context has been blown apart from inside.

To say I bought, and make it the momentus event that it is, I would have to explain poverty, and being unlucky, and to say I actually didnt buy but got with a company gift card, is not accurate, because of course I bought it with the precious time that I spend in my hideous little cube.

I'm listening to greek pop music and not cleaning up my filthy house, because in my heart of hearts, I get a thrill from the fact that hey, I own this fucker, and I alone shall decree when the corn growing from the carpet and the cultures in the kitchen sink are out of hand. And then of course I know I would feel much better and brighter if things were clean, but the sweetness of solitude is that no-one gives a damn how I feel, as long a I feed and water them.

Besides, buying a blue bag was too tiring. I can't clean. I'm all sore from free asociating.