I missed my train and got to stand on the platform waiting to go home with no book to read and more DHS/TSA/transit cops than there were commuters. I've been seeing a lot more of this and I don't know why it makes me nervy, why I feel encroached upon. What the heck is up with the guns strapped to your legs dudes? Seriously. It creeps me out. I wonder how the woman getting on behind me wearing a hijab feels and avoid eye contact with everyone.
I'm relieved to get back to the car and the tunes, the routine of art-making, melting copper with copper, scraping off the firescale with stone, making mistakes and being overly ambitious with a form I've only begun to experiment with, trying to figure out what color to add next week since I'm going for something vaguely bronze-age looking.
Equilibrium restored, coming home to put together a playlist for tomorrow morning, heat up some dinner, try to figure out how to get the hair cut because it's getting split-endy and don't want to freeload on my sister-in-law. I have a benign neglect relationship with my keratin, hence the really long tresses in my teens that were more of an 'it just kind of grew' thing than any kind of subcultural statement.
I feel like I missed all those female memos that everyone else got, since I was reading Alternative Press and Guitar World instead of Seventeen and have no clue how to do makeup or do anything seasonal wardrobe-ish because that kind of thing is kind of boring and more than a little intimidating. I only started buying shoes other than black low-top converse when I got a Real Job four years ago and kind of couldn't get away with that anymore.
And as if I wasn't already hopelessly stuck in 1994, I'm kind of going for the Shirley Manson look sans crimson since The Powers That Be would probably frown upon such capriciousness. Garbage is more or less pop music for people who wouldn't have been caught dead in 1995 listening to Top 40, but darn it, I like my slick production and big hooks with the overdriven guitar every once in awhile.