A lot has happened in the last few days, but I don't know that I want to talk about it in much detail.
I visited my great grandmother again. I'm still a runt who will die alone, especially after I gave up my hair.
My sister and her husband came to visit.
I've worked nearly every day.
But let's keep this light.
Want to hear what's in my bag? Probably not. You can learn an awful lot about a person from what they carry with them. Of course, you can learn an awful lot about a person from their writing. But this my blog, so eat it.
In my purse, and mind you, it is rather large, I've got a great lot of practical things. I'd love to model it after Hermione's charmed handbag or Mary Poppin's satchel.
Keys. Work keys. House keys. Grandparent's house keys. Old house keys. Jeep key. A hand sanitizer. A metal tear drop shaped keychain with my name bought by boy in Frankenmuth during one of our many breakups.
Snow White Wallet. $90.04 in cash. A debit card. A worn college student ID where I'm at least 20lbs heavier. My sister's address. A few free Redbox codes. Kroger card. An awkward picture of boy from when he was 14.
A cork screw. Self explanatory.
A tea tin containing loose Lady Grey tea and a few fat little packages made up of a coffee filter and loose tea leaves. A tin tea ball. A tea cup with little geishas painted on it.
The Bell Jar. Pristine, but read four times. Inside there's a receipt from when I bought the book, but the text has worn off.
A small notebook. I doodled mermaids on the cover. There's lists of things to buy and things to do in there. I still rather I'd be the only one to read it, thanks.
Three ink pens. One I stole from work, one I stole from the bank and one given to me last week at work because I was kind to her. It's my favorite. It's a baby pink color with a rubber ball you click. The ink flows smoothly.
One pair of socks. I hate wet socks. They make me angry. It's a precaution. You're welcomed.
A keeper. If you don't know what that is, it's a small rubber cup you insert like a tampon that holds the fluid instead of sucking it up into a wad of bleached cotton. You wash and rewash it. I've used it long enough to save me $30. So... There's that.
My birth control. It's a pale yellow compact with the look of disapproval drawn on it with Sharpie. It used to make me violently ill, now it just let's me be free and live my life.
A condom. I remember kind of using the other two in the pack. For like five minutes. Then we remembered we hated them. It's the thought that... Coun... I'm an idiot.
A pocket knife. It's about four inches long and is covered in pink cupcake stickers, but oh, it's sharp. I usually use it for cutting little plastic tags off something I just night and can't wait to use.
Lipstick. I have about thirty lipsticks to my name. In my purse I keep a dark raisin color called Hera. I keep a deep purple called Black Cherry. A pretty peachy pink called Delight. Then my favorite, with the lamest name, Really Red. It's a matte, classy red that I wish to god I didn't feel like I was playing dress up in it whenever I wear it.
So that's it.
And everything is quite necessary.
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