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Jul. 29th, 2016 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sorcyressSo, I'm nominally trying to pack, because I have to move in something like thirty-nine hours, and my room isn't even close to dealt with.
(Luckily it's a pretty soft move --I nominally have the entire month of August to clear out the rest of the house and do last minute stuff, but at least half of that will involve traveling, and I'd really like the bulk of things to be transferred when I have helpers to do so.)
I do not have a sufficient supply of boxen, because I'm poorly organized, and so just about every bag and thing I have is going to be utilized to carry stuff. This is okay, it's literally a block. But cue me emptying out the random messenger bag I was using as my day bag at Pinewoods. Ugh, sticky melted balloons all over my jewelry and cough drops that have gone off in the sunshine and siiigh. Better clear out all the little pockets. There we go, all done.
Except wait, because my finger clicks against something hard, through a pocket. "A-ha!" I think, "Maybe this is my missing button that I foolishly lost at camp!"
No. No, it's not that. Instead, deep in a mostly unused side pocket in a mostly unused bag, I find two rings. One is an ordinary enough little toe ring that I'm sure I've worn once or twice and completely don't care about in the slightest.
The other has been missing since 2009.
Take that post with a grain of salt --I was twenty and even more fiercely independent than I am now. I've had boys give me other pieces of jewelry --I wear the collar from my sir on lots of days (and the turtle necklace on lots of other days) and I used to wear a lovely heart necklace Sparr gave me. I even had an ex-boyfriend give me flowers, real orchids, preserved in resin to be worn as earrings. I don't necessarily associate jewelry with ownership anymore.
But even if I did, there was nothing in the world that was going to stop me from putting mek's ring right back on my thumb, proudly and happily. I've been his and he's been mine since two thousand fucking four. It's nice to have a proof of that to wear again.
~Sor
MOOP!
(Luckily it's a pretty soft move --I nominally have the entire month of August to clear out the rest of the house and do last minute stuff, but at least half of that will involve traveling, and I'd really like the bulk of things to be transferred when I have helpers to do so.)
I do not have a sufficient supply of boxen, because I'm poorly organized, and so just about every bag and thing I have is going to be utilized to carry stuff. This is okay, it's literally a block. But cue me emptying out the random messenger bag I was using as my day bag at Pinewoods. Ugh, sticky melted balloons all over my jewelry and cough drops that have gone off in the sunshine and siiigh. Better clear out all the little pockets. There we go, all done.
Except wait, because my finger clicks against something hard, through a pocket. "A-ha!" I think, "Maybe this is my missing button that I foolishly lost at camp!"
No. No, it's not that. Instead, deep in a mostly unused side pocket in a mostly unused bag, I find two rings. One is an ordinary enough little toe ring that I'm sure I've worn once or twice and completely don't care about in the slightest.
The other has been missing since 2009.
Take that post with a grain of salt --I was twenty and even more fiercely independent than I am now. I've had boys give me other pieces of jewelry --I wear the collar from my sir on lots of days (and the turtle necklace on lots of other days) and I used to wear a lovely heart necklace Sparr gave me. I even had an ex-boyfriend give me flowers, real orchids, preserved in resin to be worn as earrings. I don't necessarily associate jewelry with ownership anymore.
But even if I did, there was nothing in the world that was going to stop me from putting mek's ring right back on my thumb, proudly and happily. I've been his and he's been mine since two thousand fucking four. It's nice to have a proof of that to wear again.
~Sor
MOOP!