Alright everyone, I’m coming clean.
I believe living alone has made me a tad more strange than I usually am. I’m not sure which is worse, bumbling your words ordering your morning latte because you haven’t spoken to anyone in 18 hours, or admitting to talking to yourself at home. In funny voices. Not that I do that.
I use my appliances in ways that they are not meant to be used. I don’t own an iron or a microwave, so I find new uses for things. Namely hair tools. Wrinkly blouse? Bust out that hair straightener! Is the butter for that cake you’re baking not soft enough? Hello blow-dryer! Just be careful that you don’t have flour in that bowl you’re using. Flour and blow-dryer make for a bad combination. Once, when I was having friends over for New Years Eve, I had purchased some shrimp cocktail from Trader Joe’s that wasn’t thawing as quickly as I would have hoped. I might have sat on the floor of my bathroom blow-drying shrimp for a half-hour.
I have random items that occupy my bed. Or rather, a moving collection of items. Currently, I’m harboring:
- Some J.Crew catalogs and my current reading materials
- An empty water bottle
- A ballet skirt
- A beanie
- My journal
- A scarf
These usually remain on top of my covers, but tend to roam around. I have been, on occasion, stabbed in the knee by a hard-cover book that somehow found its way under my blankets.
I have magpie-like tendencies. Which I can absolutely indulge until I’m blue in the face. It’s only recently that I’ve noticed that I have an unusual amount of bedazzled/glittery/bejeweled items around my house. These were oddly not an intentional aesthetic choice. When I was seven, I made it a pastime to collect little plastic beads. I had no desire to string them together, to make a little necklace or some such thing. I just wanted to enjoy them for what they were, all odd shapes and colors. They were my treasures. I bequeathed them to my parents one day, and they still have them, on display in their house no less.
My adult “bead collection” (or collakshion, if you sound it out, as my elementary school self did) is a tad more sophisticated, but nonetheless random. Each item has a story behind it, many I’ve had since I was a child. Everything is attached to a very strong sense-memory, and that’s what I love about it.
Magenta and gold bangles that I bought for an Indian wedding I attended.
A vintage crystal necklace that was once my mother’s. I used to wear it on my head like a crown as a child.
Perfume that perked up a particularly drab Valentine’s day.
Shell earrings from my first trip to Hawaii.
A charm bracelet from college.
My favorite candle, purchased in Santa Cruz. (Capri Blue, the Volcano scent.)
A gold necklace, with charms that were gifted to me when I was born.
Many items were gifts, both from others and to myself. Like the Tiffany’s id bracelet I had engraved with a special message.
It’s my own personal “I-Spy” picture book. A little shrine to all my grown-up treasures. Don’t get me wrong, I like that they’re beautiful to look at, but they mean more to me than their superficial value. I think everyone should have one, in whatever form they like; it might be china in your kitchen cabinet, tools in your corner of the garage, or books on your shelf. Then, maybe one day, you’ll be able to share it with someone who appreciates it as much as you do. They might become their treasures, too. Just a thought.