Helen got to write an internal monologue this morning, while I got to be destructive again. Considering she’s the one with the newborn baby and I’m the creative writing student, you’d think she’d be the one getting messy, while I’d be the one getting all internal monologuey wouldn’t you? Oh well, maybe my subconscious is giving me time off from writing thousands of words (except for this blog, duh) and giving a different part of my brain some fun.
When I was still living in London, Shaun got so fed up using my broken, blunt scissors, he bought me a shiny sharp new pair. I don’t usually lose stuff. I usually know exactly where anything is at any given time, even if it’s on the floor under a cabinet somewhere. So, I was a bit perturbed when my scissors weren’t in their usual place in my pen pot.
Yes, I’ve got a pen with a panda on it. Don’t judge me, you’re just jealous.
The scissors weren’t in the ‘drawer with officey type shit’ either.
So, this meant a trip downstairs to the kitchen drawer where the other scissors always live. If the scissors aren’t in there when needed, this sparks a national enquiry. International, even. It’s call up Roger Cook and the United Nations time.
Scissors procured; let the cutting commence.
Snippy snippy. This journal is certainly getting wrecked.