I worked a hard day today, mostly hanging lights.

I hope they hire me again. Nice people. Designer's a bit of a flake, changing things at the last moment that causes a complete rehang of the last five lights, but a nice woman.

On my way home, though, after my ten and a half hour shift (not bad, but I thought I was only doing eight; I stayed on because they needed the help), my brain started going.

I'd turned off the unnecissary parts of my brain to work, because those are the parts that has nothing to do with what we were doing, so it went into overdrive when I stopped working.

"First," it said, "to the liquor store."

Well, I didn't know where the liquor store was, but my brain did and found it without a problem.

Unfortunately, it's Sunday, so it had closed early.

"Fine," my brain said. "To the convenience store."

So that's where I went.

"Gatorade," my brain said, although I rarely drink the stuff, "to keep up your electrolites."

What ever the hell those are.

But it had been hot in the theatre, and I'd sweated a lot, so I picked up a bottle of gatorade.

"Pop, too," my brain said. I really wanted Coke, but they were a Pepsi store, so I got gingerale. I don't crave that so much, so I won't drink it fast.

"Aaaaand Haggan Daas."

"What?"

"Ice cream! Get Haggan Daas!"

"I never eat it, it's expensive!"

"Well, you were *going* to get liquor, and that's far more expensive."

"Fine," I said and looked at my choices.

Must have been fate. They came out with a new flavor: Mayan chocolate.

Chocolate ice cream with cinnamon!

Like I make my hot chocolate, but with less spices.

Then I came home, ate the last of my leftovers, and popped in a stupid romantic comedy (Serendipity; it kind of sucked).

As I grabbed my ice cream, and thought of my selection of spoons, I suddenly panicked.

Now, I have a favorite spoon. It's an old silver sugar spoon from Hotel Vancouver. It used to be my mom's, now it is mine.

And I gave a lot of things to the Sally Anne when I moved, including an old cordless phone.

Now, I know the cordless phone was in there, but I think other things might have been in there too. I forgot to check until it was too late.

What if my spoon was in there?

I don't remember seeing it.

Shitshitshit.

I actualy panicked a little.

Then I sat down, with another boring spoon and my ice cream, and thought about it.

It's not so much the spoon I want, but a spoon with the idea of that spoon attatched to it.

Does that make sense?

Does to me.

If I had a spoon that was the same kind, I would be just as happy (or very, very close to) as if I had the original spoon.

Now, it's all very silly. I'm quite sentimental about some things. Plain things.

I have this old yellow blanket that's still soft that I used to sleep with when I was young.

And a green porcelain bowl my dad bought me when I wore out my previous cereal bowl (I can barely remember buying it, but I do remember, so it was important, even though I was young).

My teddy, Teddy. He has no nose anymore, but is soft still. His fur is wearing out, but he is still mine.

And my silver spoon. Just a little sugar spoon, I believe, from Hotel Vancouver.

Stupid, isn't it?

Loren made fun of me for missing my spoon (I asked him if he'd seen it, and whether he'd track down the box I think it might be in), and I cried over it.

I cried!

Over a SPOON.

The spoon was almost like Ditto, in a way. Reliable. Always there. I knew what to expect, and I loved it.

Now Ditto is gone, and my spoon is gone.

My parents still have the green bowl, but my mother is bringing it to me when she comes.

The yellow blanket is on my bed, with my teddy.

Which yes, shut up. I've been sleeping with my teddy lately.

The city makes me nervous, and I'm still adjusting. He's something I know that I can hang on to while I make the transition.

Once I am fine again, he will sit on the shelf like he always does.

I wonder if other people do that. Sleep with their childhood things while they get used to new places.

I slept with my teddy when I went to Red Deer, too. Then he sat on the shelf for the rest of the year.

I feel kind of silly admitting it to the world, but you know, as they say, or maybe as just I say:

Blogging is the cheapest form of therapy.

.

Rosie.

Before&After