Tonight I had to choose a pretty photo without much of a back story. I just lost three hours of my life dragging my heavy moon boots around an airless and obnoxious mall searching for a shirt to wear to a TV appearance next week. Oh, except they want three different outfits. Ha! I have two pairs of winter-appropriate pants that are in regular rotation. I ending up buying two versions of the same shirt in black and grey. I think they requested bright colours but have you seen my wardrobe? Mostly black since 1988. Except that one year when I overdosed on orange.
Dragging my ass around the mall made me feel like a late eighties-era fifteen year-old, slumped over with winter gear hung down off their shoulders and dragging on the floor. Mine was an older, less cool, and less energetic, more haggard version with greying hair and painfully chapped lips. It's true. I'm sure a few new grey hairs developed within those three hours. My bag was impossible to carry, overstuffed with winter wear layers that were shed to account for mall temperatures. My feet itching profusely because of the woolen socks that were directly against my skin and rubbing inside those massive puffy boots I wear to tackle winter. Outdoor winter attire is not appropriate for the mall.
Shopping for TV clothes is a pain in the ass. Stipulations include: Must look "nicer" than my daily life but still resemble a reasonable version of me. Must not have stripes or polka dots, or crazy patterns, or material that makes me sweat profusely. Must be affordable because this gig is classified as "The work that does not pay, the work that costs money." I chose The Mall for no other reason than it was close to the place I got my hair cut. The experience has drained me of my life force. Brain is dead. Can't form the sentences.
Damn, that was ranty for someone so brain dead and tired. I guess I didn't enjoy that trip to the mall or something.