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j4I've lost an earring. It's like this one, only lost.
They were probably my all-time favourite pair of earrings; purple (always good), made out of that paint-on latex stuff (really light, didn't lacerate my neck by bashing against it in windy weather), neat zig-zags that could look indie-ish when necessary but also quite plain and smart when worn with normal clothes. And they only cost a fiver. Unfortunately I can't remember the name of the place I bought them from: it was a stall at Erotica two years ago, but apart from the earrings I can't remember if they were selling latex stuff or silly spiky jewellery or both or what. If anybody can tell me where I can buy a replacement, I'll be enormously grateful. I know there are millions of goth/fetish (punk emo alternative lolita gay rockabilly DIY BNWT L@@K!) shops that do things like this, but I've been looking around the web for ages and can't find another pair of these anywhere.
And the only reason I was in town and trying on clothes (which I think is how the earring got pulled out and lost) in the first place was that I was trying to find a smart dress for the black-tie dinner at the conference next week that I don't want to go to, which meant wasting another whole chunk of time when I should have been writing the presentation for the interview for the job which is currently the only sensible escape route I can see but which I'm increasingly convinced I stand absolutely no chance of getting, and now I not only feel too stupid to get a good job but also fat and unattractive and all the wrong shape for grown-up clothes and it's probably partly hormones (which would also explain the pre-conference outbreak of spots) but I just want to hide under a rock and cry.
They were probably my all-time favourite pair of earrings; purple (always good), made out of that paint-on latex stuff (really light, didn't lacerate my neck by bashing against it in windy weather), neat zig-zags that could look indie-ish when necessary but also quite plain and smart when worn with normal clothes. And they only cost a fiver. Unfortunately I can't remember the name of the place I bought them from: it was a stall at Erotica two years ago, but apart from the earrings I can't remember if they were selling latex stuff or silly spiky jewellery or both or what. If anybody can tell me where I can buy a replacement, I'll be enormously grateful. I know there are millions of goth/fetish (punk emo alternative lolita gay rockabilly DIY BNWT L@@K!) shops that do things like this, but I've been looking around the web for ages and can't find another pair of these anywhere.
And the only reason I was in town and trying on clothes (which I think is how the earring got pulled out and lost) in the first place was that I was trying to find a smart dress for the black-tie dinner at the conference next week that I don't want to go to, which meant wasting another whole chunk of time when I should have been writing the presentation for the interview for the job which is currently the only sensible escape route I can see but which I'm increasingly convinced I stand absolutely no chance of getting, and now I not only feel too stupid to get a good job but also fat and unattractive and all the wrong shape for grown-up clothes and it's probably partly hormones (which would also explain the pre-conference outbreak of spots) but I just want to hide under a rock and cry.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-25 11:53 pm (UTC)(I keep meaning to respond to comments in my LJ and not getting around to it, btw, but insofar as I was "depressed"[1], I was over it by the beginning of March, and the "drugs" was a bad, bad experiment with seeing if I get on the Pil any better now, and the answer is no, no I *don't*...)
'rah for considering it, at any rate! - though yes, the reasons for not all make sense, alas, and it's completely understandable that you're not feeling up to overt reeducation policies.
Me, I'm busy trying to gently persuade my mother that really, buying me a Nice Suit for university interviews won't be the Worst Thing in the World...
[1] As ever, no official diagnosis, but the growing obsession with Sharp Things and the massive reluctance to drag myself out of bed and the lack of caring about anything were clues that something was amiss.