It could be that my idea of defensive clothing is your idea of offensive clothing. Kim understands immediately what I am saying. For clarification purposes we will just say that I emotionally wear my clothing. It becomes an old friend who, if replaced with a new friend, would haunt me.
Quick writing break for me to realize how absolutely insane I am.
There. I'm okay with that.
Anyway, I don't shop much. Despise shopping actually.
This kinda sucks since if I ever decide to put ads on my blog I just sealed the deal that Macy's will not be on my site or maybe it will for those people who want to be opposite of me. Total marketing strategy: Be unlike Shea.
If my old friends get all torn and stained then I'm even more loyal to them. Josh asked me last Christmas if anyone ever just walks by me and gives me a dollar in the assumption that I'm homeless. I told him that was how I payed my gas bill for a couple of months.
The meat of the matter, my friends, is that I am going to have to go shopping. Just typing that makes the muscles in my shoulders and upper back tense, they tighten. I get anxious, nervous.
I am going to have to find something to wear to a wedding where I am a photographer.
What is that outfit?
It's got to be comfortable, right?
Comfortable to me is my purple pants with the bleach stains and the small holes around the ankles and the thinning of the most perfect material on the face of the earth although I have no idea what the material is called. They are just good pants. They are at least a decade old friend, and they are COMFORTABLE. And I'm going to be taking pictures, hopefully blending into a background, squatting, moving silently but quickly, always focusing outside myself on all the wedding parties' most important people. Studying faces, smiles, the one instant when all the emotions come up and burst out onto the skin when one is least aware of anything that is anywhere but within.
No Kim, I am not wearing the purple pants. Don't worry. Rusty would kill me. Rebecca may look at me in disbelief and disappointment. Rick would just stay opposite my space before, during and after the ceremony. So no purple pants.
What I would really want is a t-shirt, a white one to go with a pair of black pants. Maybe a V neck. Nothing fancy but one I know would become an old friend. A shirt I would wear because it would mean that the day would be good. One that I could lounge in all weekend while wearing my purple pants. It would defend me against all negativity and ensure I would hear the birds sing, notice the clouds, pay a particular interest to new and beautiful music.
Another break for crazy.
It is most likely too late for an order. In thirteen minutes it will be Wednesday and the wedding is Saturday and I am going to have to punt I think.
Punt it is.
Yet I would like to go ahead and get an order in with that baby brother o' mine.
I want a V neck t-shirt with that guy from your sketchbook on it. No writing. Put him anywhere on the t-shirt you would like. I just want to wear him. I like him. He's already an old friend. Just email me with the cost, man.
Post script: Here he is.