Is there some weird connection between writing and looking like a homeless person while you’re doing it? I mean, I’m a girl, and I do love my shoes and glitter and all, but I could not believe myself this morning when I went to the nearby store.
Somewhere between writing and working on my platform, I realized I was out of cigarettes (a convenient thing I used to put my character in trouble), so I went out to restock.
The only thing I changed about my appearance was putting on sunglasses. So the hair band barely holding my hair, the oversized hoodie and the leggings, all very often part of my writing uniform, was what I also wore to the store. Plus boots.
That’s not nice.
Once, I left home (for the same reasons) with a tiara on my head. A TIARA. I forgot it was there. I used it to hold my bangs. Heads were turning, and I kept thinking ‘Ooh, I must be having a pretty day.’ Until I got home and saw myself in the mirror.
Why won’t it just stay there, whenever I gracefully try to gather it with a ribbon? It. Just. Doesn’t. Cinderella’s does, mine doesn’t. This only adds to an appearance that tells the poor cigarette salesperson ‘This is a weird person, and may as well bite you’.
But I wouldn’t bite people. Ew. Maybe I should just tell them, ‘I’m not disturbed, I was in the middle of a dead-end chapter, and I didn’t sleep last night. Okay, I might be just a little disturbed, but I’m not dangerous. WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO GAULOISES?’
I must proudly say that this only happens if the place I’m going to is less than a minute walk from my building. I’m pretty if it’s further away. I have eyeliner on, and such. And my hair is lovelier.
Did you see yourself in this post? I can’t be the only one. No way.
*The main character in my book is sometimes like this. She too forgot a towel on her head and found a Marge Simpson under it later.*