Consolation plasters
Never attempt crafting when you're in a hurry. Or when you're annoyed. And even rather when you're both.
We know the rules and we break them.
I recently cut myself when crafting and all I had left in the plaster box were children plasters with teddy bears printed on them.
And you put them on.
Listen George, I was bleeding after all. It was the teddy bears or a rather big puddle of blood on the floor.
When the bleeding was stopped and the dust had settled, I sat down. And I reconsidered “life choices”.
Welcome to adult life! You fail at crafting.
I failed at crafting, this time. That's your broken record spinning:
Every win is a unique exception.
Every loss is a general rule.
Now look who's gotten all clever and witty. And is now reconsidering “life choices”.
To be precise, I considered what to make of it. I am an adult, living a – fairly – adult life: a job, insurances, responsibilities... and children plasters with teddy bears. Some were dresses like doctors.
And?
And more than anything I would love to tell you now how I – like the adult that I am – got myself out of that moment. And yet I didn't. Every second made it a bit worse, I got reminded of my post about recursive emotions. So instead of letting myself get paralysed, I drew a standard card in my repertoire: humour.
Self-humour? Am I about to get a little brother or sister now?
I hope not, I don't have the nerve to deal with both of you.
I picked and played the humour card. I made a picture and sent it around to friends. Connection is often a good first step and it already lifted me up.
Still, it didn't prepare me for what happened next.
“Kiddy plasters are best plasters” was the first reaction I received. And if I know one thing about this friend, the sentiment was genuine.
“I call that winning at life” was the second reaction I received. This one could have been partly sarcastic, but then again, it's more likely that the sarcasm was directed at life than at teddy bears.
And then the bleeding was stopped, the dust had settled, I sat down, and I chuckled. I chuckled at life, at my friends (bless you), and I chuckled at myself: I didn't inherit those plasters. I didn't buy them for nieces or nephews. I bought them myself a few months back, thinking “Why not?”, probably chuckling to myself.
But when push came to shove, when teddy met skin, I felt down instead of feeling truly privileged. After all: Kiddy plasters are best plasters.
Next post: “Being the silent voice of reason”
Last post: “Nobody ever returned to tell”