Thursday, October 2, 2014

musings on the necessity of jewelry

I can’t remember if I was a willing participant at the time, but I had my ears pierced years ago at the mall. I was probably excited and then rueful. As it turned out, I’m allergic to most metals, because, of course, why not? I wore earrings anyway, but my poor earlobes did suffer.

My skin is hypersensitive, something I was always blithely unaware of, and any time anything touches it, my skin looks like it’s broken out in angry, red welts.

I still wear jewelry, but I don’t know why. It’s this haphazard activity I engage in only reluctantly, though I do seem to own an inordinate amount of jewelry for someone who doesn’t really wear any.

These days, as if I’m a high-powered executive who can’t be bothered to think about it, I wear every day the same mismatched bracelet and earrings to work. The bracelet was a gift; it’s simple, it’s wood, and the design is a pleasing starburst that repeats Escher-style, so, of course, I must love it.

Naturally, my skin has other thoughts about this piece of jewelry that I slap on my wrist every morning with almost no thought. Throughout the day, it bothers me, my skin, that is, reminding me how bothersome this bracelet really is. I try to accommodate my flesh, by either sliding the bracelet off and leaving it off, so, then, really, what is the point, or by sliding it over my cuff, (if my top happens to have a cuff, which, of course, usually it does not).

The wood of this bracelet has a pleasing, Braille-like texture under the fingers, because, really, it is an elastic bracelet composed of many tiny pieces of wood, each one eager to bite into my delicate flesh and declare to the world: this person has _style_.

Absentmindedly, I have noticed myself playing with this bracelet in my hands, stretching the elastic and hearing the satisfying and soft sound of the tiny bits of wood colliding when they meet; the sound is like that of a rattler, but only if each piece inside the rattler were wrapped in something that made them whisper when they touched, rather than clang.

I’m a bit afraid I’m going to snap the bracelet too hard or stretch the black elastic too far one day, and then be forced to watch in imagined slow motion as the 100 tiny bits of wooden circles that comprise the bracelet go flying, most likely across a meeting table in front of my horrified / bemused colleagues.

Regarding Object Writing

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