flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
Which has nothing to do with this post whatsoever. I’ve digressed for the last few days, but these art-related owls are burning a hole in my pocket (So to speak. I don’t generally have owls in my pocket. Usually just lint, safety pins, small change, hair elastics, and the portal to Narnia. My pockets are like the TARDIS.)
PS- Really, it’s my purse that’s more like the TARDIS. The last time I played the ‘pull everything out of my fairly small bag looking for chapstick’ game, I found eyeshadow, mascara, three types of lipstick, eyeliner, hairclips, a tiny hourglass that measures three seconds, a compact with fairies on it, two tiny crochet hooks, 7 pens/pencils, and this:
which I promptly gave to a friend who liked it, and was later meme’d by another friend, so don’t give me credit for the meme-ing, please. You can’t see it, but there’s a cork in his head for the storing of perfumes/essential oils/poisons/virgin’s tears. Nameless friends, if you want to be named, tell me in the comments and I shall edit. I don’t want to go posting people’s names without permission, but you know who you are. I assume. Unless tiny D’Hoffryn ate your memories. Also, there was no chapstick; just makeup I hardly ever wear.