I’ve owned a robot sculpture for years now, handmade by my uncle, and given to me as a Christmas gift. This pseudo-bot measures less than a foot tall and weighs about five pounds. Its got wrought iron arms welded onto a steel box, topped off with a vacuum tube head. For years, it’s purpose was to stand there and look cool.
I’ll never misplace another tube of lip balm.
Last week, I made the rookie mistake of not emptying my pockets before tossing my pants into the laundry hamper. My Burt’s Bees lip balm went for a tumble in the cold wash and came out intact. Nothing changed: not the texture, taste, nor scent. I know the outcome would’ve been different had I not spotted it before tossing the wet bundle into the dryer.
Clearly, not much has happened since last week’s Yanniversary camp out on Salt Spring Island if re-purposing my robot sculpture was the week’s most notable moment.
I made plans to leave Vancouver Island again next week to get my tattoo worked on, but the spike in COVID-19 cases has scared me away from the mainland. As Yann wouldn’t be coming with me this time, I’d have to take public transit to and from the ferries. As a non-verbal deafie, my method of reminding people to stay 6ft back is a stink eye paired with the gesture for back off. It looks so bitchy, but what else am I supposed to do? And at this point, why do people even need a reminder to keep their distance?
The tattoo was to be an extension of the one I got in July; in fact, the long-term plan was to wrap my right thigh fully. I can go for years without getting a new tattoo (the longest gap in-between tattoos being five years), and then become bothered by all the white space on my body. This itch for new tattoos has come at a bad time.
Rather than unwillingly mingle with the COVID-19 infested plebs of the mainland, I’ll be using the short intermission from work to create a new video for my neglected YouTube channel.
Or I’ll make like a performance artist and spend the week loafing around the apartment, clutching two tubes of lip balm in my hands. Who knows?