Somebody Slap Me

I did it. I bought the damn hourglass. It has a delicacy to it that I really dig. I also bought a candle holder and a glass with an Indian print, which I'm actually having some buyer's regret over. My lovely boif pointed out that the glass looked kind of like a fancy version of the things fast food joints give out for a buck and a hamburger (I wanted to throw it at him, but he was right). The candle holder is cool except it turns out that its intended shelf in my bathroom slants downward slightly, which is pretty unnoticeable but becomes very obvious once you look at the top of the taper. It's the whole "if a pilot is off by two degrees he'll end up a batrillion miles from the right place" thing. Argh. Also, if I'm being completely honest, the hourglass is a little crooked.

All this made me think of my love of home goods. Why? Why do I love matching things and putting stuff together and vases with China mums and little bird figurines and why, oh God why, hourglasses? Have you read Bee Season? It's not a book I loved, but the mother turns out to be a huge thief of knick knacks. She calls them "perfectomundo," and this was an aspect of the book I really, really got. I don't know that I'm necessarily trying to fill some void, but there's a charm in tiny, perfect, beautiful things. I know I shouldn't be some happy about or want so much these material objects, but is it so bad? Isn't it okay if it gives me some satisfaction?

And that is why I will eventually buy this stupid Victoria Hagen hurricane from Target.