I never go anywhere without my Sigg.

Literally.

I really should start a “follow the sigg” site … Mine have been to multiple countries, cities, forgotten in bars, slightly run over – yes, it can happen –  and still lived to see another day. And so much more.

If only my Sigg could talk. Wait. I take that back. Too much compromising info.

Amazing that over the course of the last three and a half years, I’ve only lost one. Damaged many. Yep. I have dropping issues.

Please tell me I’m not the only one that can be walking along perfectly holding onto a water bottle and drop it for no reason. You’d almost think that something was wrong with me … almost.

Siggs are one of  my ways of “going green”. Gosh. I feel so good just saying that. As though I should already be applauded for my lofty green efforts. Seeing as they reach oh so far.

Fine.

I’ll accept that I can improve in many ways, but at least I’m doing something in cutting down on all those damn plastics.

So. I was chillin’ in le studio. Trusty Sigg by my desktop side. Also, better known as, TS – and seriously, I really do call it that. Which can get a little confusing when I start asking, “has anyone seen TS? TS! Where are you?”. People think I’m talking about a real person. And I’m sure they immediately think I’m strange for naming a water bottle.

But it’s okay. I could be the new poster girl for strange.

Unique. I mean unique. It’s totally the new strange.

As I picked up TS to take a big ‘ol swig … of water … come on now, what did you think was in there?  I’m not that kind of drinking girl. Okay, so not during the week . Weekends are fair game. I was greeted by this smiling face.

How this even possibly made such a face, is beyond me. Granted, the bottle was sweating. By the way, why do we say that, anyway?

Is there another way to phrase this? I’ve never cared for the word “sweat” to begin with. That’s what happens when you’re a former chubs who spent childhood summers sweating their little, er, big ass off. Complete with bright red cheeks and glasses that fogged. It’s okay, I still thought I was cool. How I’m not sure, but I did.

Can I say condensation on the bottle? Does that make sense? Is it too obvious that the only thing I was known for in my science classes was for breaking shit?

Despite this apparent “sweat”, I still don’t know how it would have made the face.

I put this one in the hands of My Peeps. Again.

They always show up when I’m slipping into the black hole.

That’s correct — black holes just aren’t about science.

That’s what I refer to as a dark space of matter … in the head. That kind of bleak state we can slip into and quickly get engulfed by.

The People are great for interfering right around the black hole verge.

It can be something ridiculously stupid … something I’m still holding onto and justifying a reason to be mad about it. Such as the disappearance of my extra set of car keys, which is what I was getting all pissy about at le studio.

Is it really worth getting pissed off ? No. But you know how one thing leads to another when you get caught up by that one thing.

Suddenly, the black hole has become you.

I burst out laughing when I saw that silly smile staring back at me. I was especially humored that the slight smudge towards the right looks like a tongue sticking out.

I love it when they make fun of me.

Another wonderful reminder, to just … smile.

Laugh.

Don’t get caught up in the b.s. of lost keys and all the other small stuff that doesn’t matter that we unknowingly attempt to make matter.

Enjoy.