Astrid Magnussen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fandomtownies2018-09-04 05:59 am
white_oleander) wrote in fandomtownies2018-09-04 05:59 am
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Covent Garden Flowers; Tuesday [09/04].
Occam's Razor. The principle that the simplest answer tends to be the correct one. But what if the simplest answer was also the craziest?
Astrid was feeling a whiplash that sent her straight to the edge of that razor, balancing delicately like a walker on a tight rope. Funny how this place could do that to her. One minute, she was actually feeling good, positive, refueled, almost, thanks to her charitable roommate, her new decor, and finally managing to get a good night's sleep. Then all it took was a letter from her mother and a class about the People's Princess to send her into a whirlwind. Her Badass Women class had been so absurd to her in the moment that she could barely respond to it in the moment; of course she'd heard of Princess Diana, but when Ms. Davis launched into all this supposed history that hadn't happened yet, with such authority, it planted a seed in Astrid's brain and sheoh so handwavily went to the library and started to look things up. It was on the Internet, it was in the newspapers, there were whole books on it, and as much as she'd convinced herself that this place seemed to pamper to everyone's delusions, there was no way it could conceivably go that far and have so many things go along with it. That was even more insane.
The simplest answer tends to be the correct one.
It made no sense to construct such elaborate lies, and looking up Princess Diana's death opened up a rabbit hole beneath Astrid's feet that sent her tumbling, tumbling, tumbling...
The simplest answer tends to be the correct one.
But what if the simplest answer seemed...impossible?
And yet, once she accepted it, everything else just...fell so neatly into place.
These were rather heavy and complex thoughts for a Tuesday afternoon, and Astrid didn't know if she could handle it. She had hoped she could distract herself at work, but there didn't seem much to do. If there was anything, or if the plants were acting strangely again, she didn't notice it. She'd taken on a new project, one that allowed her to step away from the uncontrollable vortex of her new reality and exhibit control over something else: she was going to take some flower pots (just the plain, boring terra cotta ones, nothing fancy), smash them on the ground, gather up all the pieces, and then super-glue them back together in new shapes and forms.
She's pay for the pots, of course. But she just needed to do something to cancel out the feeling of powerlessness and confusion.
So. Flower pot shard sculptures it was. Price negotiable.
Covent Garden is open!
Astrid was feeling a whiplash that sent her straight to the edge of that razor, balancing delicately like a walker on a tight rope. Funny how this place could do that to her. One minute, she was actually feeling good, positive, refueled, almost, thanks to her charitable roommate, her new decor, and finally managing to get a good night's sleep. Then all it took was a letter from her mother and a class about the People's Princess to send her into a whirlwind. Her Badass Women class had been so absurd to her in the moment that she could barely respond to it in the moment; of course she'd heard of Princess Diana, but when Ms. Davis launched into all this supposed history that hadn't happened yet, with such authority, it planted a seed in Astrid's brain and she
The simplest answer tends to be the correct one.
It made no sense to construct such elaborate lies, and looking up Princess Diana's death opened up a rabbit hole beneath Astrid's feet that sent her tumbling, tumbling, tumbling...
The simplest answer tends to be the correct one.
But what if the simplest answer seemed...impossible?
And yet, once she accepted it, everything else just...fell so neatly into place.
These were rather heavy and complex thoughts for a Tuesday afternoon, and Astrid didn't know if she could handle it. She had hoped she could distract herself at work, but there didn't seem much to do. If there was anything, or if the plants were acting strangely again, she didn't notice it. She'd taken on a new project, one that allowed her to step away from the uncontrollable vortex of her new reality and exhibit control over something else: she was going to take some flower pots (just the plain, boring terra cotta ones, nothing fancy), smash them on the ground, gather up all the pieces, and then super-glue them back together in new shapes and forms.
She's pay for the pots, of course. But she just needed to do something to cancel out the feeling of powerlessness and confusion.
So. Flower pot shard sculptures it was. Price negotiable.
Covent Garden is open!