London Drugs

I don't know how it happens, but I seem to spend at least fifty bucks every time I walk into London Drugs. I walk in and think, "Yes. This moment. This is the moment in my life when I will become the organized person the twisted little girl inside of me so desperately needs me to be. Today. Right now."

So, I buy clarifying shampoo to get rid of build-up. (I got the Neutrogena kind and holy FUCK is that a great shampoo!) A new nail-polish that I'll wear for the entire season that will be my "signature". New toothbrush heads for my electric toothbrush. Some kind of cream or cleanser that will make my skin unto a new-born's. I actually bought a table-top ironing board and an iron. What do I think I'm going to iron? Who knows. Hooks for my house, lightbulbs for my lamps, batteries for my toys, chocolate for my sanity.

I buy them all and the white plastic bags I trundle home fill me with hope of a new life, a new system of being, which never happens, and could not. The world decays, I get lazy, and that's really actually okay. But I'm addicted to that hope and that rush of a seemingly just-out-of-reach perfectly ordered life, and I seem to think that London Drugs will help me finally grasp it.