Jamalyn (jamalyn) wrote,

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Paper Cut

AnhMai frightens me sometimes.

First a little background: there are piles upon piles of paper in my house. So much so, that I often joke that all I’ll have to do if I ever work up the gumption (i.e. get rid of the lazy, ah this is good enough side of me) to move, all I’d have to do is light a match, and poof, the entire apartment would go up in a cloud of crisp smoke.

Of course if that ever did happen I’d be inconsolable. I love my paper more than anything.

One of the most paper-cluttered parts of my place are the books shelves (hereafter referred to as the library though they are in no way in a room of their own). The library is massive, with hundreds of volumes of manga, more Japanese references than most public libraries and/or bookstores, row upon row of X-Files books (damn near every one ever printed—Mwahahaha) and innumerable others ranging the gamut from basic chemistry to fantasy.

Yes, I tend to judge books by their cover.

Yes, I will read anything, cereal boxes included.

Yes, this does lead to space issues.

But no, this isn’t the point of this rambling diatribe.

Also littering the shelves are various origami models and random stacks of origami paper. One such stack is of 1"x1" paper, all 400 and something sheets of it barely forming a stack an inch and a half tall (about 4 cm for the metric world) on top of which sits a tiny star ball (one of Tomoko Fuse’s designs—for those who do origami). Contained within this stack are 7 different colors.

The other night, just for banalities sake (I was bored mindless), I took the stack down and flipped through each of the colors, realigned them into a different order and placing them back on the shelf, put the tiny pink star ball on top.

I thought that that was the end of it until this evening when AnhMai came over. I was working on something (much to her distaste) and being thus involved, asked her to pull a reference from the previously detailed bookshelf.

Complaining all the way, she did. (Mai is the only person, other than myself, allowed to touch the shelves. Everyone else is a no go—for good reason. There is order to my madness and Mai is the only one who has proven herself capable of understanding it).

It was when she returned, dropping the 30 lb pharmacotherapy book onto my lap a tad more forcefully than was strictly necessary and earning herself a disgruntled, "Umph!" that she scared me.

Pulling the big blue floor pillow over so that she could lie next to the computer she asked, oh so casually, "Why’d you change the papers?"

I didn’t understand at first, mumbling, "Whaa?" as I tried to separate the tissue paper thin pages of Dipiro.

"The paper, the paper," she insisted, "Why’d you change the papers?" I suppose she finally figured out I was clueless and so continued, "Under this?" She held up the star ball she had taken with her from the shelf.

"Oh, those..." I answered, shrugging, before frowning at her, "Put that back."

"Nope," she grinned at me, "I’m keeping it."

And she did.

She really scares me sometimes. :)

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