Grounded
You know that feeling when you move around the world, meet people in new places, do crazy stuff and occasionally wake up somewhere you just need to get the fuck away from as quickly as possible? I love that lifestyle.
But every now and then, it's good to be grounded and I don't think I'm the only one who feels that way, because whenever I return to Warehouse 21 for some basic me-time, I always see a number of you there as well. We catch up. Have a chat. A flirt. A dance. Sometimes considerably more flirting than dancing. Then we move on again until, sooner or later, we find ourselves back in the same place. That’s a comforting feeling.
Okay.
Confession time.
You know me. You've seen me. You adore me. And for good reason. I'm certifiably stunning, absolutely gorgeous and verifiably beautiful. That's not the confession. Those are still facts.
The confession is that somewhere around a year and a half ago, I made it back to this world. Back to our place. I'd been gone for years. Almost everything I knew had disappeared. Almost everyone I knew was gone. So where does a girl go when she needs people to see her?
Warehouse 21, apparently.
Within the first ten minutes of walking through the door, someone spoke to me. This isn't particularly unusual at Warehouse, I know that now. But this was Carola. And Carola, in the gentlest possible way, informed me that I appeared to have raided the storage unit where I'd dumped all my belongings before disappearing years earlier. By contemporary standards, she suggested, I might perhaps benefit from a little updating.
I know. Hard to believe.
But your Doreen was not looking her best that day.
We've fixed that, obviously. I hardly need to explain this to you. By now you're probably intimately familiar with the extraordinary achievement that is my appearance.
But Warehouse is still where that began. Where I began again, really. Which is probably why I keep coming back.
And every now and then, I see someone walk through those doors with that distinctive gait. You know the one. The walk where you shuffle along like a meth addict searching the floor because someone might have dropped half a gram somewhere. Head down. Slightly sideways. Hopeful.
And I remember Carola.
So sometimes I do what she did for me.
I politely mention that the world has moved on a little while they were away and that perhaps it's time to open a few boxes, press a few buttons and discover just how ridiculously good we can look these days.
Sometimes they listen. Sometimes it turns into a conversation. Sometimes that conversation turns into a new friend.
And I rather like that.
Because a year and a half ago, someone did exactly the same thing for me.
So yes, I travel around. I meet people. I do stupid things. I wake up in places requiring immediate evacuation. And then, every now and again, I go back to Warehouse 21. Catch up. Chat. Flirt. Dance. Look around.
And remember where all of this started again.
Also, seriously.
We look so much fucking better now.
All of us.
See for yourself.
Click them for a larger resolution and save.
This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
Join the awesomeness. Leave an epic reply.
