"If it's not fun, why do it?"


Such a simple thing, sewing a button back on the item it fell off of. Simple, if you can find the button again. I know I saved it, set it aside. The question is, where did I put it?

It’s not distinctive but it’s large. It secured the epaulet of my raincoat. A raised-rimmed edge, a nondescript, faux tortoiseshell grayish-brownish body, with four holes. I set it aside one day hoping to sew it on in good time. Then time passed.

I looked in the most likely spots: near my sewing machine, in the jewelry box, and even on the end table in the living room. It could be hiding anywhere. A niggling memory taunts me, a tactile sensation of my fingers tracing the rigid rim, looking for some identification. Though I had saved it and put it aside, I couldn’t remember where the button came from–but it was important to save it for when I would remember.

So I go out in my London Fog with epaulet flapping, visible in my periphery. A semaphore signalling that things get lost in my existence, things are not perfect and sometimes stay awry. It bothers me when I think about it. I want things orderly, in neat compartments. But alas, the lost/found button compartment isn’t where it should be, where it could be, once I sort through the clutter.

In the end sometimes existence teeters on the apex of clutter, misplaced items, and broken thread. If I could find the button again, would I make time to sew it on? Would I search for the strong, thick button thread or do a fast job with what’s on hand? Or, would I push it off another day because it’s not raining today and I’m not wearing that raincoat with its semaphore epaulet flagging its not-so-secret message that I’m so lame I can’t even sew on a button?

What’s the dialogue that I’ll play in my head? Lamebrain? Procrastinator? Dummy? Why is that thought even there? What is going on? The button fell off. End of story. Yeah, I’d like it to be otherwise, but it’s not the end of the world. A floppy epaulet isn’t making me any colder and it’s not allowing more rain on my body than otherwise. So it flaps and flops and reminds me that the button is hiding somewhere in my home. At least I had the presence of mind to retrieve it and put it aside… even though I can’t find it. This time. When I remembered to look. When I had the thick button thread at the ready.

It’s simply a neutral fact that a button fell off, I put it aside but didn’t replace it yet. A button is a button is a button. Fact, not value statement.

It’ll keep.

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