Last week, at the after-Christmas sales, I bought an origami day-by-day calendar to keep on my work desk. I figured that perhaps it could work as vocational therapy. Every time I feel stressed, I'll fold a paper swan. How positively delightful.
Work began again this morning, and in an effort to combat the bummer of leaving my life of leisure, I set up the calendar and practiced with the first few pages of January, now expired. January 1 had instructions for an origami sailboat. The previous day's colored page is to be used for the paper, but since January 1 had no previous page, I attempted to fold the same page that the instructions were written on.
Give me some credit; I knew it was an idiot move. Still, I attempted it.
Needless to say, the sailboat failed. I was disappointed, mainly because when I went to my parents' house over the holidays, I found a fleet of tiny sailboats folded from Starburst wrappers docked on the bathroom sink, made with apparent ease by a friend of my brother. The utter whimsy delighted me. What a clever (and delicious) task, thought I.
My calendar sailboat, however, was... lacking in whimsy. Actually, it lacked anything remotely resembling a boat.
Though failing at the January 1 origami design did not bode well for the year, I moved on. Next I made January 2's nightingale. It looked vaguely bird like, yet something was still wrong. I had flashbacks of The Scarlet Ibis. I shuddered and moved on. January 3, today, was a ladybug. The design instructions were somewhat simple, yet my ladybug still didn't quite seem right, as if he had been partially squashed by an errant skateboard.
Maybe tomorrow I'll try actually reading the instructions symbol key. I hadn't used it before because using a key seemed totally unwhimsical (also: boring). But I admit defeat and will attempt it. Otherwise, my desk seems destined to house a menagerie of wonky-legged creatures.