R Tramble

I had a wonderfully delicious Pfannekuchen with onions and schnittlauch (I can’t remember the name of the latter in English) at Zum Guten Glueck with my dear, dear friend Kristi today, who gave me a fabulous tip concerning my notes problem (see post below): warm up.

It’s been two weeks since I actually blended anything. By looking at my notes cold, I was trying to force my mundane world to immediately morph into my perfumery-creative world. It takes time to leave this world and enter the fantasy world, the world where I composed the notes I attempted to read.

Patience, grasshopper.

If you have a habit of going into a trance like state while you’re composing a perfume, GO BACK TO THE NOTES YOU WRITE DURING THAT TRANCE-LIKE STATE THE DAY AFTER AT THE LATEST AND TRANSLATE THEM INTO PROPER, NON-TRANCE ENGLISH SO YOU’LL BE ABLE TO READ WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!!!

ARRRRGHHHHHHH!!!

Sorry for the caps. I’m slightly perturbed at myself right now.

Emma was right. The-scent-formerly-named-Zurich is begging to be unleashed, as a pure perfume. Not an eau de toilette, not a cologne, not an eau de parfum.

A perfume.

A full on, hot, raunchy, Saturday-night-racetrack-Sunday-morning-church-pew perfume

I took the top off of her today, waking her after a month-long nap.

She yawned, extended her arms in a full stretch of cedar, then sank back down on a pillow of vanilla.

She needs an umph.

A kick.

She needs more. So I will give her more – thirty percent more.

Maybe this will tempt her out of her slumber.

And she will be called Dear.

I’ll explain. I promise.