He Lives
Well, it’s taken me a while to beat my way past that wall. Work’s been killing me, and maybe a little touch of depression and world-weariness. I’ve really felt for the last couple of months that every second I have has a second and maybe third mortgage on it, and I’m playing a little shell game in doling them out. I’d be the Enron of time, running a little Ponzi scheme to make people think there are three of me, but I forgot the most important thing about the Enron formula - kill them with my rates. Oops.
One night last week, though, I got loose. It didn’t start out as shopping therapy. Mrs. Perils’ cell phone was starting to act up and, after I determined that she was eligible for an “upgrade” (wherein you voluntarily open your bank account to Verizon for two more years in exchange for a “free” phone upgrade that somehow ends up costing $200), I headed up to Northgate after work to make the deal.
While there, I decided that I should step over to Macy’s (the former Bon Marche and future Federated) to buy a new pair of jeans. On my last couple of plane trips, I’d become a little self-conscious about sitting in the first class cabin in jeans fashionably ripped just above the knees. “Fashionable” if one is twenty-something and the patch of thigh peeking through is an enticement rather than a harbinger of decay. Far from therapy, this exercise reinforced my depression, as the reason the old jeans had deteriorated so was that I was fastidiously avoiding clothes shopping until I’d lost a little weight. Instead, I’ve ballooned to 157 when I should be under 145. Bracketed by this pincer of dueling shames, I sucked it up and found a pair of jeans I could squeeze into, and promised them I’d reward their heroic efforts in the near term by honing myself to meet and exceed their engineering specs as spring approaches.
I don’t get out shopping much, but once I get loose in a mall, a bender might be in the offing. And there’s nothing to throw gasoline on this fire better than the proximity of a Best Buy store. The distinctive yellow sign beckoned me like a shimmering lemon jello shooter, and I was in the door. I had a couple of vague notions about things I wanted, and headed in the direction of the computer department. When I came to in the checkout line, I realized I had just signed a credit card slip for:
- 2004 Turbo Tax for Business
- 2004 Turbo Tax for Individuals
- 100 burnable cds
- a Sound Blaster Audigy 2 PS for may laptop, whose onboard sound card has had a persistent stutter which dissuades me from watching movies, playing sound files or streaming KEXP when I’m out of town
- a sweet little number keypad I can plug into my laptop, the one item, out of all the others, I’ll write about later
I guess there’s nothing HORRIBLY frivolous in that list, but one wonders, as one does after too many vodkas and the room is spinning, whether that fact (no harm done) is just a happy accident. Could there just as easily have been a plasma TV on the list?
Visiting my mother this weekend in Toledo, off to Milwaukee next week to tend to the care and feeding of auditors from Grant Thornton. Back in the blogging game, though - watch this space.
