The present is bringing me no inspiration at this moment - at least not of the kind which will result in anything worth reading. So please indulge me as my mind wanders.
Am back at work. Am on an organic food kick. Just bought my first piece of Pottery Barn furniture ever: An armoire for my bedroom, in order to hide the illicit love affair I am having with my television and new DVR. Exposure of electronics in the bedroom apparently flouts the conventions of feng shui and throws off one's chi or chakras, or something like that. Sounds dirty. Or maybe it doesn't sound dirty enough. Food for thought for another day.
Feng Shui? Chi? Chakras? Organic? Pottery Barn? Yes, I have just used all of those phrases in a sentence - twice, apparently. It is not that I have become an overnight believer in every religion and remotely defined school of thought (I do successfully pass a Scientology Center every day on my way to work and I have yet to feel tempted to walk in and take the free personality test - which by the way, what other answer to that test can there be but 'You are cray-zee!' - so there is that small victory), I just figure I can't discount anything, as I can use all the help I can get. However, lately, there is one devotional sect to which I think I have become a follower against my better judgment, and I am not sure I will be able to extricate myself. Indeed, I was perfectly happy to worship at the feet of the gods of haute couture and paparazzi-elan, but, apparently, I have abandoned that tried and true religion, and instead sold my soul to the domestic-yuppie devil for a couple of pieces of distressed-chic bedroom pieces, a leaning desk/shelf unit, and some pastel leather couches (they look better than they sound, or so I tell myself).
The horror.
I have in all of this discovered, however, exactly what the impetus is that seems to drive everyone in the world - but me - to join themselves together in holy matrimony - euphemistically, we could call it the "registry", more realistically we could call it "flatware and other necessary household items", however, more precisely we would call it "free shit from Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, Resotration Hardware and any other places you would never in your right mind shop for yourself because they sell things like 'wall sconces' that you see and think you have to have, but upon purchasing wouldn't have the faintest idea what to do with it."
Independent woman that I am, I have wandered into these stores, one after the other, bound and determined not to let them get the better of me. I am strong, I tell myself. I will buy what I feel like buying, my knees shaking. I will buy only what I need, my inner voice quivers. I will not succumb to some outlandish desire for a valance or a cheese tray shaped like a giant mouse trap, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead.
Oh, but how the mighty have fallen....
It is true. I admit it. I lust in my heart for silky leather club chairs, italian stitched frette sheets, Riedel wine glasses, leather wrapped desk chairs, glass topped dining tables, bamboo place settings.
It is so wrong, but it feels so right.
So many colors, so many shams, so many coordinated scented candles - so little time...
But even my lust has its limits, as in this case, it is inextricably linked to the parameters set in stone by my bank account. And so, I have become even more of "that girl" - not the "come see my new furniture" girl, but the "oh look at what I just found in my tattered, dog eared catalogue" girl.
It is quite sad really.
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