New Gloves By Next Sunday

I have a ton of shit to do today. Like, a suffocating, inordinate, inhuman amount…and yet, here I am at the dodgy Northside Crazy Mocha, drinking very average coffee and breaking my teeth on just-barely “fresh” biscotti. The wi-fi isn’t working (is anyone here else experiencing this problem?) and there’s a woman at the next table who’s sipping on a smoothie as though it were a baby bottle. I need to go home where I know that the wi-fi actually works, so that I can get some work done.

But instead, I’m blogging because I’ve signed up for a sewing class. (This all makes sense. Just trust me.)

I’m on a Sophie Kinsella kick. I’ve been reading all of her books voraciously. She’s like a crack habit that I can’t quit. Sophie’s books do nothing for me intellectually; her work is like chocolate—not very nutritionally sound, but GOD, I LOVE TO CONSUME IT. I don’t actually have to work when I read her stuff. She’s like a vacation from the rigor of my daily routine that I desperately need. So that leads me to WHY I need such a vacation in the first place: my daily/weekly routine is rigorous and exhausting. And yet, I press on and act like it’s normal. I mean, most people have three jobs, right? It’s entirely unremarkable to work two consecutive 14-hour days every single week with one day off (and I still work from home on those days).

Don’t misunderstand—I’m not complaining. I just don’t think it’s normal. I think I’m obsessed with money.

I impulsively signed up for a sewing class at the library. I have NO earthly clue as to how to even sew on a button, but according to the kind lady who offered this class to me, I’ll be able to sew a pair of mittens by 3:00pm next Sunday (umm, ok…). I’m actually looking forward to this because I’m about as undomestic as they come. I was also grateful that I actually have Sunday afternoons free to take a class, just because I feel like it. Why hadn’t I done something like this sooner?  And not just a sewing class, but an anything class. When hadn’t I looked in the conversational Italian or French classes, or yoga?

The answer was clear: because I’ve worked almost every day for the past decade, I’d given up a huge part of my life. I’m obsessed with making money, and that has taken precedence over absolutely everything. I cannot be without money and I hate not being able to afford the things that I want to buy. It’s so satisfying to know that I can buy that coffee every morning or those shoes that I want or that new video game system (not that I have a significant amount of time to actually enjoy these things)…I can buy them if/when I want, and I don’t have to worry about living on Ramen Noodles until my next paycheck. HOWEVER, the brief periods of unemployment that I’ve experiencing were hell on Earth because I didn’t work. I hate not working or making money. I go absolutely crazy. So maybe it’s a matter of striking a balance to treat my workaholic self. Or maybe it’s allowing myself to not have a breakdown on days that I’m not making money. I guess I don’t really know what the answer is, because perhaps the problem has not been fully defined.

But at least I’ll be rocking new gloves, that I’ve made myself, by Sunday at 3:00.

Comments

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