Krissie: Seriously Relieved

This is a seriously happy woman. Hey, come on, you know my politics. It’s okay if you’ve got different ones, and this isn’t a political blog. There are much better places for those kind of arguments. Just count me as profoundly thankful and relieved.
But on to problems again. My magpie problems. Combined with my absolute inability to buy anything. I am filled with lust over things that Jenny is letting go of. There’s a white cabinet I would kill for. (She may end up taking it). Ditto a sideboard she gave to Lani. Outdoor furniture which we can have if we come get it.
Well, you know, that doesn’t seem so bad in retrospect. She had discarded kitchen cabinets that we could retool for our kitchen revamp, she has the world’s best washer and dryer that she’s leaving behind (though Lani and Alastair could probably use those). I see and I lust.
Anything that can get to NJ in the big truck can get home to me. I’ve scoped out Christmas presents, I’ve been brutal, and when it comes to fabric I’m driven with lust.
But I have to control myself. I’m an impoverished Taurus who loves Things. I intend to toss all sorts of stuff when I get home.
I don’t know what it is about things, but it’s not just me. They make me happy, they fire my imagination, nothing’s coming in without other stuff going out. Since this is a recycled Christmas this year I’ve got great shoes for Kate and a book of Fillmore posters for Tim and a vintage Hawaiian dress for Erin. Such good stuff.
Stuff. And yet part of me longs for a zen-like simplicity. I watch Niecy and Clean House to give myself a wake up call. It’s just part of me loves pretty.
Gotta come to terms with it. My lust for things embarrasses me. I feel like a scavenger, a vulture looming over Jenny’s magic “stuff.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get over my passion for stuff. Mini-me doesn’t have it, and I ended up no wanting most of my mother’s and sister’s obsessive collection of stuff.
But pretty things make me happy,and this is shopping without money.
Down girl. Let go of all this stuff.
I need a plan to divest myself of my stuff and divest myself of my longing for stuff. It fills the cavewoman part of me looking for supplies. It feels the empty place where there was no mother and now there’s no one for comfort. But damn, there’s stuff.
I think I’ll look at Ikea for an alternative to the white cabinet I long for so desperately, plus replacement kitchen cabinets.
And when I get back home I’ll nest. And talk to my therapist about my passion for stuff.
It’s a wicked thing. That’s the cabinet I’m lusting over. But you know, I can find one. I can find something that will work just as well at Ikea, which I will force Jenny to drive to when I come back down in December.
I’m also fond of the weeping angel, which scares the shit out of Sweetness and Light since they saw the Dr. Who episodes.
And this is the backyard she’s giving up:

Jenny: Re-Habbing for Re-Fabbing

Last year, in an attempt to re-hab my life, I bought a cottage in New Jersey.   It had sat empty for a couple of years, and there had been an undiscovered leak in the basement that had allowed mold to grow all over the basement, the electricity would short out if you plugged in two things at once anywhere in the house, and the pipes were all galvanized and disintegrating  . . .

But I loved it.   Loved it when I saw the picture on the internet, loved it when I visited it for the first time, loved it when I went back a second time with Krissie.  “Talk me out of this,” I told her before we went in, and then when we were leaving, I said, “So I shouldn’t buy it, right?” Continue reading