Stuff I am not sorry I bought.

Lately, I have been going through (endlessly, forever) my belongings to give things away. I have too much stuff. I know it. And it's hard not to keep getting stuff, because: they keep making new stuff! That I want!

Sigh.

Occasionally, I make a solemn vow--a solemn, fleeting vow--that I will not buy anything new for [x] amount of time. This really only works if you are in a coma. Because there is evidence of new stuff all around you! Do you watch television? read a newspaper? look at the internet? Basically all vehicles for new-stuff-info, which seeps into your brain like a vapor until you want it! you want all the stuff!

Alas and alack.

There are, however, some kind of expensive things I've bought that I do not regret. In fact, I'm glad I bought these things, for they have improved and enlarged my life.

For instance: these shoes are possibly the most wonderful shoes I have ever had. Are they plain looking? Sensible? Comfortable? Yes, all these cozy adjectives and more. I tromped through fields and valleys in them in Scotland and the north of England. They make me feel like a timeless English gentleman. Or perhaps an early 20th century suffragette. Either way, these shoes are like time travel, globetrotting, big-idea-mongering, and badassery all rolled up in an American-made shoe. They are worth every penny I paid for them and more.

This perfume I first smelled in a museum store in L.A., that's how fancy its provenance is. The store way almost about to close, but I gathered my courage to ask the very hip, slightly haughty counterperson to bring it out so I could put it on my wrist. It's part of a series of incense-based scents made by the madly avant-garde Comme des Garcons fashion house. All the way back to our hotel, I sniffed my wrist. I smelled like the entire history of the Catholic church, like a grand cathedral after mass. I smelled like the French pope. I smelled like a hierarchy. Not all of those things are necessarily good things. But I liked how it didn't smell friendly: it smelled mysterious and a little bit forbidding. At that point in my life, I kind of needed something that was mysterious and forbidding. It was like a secret weapon. On days when I knew I needed a little bit of backup, I wore this scent. I still wear it to this day. And it was worth every penny I paid for it.

The summer, whoa.

Well, the summer is just about done for, and with it all spontaneity and joy. Am I wrong? The people, am I wrong?

Okay, possibly exaggerating. I am probably going to take up a side career as a professional whiner-for-hire--if you need any whinging done, you know who to call! I am, as usual, flagellating myself for all the things I did not do that I meant to do, planned to do, might still do in the 32 hours I have left before the Official School Meetings begin.

What to do in the meanwhile? spend quality time with my laptop and produce a meaningful syllabus update? prepare a core list of classical rhetorical devices, and while I'm at it, a key to useful editorial markings? write a manifesto? rearrange my books and give my belongings to the poor? bake a cake? reacquaint myself with my abdominal muscles? draft documents for various and sundry? edit two little videos? add more to my new video project "seethe"?

Or what.

Rather than prioritize this list, I believe I will finish an intermittently interesting novel set in Rome, with police and carabinieri and whatnot. And also take Bruiser for a late night walk. And possibly eat one more cookie.

The end.

Earth Day Challenge: Day 1.

Wellllllll, I am taking baby steps, I confess, but I have started this challenge by putting my reusable grocery bags in the car, along with a fold-up-able one in my purse. It's rather shameful that I have had these bags for years--yes, YEARS--and I still manage to come home from every shopping excursion with plastic or paper bags. (In my own defense, I do always take them to the farmer's market in the summer time.)

No more. That's if I can remember to take them into the store. But having them in the car is half the battle, no?

As a side note, after writing a poem in which I imagined making tea this summer, then drinking the tea on the steps in my backyard, while still in my nightie, I decided I needed a new nightie. So I looked today--looked and looked, but the nightie of my vision was not to be found. That meant I had no chance to whip out my fold-up-able reusable shopping bag and carry the nightie home, Earth Day style. Another day.