All Out of Beige

I love the simplicity in poverty, the “well fuck it what are you going to do” of it. It’s an incredible relief. And I see things I didn’t see before. I have the time. I have the room.

Take the cupboards for example. Now that they’re not overflowing with various unhealthy snacking items I can see that they are filthy inside. DISGUSTING. I had no idea. To be fair, who thinks “I wonder if anyone I live with has spilled chocolate milk in the cupboard? I should check”  Super Mom, probably does. That fuckin’ bitch.  Also…. One of the times I was getting some dew and there were not four kinds of juice and piles of produce in the refrigerator I had the thought “maybe the glass in there ISN’T frosted.”

SO I’ve been getting some long put off cleaning done. *pats back* And the kids and I have been doing some interesting projects. Usually I just open some paint or toss a new pile of play dough at them but we’re out of that stuff so we had to get creative. Isabelle made some amazing oatmeal container stilts. Thatcher prefers newspaper hats and airplanes.

Other than the increased pressure to drop my nicotine habit I pretty much like poverty. And it likes me.

I need to sell my car. Actually it’s better than that. I HAVE to sell my car. It’s the vehicle he owns that’s actually worth more than he owes.  His idea was to sell the automobile that he drives just to eliminate the payments. But…… He said the words… he said “you were right”  he said “the Honda is better.” he said “ it was a smarter choice.”   Sure it’s too fucking late-it still rings the bell.  So I said let’s sell it. We can pay off bills with the surplus AND eliminate a payment AND cut another rope that’s been around my neck.

Win, win, win. 

I’m excited about not being able to do all this, this life, the way I’m supposed to. I’m thrilled about it even. It’s like showing up at the paint store and they’re all out of beige. Nothing can be done, they‘re all out. Can‘t be helped. Might as well get a rainbow of colors and start throwing that at the walls and see what happens.  *life force flicker*

Either that’s healthy tinged with the tiniest bit of fresh from the pen crazy OR it’s my internal combustion downward spiral machine grabbing an ankle. But it doesn’t matter; like I said it’s not like I CAN do it the way I’m supposed to anymore. We’re out of beige.

August 14, 2009