As partly evidenced by some of my recent posts, I have lately been in a spending frenzy—clothing, books, DVDs, electronics, random stuff from Ben’s Bargains. A little deficit spending is not that much to worry about, but lately I make the American government seem thrifty by comparison.
The elation upon seeing brown cardboard boxes waiting for me on my doorstep is addictive. I feel a bit of a rush as I slash through the packaging tape, greedily tearing past the bubble wrap, revealing the manufactured goodness inside. As always, though, the rush soon subsides.
Of course, I enjoy a temporary, renewed shot of pleasure as someone notices a new outfit or as I play with one of my new toys, but the gnawing emptiness deep down remains.
A stack of credit card bills sit unopened, awaiting the barely adequate first-of-the-month replenishment of my bank account, because I don’t even want to look at them until I absolutely have to.
Ah, yes, the hollowness of consumerism…
At least I am no longer turning to food to heal my wounded soul, and thank God I was never much of an alcoholic (it’s a good thing palatable spirits are so bloody expensive).
One glimmer of hope may have completely faded away, I’m afraid. I want to blame the overwhelming confusion I felt after falling victim to this cruel joke, but I know that it was just my own damn fault and my need to find excuses for my own inertia. Time to try again.
Bleah. There’s just something about late Friday nights that fills one with melancholy.
Oh well, tomorrow I will brave the threat of the impending blizzard as I attempt once again to get my eyes zapped. The surgeons better be there this time, damn it.
Then early next week (if I can still see), I hope to return to my Sarajevo stories, after a three-week hiatus.