Two avocados, three cans of crushed canned tomatoes, and a down comforter biding it's time at a dry cleaners down the street that I can't afford to pick up:
I introduce you to to my kitchen and the general state of affairs over here.
Perhaps I should not send my goods to a dry cleaner?
Many times my dog has pissed on a comforter and many times I have tried to handle these incidents in an economical way.
The last time I tried this, my washing machine broke and I thought soaking the comforter in my bathtub would make sense, until I discovered that pulling a liquid-soaked comforter from the tub and depositing it into a dryer was the equivalent of pulling a small dead body from my tub and depositing it into the dryer, and these things just don't work and it's embarrassing to call anyone for help unless it's the guy living five floors down that has a crush on you and ends up marrying you.
So, to recap, I only send my shit to the dry cleaner to save the condo complex from flooding and have not yet picked up said comforter because I can't quite pay for it yet, not because I am a diva.
When I become a diva, trust me, I will not be wasting those power-plays on an IKEA comforter.
I nearly ran away from home in my late teens. I had dropped out of college, after entering college early. Either way, it was all too soon for me.
I did NOT end up running away, thanks to a girlfriend, her sewing scissors, a small quilt, and a story for another time. Instead, I cut all the hair from my head and made a vow to paint more, paint better, paint harder.
Many years of my mothers tear's began the next morning when she woke to my chopped head and sent me off to a salon where I sat defiantly under shears and judgement.
So, fifteen years later, to find myself bent over the sink while my husband shaves the left side of my head as we discuss our taxes and sensitive toothpaste takes a little edge off the present banal.
I never thought I'd be in such a safe place.
All of it is boring, this adult bullshit.
We vacillate between comfort and breathing heavily in small spaces. Often that small space is our own space we pay too much rent for.
I paint full time but it hangs by a small string and I will probably head back to a part time job in a moments notice.
I'm pretty sure that moments notice is sleeping in the unopened cereal box behind the opened cereal box I am plowing through every morning.
......which brings us back to a couple avocados and a stockpile of potential spaghetti sauce.
For those of us tired, waking to empty Keurig filters, cursing the peanut butter jar, late for work, reaching for more:
I thought I'd be able to buy that really really good food for my dogs by now and I can't, so I hear you.
Perhaps the greatest discipline is to keep the discipline.
I'll do it, if you do it.