Priorities

23 Jan

I forget sometimes how crappy and worthless I am on Saturday mornings.  Boo.  I woke up to Wilson Phillips “Hold On” playing in my head.  No kidding.  Then I immediately looked around for a weapon or perhaps a bottle of painkillers that I could swallow to make it go away.  I’m settling for listening to Cinderella really loudly to blast it out of my skull. Oh, the agony of Lindsay.

So today I am trying to cram everything I own into two rooms.  It has caused me to look at the objects in my life as puzzle pieces that I must make fit.  It is unnerving, to say the least.  Like when you spill open a suitcase after a trip and get a glimpse at who you really are, I am having an enlightening experience.  In this case though, I am looking at who everyone else wanted me to be.  I think everything I own (besides my incredibly large wardrobe) was a gift.  Who needs two sets of dishes and four silver salad server things?  I’m angry at the attempts to domesticate me.  I’m going to take out my rebellion on this toaster and juicer.  Death to the dusty kitchen appliance!  Tarnish and scratch to tephlon! Long live the paper plate!

A well equipped woman should have 300+ pairs of shoes with nowhere to wear them.  I’m good on that end.  Plus I need the kitchen cabinet space for clothes. I keep my make up in the linen closet, next to my arbitrary sports equipment.

“It is all about priorities, apparently.” Said some jackass at my graduation party- in the context of why it took me so long to go to school.

I say screw it.  It is unfair to expect people to change, and I will always be a little girl playing dress up with Barbie.  Except now I am the Barbie.  And I no longer have to go to bed by 9pm.  Life is far from hard- even when it is hard.  Now I’m going to put on red patent leather stilettos and alphabetize my poetry.

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