Retail Therapy

I have a common ailment: when I'm cranky or depressed, I go shopping. When I'm having a down day-- or more likely, week-- there's nothing like a new blouse or pair of shoes to cheer me up and give me that fresh outlook on life. It's true that lately I haven't felt able to indulge in my favorite type of therapy (or any other type), so it's not surprising that my irritability has been worse than usual. Building. Growing out of control, in fact. It's doubly depressing to be both depressed and unable to afford an antidote.

Let's just say that I lost my head this week. I was feeling confident, pumped up, and on top of the world a couple weeks ago. I was so gung-ho about my job and developing my career, I couldn't wait to get out of the gate. Then there was the whole "you're not ready for prime-time" chat, with its revelations that failure is inevitable. I fell flat on my face and haven't managed to get up yet. I've lost interest in my job again, and I just can't afford to do that. Somehow I've got to manage to fake it, especially for the next little while until my "troublemaker" brand fades a bit. But I can't seem to pull out of it.

I've been good for so long, not even replacing the packet of jewelry that got stolen in Vegas last fall. (Now that my foot is mangled and my body's lost its proper shape, jewelry was all I had left.) I've been so good, denying myself at every turn. But this weekend, I decided I'd had it. My boys run around singing Broadway show tunes and "Puttin' on the Ritz" all day. They're so talented and so interested. And besides, dammit, I wanted a piano!

So I bought one. Ahhhh... that feels better.