We’re due to get our first frost this evening. You would think that after a lifetime of living in places far north, I would be used to this, but I am not. It is cold. I am cold. I have an electric blanket cranked up to high, a down comforter, a regular comforter and a quilt on my bed, and I am still not warm. I would add more blankets, but then the weight crushes me to the point I can’t roll over in bed and I wake up all panicked. After about August 30, I just accept that I will not be warm again until June.
Contrast this to Chung. The man grew up in the tropics, and has a better time in this weather that I do. He positively radiates heat. The man seems to believe in a sheet and, maybe, in the dead of January, a cursory effort at something that might be called a blanket. You see the problem here.
We have The Blanket Fight. This is one of our greatest hit arguments, those fights you have again and again, just because the two of you are irreconcilable.* I’m sure we could come to an agreement, except that Chung wakes my up halfway through the night to steal way my lovely burrito of blankets because it has just occurred to him that it is, in fact, very cold. You see the problem here. I retaliate by stuffing my freezing hands up his shirt to warm them. Sometimes he runs away. So I have to chase him down. Yes, I really am that mature.
*Greatest hits around here: “You are in America, stop spelling like the Queen;” “Chocolate Is Not A Breakfast Food, Meg;” and the perennial, “Stop Dogearing Library/My/My Friend’s/Our Books.”
I am considering a shopping ban. No new clothes, no new books, no restaurant/takeout food for a year. Well, mostly. Why? Well, it’s not that I have a shopping addiction, per se. Our finances are in good shape, we are always able to pay the bills, and my husband and I enjoy a comparatively luxurious 50% savings rate and have my small student loan as our only debt. But I am finding that too much of my life is revolving around what to buy next and around shopping and consumerism in general. This seems foolish at best, emotionally unhealthy at worst.
I have more clothes than I can ever wear. I have a thousand books in my bedroom, mostly unread. Sure, they were bought used, and many acquired for free, and I read a ton, but do I need to buy more, when they are all sitting there in wait? I have a half dozen pairs of comfortable and flattering shoes. I have two wool winter coats. There
is nothing I need, and the constant pursuit of new stuff is starting to make me anxious and, honestly, a not very pleasant person. No matter how high I raise my personal spending money budget, it never seems to be enough, and I want to get my desires under control, or my wants will always grow with our income, leaving us in the
work-spend-work hamster wheel.
How, then, to begin? I’m planning to set January 1 as my starting date, allowing me to purchase holiday presents and spend any received gift cards before the ban goes into effect. A blanket ban, given my lifestyle and our current stage in life is impractical and would be counterproductive. There definitely need to be some exceptions, and I would like to keep my own self help lunacy from impinging too much on my ever-tolerant husband. This requires more thought.
My favorite super forgiving knit skirt? I managed to get a giant splotch of white paint on the seat of it at work today. A+ win, given that it’s just my favorite skirt ever. I’m trying to figure out how to salvage the garment. How do I get paint out of a garment?
ETA: Rubbing alcohol is amazing.
It has come to my attention that I have put on some weight. How much? I don’t know. But enough that the only skirts I’m wearing any more are my completely forgiving knit skirts. The other ones won’t button. This is rather worrisome.
I’ve been told that newlyweds all gain weight, but I strongly suspect that the transition from walking everywhere to sitting at a desk all day with nothing more aerobic than a dash for the bus is at the root of the problem. Since arthritis has done a number on my joints, running and any sports are right out.
It’s back to the old standby–walking. Since my old pedometer is so big that it leaves a huge bulge under clothing, I have replaced it with the world’s cutest pedometer. It looks like some kind of aluminum and glass candy. The jury is still out on whether my new toy will help me get more exercise, but it sure is shiny.
I was an annoying child. I’ve gotten better over the years, but I’m still an annoying adult.
See, I’m a pedant. If a picture is hung crooked, a historical detail off in a novel or a word usage every so slightly wrong, it will bug me so much that I have to say something.
So this morning, upon reading that Precursor to H.I.V. Was in Monkeys for Milleniums, I really had no choice to rouse Chung, my poor husband, to explain that the New York Times, the NEW YORK TIMES, people, had used some bastardized Anglicized plural for “millennium” instead of the lovely and ever correct neuter plural “millennia.” And in a headline, no less! You understand that a matter of this importance could not possibly wait until the man was awake.
He gave me a dirty look at went back to sleep. Sometimes, I’m not really sure why he puts up with me.
Once upon a time, I had this quaint notion that somewhere in between graduating college, getting married and getting a Real Job, I would stop doing things like using my bedroom floor as a dresser, eating cookies for breakfast and trying to dodge social engagements. Instead, I would wear matching socks every day, carry on intelligent conversations about Real Issues and generally behave like a Real Adult.
But somehow, this is my reality.