Mrs. Bed

I love my bed more than is natural. Have you ever heard about people who fall in love with inanimate objects? I saw a video once about a man in Japan who fell in love with a doll. He’d dress her up, take her out to dinner, and order her a drink. He pushed her around in a wheel chair and dressed her appropriately for the weather. She was a true companion for him, and he clearly loved her enough to withstand sidelong glances and snickers from passersby.

There are people who take it further than that, though, people who fall in love with their refrigerator or their garage door opener. “Objectum-sexuality “is the term which refers to intense feelings of love, emotional attachment, and sometimes sexual attraction to things. In 1979, a Swedish woman married the Berlin Wall. In 2006, a woman named Erika Eiffel married… can you guess? (Last name is a big hint.) You are actually free to marry whomever or whatever you want to marry. Will the state recognize it as a legal marriage? Sorry. You can’t marry your lawnmower and have your accountant complete your taxes as “married, filing jointly.”

My bed and I are not getting married. We’re still just dating, but we are definitely sleeping together.

I think I got off on a tangent there…

What I really meant to say is that I love to sleep. I particularly love to sleep in my bed. It’s so comfortable, and the blankets are just the right thickness, and the 25-year old sheets are super soft. I recognize that it doesn’t actually speak words, but it surely calls to me. It’s worse in the morning, right after I slap the snooze button on the alarm clock. (I have absolutely NO romantic feelings about my alarm clock.)

“Come back to me…….”

I have a really nice bullet journal. Someday I’ll write about that, but not today. Part of the bullet journal is a habit-tracker. That may sound adolescent, but it makes me feel intensely proud to check the boxes off when I’ve completed a task. My morning routine is right there – written in ink on paper. I know that I need to get out of bed at 6am in order to leave the house by 7. I know that as well as I know my name. I just can’t. I’ve never been able to. It’s a lifelong struggle.

I bargain with myself. Maybe if I don’t shave my legs, I can save 4 minutes. If I buy lunch in the cafeteria, it’ll cost me $11, but I can save 3 minutes packing. I’ll scoop the kitty litter the moment I walk in the door after work. There’s another 2 minutes. Before you know it, I’ve convinced myself that I can spare a 9-minute snooze.

Then the alarm goes off again.

I can hear the whispering, ever so gently, coaxing me.

“Come back to me…..”

…And I do it. I’m so weak. I’ll be lying there with my eyes closed thinking about what else I could possibly cut out. Makeup! That’s five minutes right there! I’ll just put it on in the car… Maybe I can be four minutes late to work. Would they really notice?

The only way to save myself is to make the bed right away. Once it’s made, it’s made. I’m certainly not going to get back in it at that point. I’m crazy, but I’m no fool. It’s uncanny though, as I pull up the sheets and adjust the pillows, I could swear I hear a muffled whisper…”Come back to me…..”

Please Sign Here (I Have a Package for You)

I’m a delivery addict. I have other kinds of addictions, too, but this is the most appropriate one to blog about.

I want to blame it on Amazon Prime for making it soooo darn easy to tap my phone screen and get a “prize,” but I’m sure there are millions of Prime members who know how to control themselves. Instead, I’m going to blame it on Mr. Rogers. That sweet, kind, warm, gentle man never got overly excited by anything.

…EXCEPT when Mr. McFeeley rang the bell.

Oh my! Such a thrill when Mr. McFeeley would briskly enter the Rogers’s home with his latest speedy delivery! What did Mr. McFeeley have in his box today? A penny whistle? A turtle? Tickets to the Red Sox? (I don’t think he ever delivered Red Sox tickets, but I didn’t see every episode, so I don’t know for sure.)

Seeing those packages arrive, delivered by such an efficient and professional postal carrier really got my motor running. I wanted a speedy delivery, too.

I’ve taken to online-ordering every single thing that I don’t want to carry home from the grocery store. That includes multi-packs of Charmin, cases of sparkling water, a pack of gum, and more organizational supplies than I’ll bet you knew existed. (I really really want to be an organized person. So far, however, the organizational supplies generally sit in a corner mocking me.) The best thing to get delivered to your house, though, is kitty litter. That stuff weighs a ton. It’s a virtual miracle – practically magic — that they’ll just drop it at my door.

I’ve taken it too far, though.

Now, I’m tying my level of happiness to the package waiting on the steps. God forbid there’s nothing there. It sends me into a depressive spiral.

The other day I was on Facebook, and I came across an ad for an interactive video chat, treat dispenser, aromatherapy, game, and pet-to-parent messaging system.

PetChatz — (I added the link in case, unlike me, you don’t have to start a GoFundMe page in order to purchase these.)

I can’t honestly figure out if I want this as badly as I think I want it. I mean, really, how fun would it be to have your pets call you at work so you can dispense a treat for them? Right? I did share it with my daughters, because I love to have them revel in my total craziness.

I sent them the picture above with the caption “MUST HAVE.”

The eldest wrote back and said, “Hahahahaha.”

The youngest (and only one left living at home with me) wrote and said, “Oh my God. This is too much. But I’m sure that Mom will have an Amazon Prime box arrive within 2 business days with this in it.”

I laughed out loud at my desk. All by myself. She knows me really well.

I should end this post with some kind of lesson about “going minimalist” or “not needing things to make you happy” or “getting control of your spending before it controls you,” but I’m not ready. And, after all, the first step is admitting that you have a problem. √

5 Things I Would Do With $1,000,000 (musings on a Wednesday afternoon)

At about 3:30 every day, I start fantasizing about what I would do if I won the lottery. I’m not talking about a piddly $100 winner. I’ve won a couple of those on scratch tickets in the past. I immediately “reinvest” my winnings and, up until this point, my portfolio hasn’t done very well. I’m talking about the big money… the REAL prize… ONE MILLION DOLLARS.

It may surprise you that I’ve done the actual research on this. I went to the Massachusetts Lottery website and found that they don’t give you the million bucks outright. You can get the full million if you agree to $50K per year for 20 years. If you want the cash payout right now, you’re going to get $650,000 and owe a whooooooole bunch of tax. My very-wise stockbroker boyfriend says you’d end up with a final total of about $450,000.

That’s neither here nor there, though. I’m taking the cash and running. Sadly, it’s not enough to live off of for the rest of my life, so I’ll have to keep my job. I would love (LOVE) to grab my purse and saunter out the door, but I know better than to burn any bridges.

Immediately pay a massage therapist to just follow me around for a year. Whenever I have a little twinge in my shoulder or neck, I’m going to just point. He’ll be right there and he’ll be ON IT. (He will also be fabulously good-looking. Probably best if he’s gay, to make the aforementioned boyfriend happier.) I’m figuring this will set me back $70K. $380K remaining.
I’m headed to the American Legion Post 21 in Concord, NH. I’m going to plop down $5,000, which will be enough money to buy everyone in the place drinks for a month. $375K remaining.
Here’s one that’s just practical, but I can’t ignore it. I’m going to put some money down on a house so I can QUIT throwing money at landlords. It’s not going to be extravagant, but it’s going to be near a beach… close enough to hear the ocean. A condo will be fine, so I can up and go on vacation, and someone else will shovel the driveway. I don’t need to pay for the whole kit and kaboodle; I’ll just put $95K down. $280K remaining.
“Kids, get your passports! We’re going to Paris!” I did a study abroad in Paris in 1987, and I had no money. Thank goodness for crepe stands, or I wouldn’t have eaten dinner very often. Walking up the Champs Elysee, I would linger in front of the beautiful people at the beautiful boutiques or the beautiful cafes and imagine what it would be like to come back WITH CASH. We’re totally doing it. 10 days. Pack your bags. I’m not holding back on this trip… I’m guessing $60K to do it right. $220K remaining.
I know you’re hoping I’ll say something charitable here… I WANT to say something charitable… There are so many worthy charities out there like this and this and this!! I just…well… it’s not part of the fantasy. Please understand and don’t judge me. I’m throwing one hell of an outstanding, amazing, phenomenal, 3-day party at a spectacular beach venue with a fantastic band and fabulous food. We’re going to party late into the evening (at age 52, I’m talking at LEAST 10pm), get up, and do it all over again… twice. I figure another $200K for that…which leaves $20-stinking-K remaining, which I will invest with my stockbroker boyfriend and hope that he can magically rebuild it to $1,000,000 — quickly!!

Listen to “If I Had $1,000,000” by Barenaked Ladies here