My brother informed me quite seriously tonight that I really need to update my blog. As if it hadn't only been a day since I'd posted. As if all of you don't absolutely need to read about me sweating over and over again, just to really let it sink in.
So here I am, updating. And eating saltines. In bed. Which is a double edged sword because I love the taste of saltines so much what with the saltiness on one side and bland, crunchy perfection on the other; but I do not love the feeling of tiny little crumbs burrowing into my skin as I pantomime wrestling alligators all through the night. And try as I might to sweep them away, they are pretty persistent at hiding in the folds of the sheets just like I am pretty persistent at eating the crackers that make them in the first place. So we--the crumbs and I--remain at a standstill. But all crumbs aside, today I found myself at the big mall near my house. Twice. And no, it's not like this is a regular occurrence for me. And it's not like I love malls.
I will say this, though: they make me feel strong.
Yes, that's right, spending time in the mall makes me feel like a strong woman. See, I can walk through one, thoroughly enjoying myself by window shopping, testing make-up, even trying on clothes, and not buy a thing. I think I have a pretty good resolve when it comes to refraining from the retail push. I don't know, maybe I am just comparing myself to some who seem to have the ability to walk into Barney's and walk out 30 minutes later one whole week's worth of per diem poorer (not that any of my wonderful friends do this, mind you--I've simply...heard of it...).
Or maybe I just have a mortgage. That. Must. Be. Paid. And this is an altogether pressing event, more pressing, even, than the awesome pair of vintage distressed denim overall jeans that my friends assure me would look so cute for my next show.
They would.
But not nearly as cute as our house remaining ours.
I also get all excited in a mall. Like I'm on a mission to find the very best deal ever. And nothing else will do. So I find the shorts for $15 that used to be much much more and I lay my visa down, happy to introduce this new piece to the rest of my closet back home.
And happy to still be able to pay my mortgage.
So there you go, that is why malls make me feel strong. But if I spend too much time in one, they make me feel a little spent in my soul and in need of a great piece of natural beauty to remind me that there is more to life than a lot of capitalism being shoved my way; that there is more that I need that I cannot see and what is under the glare of fluorescent lights and tagged with a dollar sign is not as necessary as I would sometimes like to think.
Which is why I don't need to go to a mall for a good long while, I think.
