Material Girl

I have been poor, seriously poor.    Not, I'm sad to say, as poor as my daughter is, but very poor for a person who had a college degree and always had a job and didn't use drugs.    I lived in my car for a year after my father died, I faced fear and hunger and cold, and I carried the lessons of those years when I was back on firm footing.    I was frugal, I reused and did without, I knew that Things were not the answer to happiness, but that a thick pair of socks and a pot of hot soup could make all the difference.     Being dry and warm was a luxury I treasured.   As time went by I could have afforded more because I had a decent job, but I had no sense of need, and much of my money went to support my daughter and others who were less able to fend for themselves.

And now I have no job.   And, truly, I have no needs.    But it is now that suddenly, without explanation, I have decided to want and want and want.     My own self-discipline has, in the past, gotten me through these episodes of yearning.    But this time, for no reason I can see, self-discipline is out the window and my sister has convinced me that I need to take a different path because, she reminds me often, Daylight is Burning.

And so I've bought a car, even though my 1997 vehicle with 240,000 miles was still running.   And I'm planning a trip to Florida.   And I'm thinking about another trip to Alaska.    And I am obsessing over an iPod touch.    My sister says I need it,  I like the idea of not having to pack and protect my laptop when I'm going places, and I like the idea of going places while I still can.    Because of what I know, and who I am, and the income I am living on,  I am trying to do what I consider the Right Thing, and I am trying not to buy that iPod.  But today I am not trying very hard.