I found this little rhyme I did many years ago:
Hell’s Entry Hall
must be a shopping mall.
Vendors try to take from me
my most precious commodities!–
money and time,
while I wander
like a listless lab rat fed too much soda
in an IQ measuring labyrinth ,
the piped -in Christmas music-like sounds of singing slot machines of Vegas quickening my pulse,
urging me to hurry, hurry “ save 50%”
of nothing I would want to buy.
Is there an exit, not blocked with perfume-spraying trolls?
Kudos to those with mall- mastery.
It is above my pay grade, and brings only misery.
If I wake up after death, strolling in a mall,
it means God had no faith in my choices at all.
I don’t feel this way because I’m virtuous, but because I am completely tasteless.
Right now, I am wearing super low- rise jeans that were in style two years ago. Because of weight loss, they fall in the wrong place and look like the SNL sketch about the repairman unknowingly displaying his butt crack. All that is missing is the tool belt. I don’t care.
I still have sweaters from my college days, which were an official eon ago. I once had an employee tell me I looked like a homeless person, and take me shopping, because to be seen with me embarrassed her. I don’t care.
I will probably always be a little out of date, or as I prefer to call it “ classic”, because the time I don’t spend looking for ways to spend money is time I can spend, writing, creating or making music or spending time with those who do.
Someone said that wealth is discretionary time. To me this is true .It is also freedom. It’s freedom to do what I love to do, measured in minutes hours or days. It’s not how much I can buy or even how much I can buy on sale. I save money in other ways: I tend not to spend it at all. Christmas is the exception and the Wild Card. It is fun shopping for other people, but I’m not going to take out another mortgage on my house on the 50 percent chance the gift I buy is what they really, really want.
For me, biology creates destiny: I am a woman born without the shopping gene. My mom and grandmother were born without it too. Childhood shopping trips usually resulted in tears all around.
Hey, Mall Mastery is an adventure and a challenge. I prefer walking a different type of tightrope– the life of the artist– gathering my creations, going through the painful process of self- editing, assimilating them in some semblance of order or perfect disorder, and standing there naked, daring someone to react. That means, if I do get paid, it is rarely and not much.
The less I buy, the more time I have to engage in this process, and the less pressure I have to put on myself to be a product instead of producing one. I still do, but not as much. So, if you see me on occasion wearing my clothes backwards, kindly tell me:)