Poor Little Rich Girl

I have made a dilemma for myself.

A couple of months ago I made my yearly donation to Michigan Radio, and for the first time in the history of me giving them money, I indulged my compulsion to check the "I want a complimentary gift" box and picked out a tote bag (because when one is a teacher, one can never have too many tote bags). It finally came in the mail last week, and today was the first day that I got to use it. I was ferrying things from my car to my apartment after school, and while making my way up the front walk, school bag slung over my shoulder and "Michigan Public Radio" canvas tote in hand, I was unexpectedly struck by a feeling of sheepishness and slight shame (unexpected sneak-up feelings are apparently a Thing this month - see "betrayed by bread" post below...).

I suddenly wanted to disassociate myself from that tote bag as quickly as possible, not because advertising the logo of my favorite radio station made me in any way self-conscious, but because it dawned on me how much that bag is a symbol of my greed. Here I had essayed to commit a charitable and altruistic act by giving money to a non-profit organization, and yet, at the same time, I had selfishly taken advantage of an offer that cost that same organization money. My full pledge amount was decreased by the price of the gift that I demanded; resources were taken away from some other, far worthier project for what? So that I could add another bag to my collection? It's kind of disgusting. I hurried inside with my bag of shame.

But as I started to unload it, the real crux of my predicament came to me. From now on, whenever I use that bag, I will feel guilty for ordering it AND, rational or not, I will imagine that others who see me using it are judging me for following the letter of the fundraiser but clearly missing the spirit; yet if I stow it away in a dark and dusty corner of my closet, I'll feel even worse for ordering the stupid thing and then not using it. I guess this will be my penance then. Every time I use that bag (and this will be often, because I seem to have a lot of stuff that seems to need moving around quite often), I will be reminded that I couldn't muster up the chutzpah to give an unconditional gift and I will remember that my soul still has a lot of growing to do.

Today I came home craving, more than chocolate or salsa which is a big deal if you know me, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I just bought new peanut butter last week, and eating fresh peanut butter is delightful anyway, because the top is smooth and perfect, and dipping into it with your knife (or finger...who am I kidding?) is just as satisfying as popping bubble wrap, if you ask me. So I had this new jar of peanut butter to look forward to, along with delicious grape jelly and bread in my mouth all at the same time. Until. I discovered it. My bread. All of it. An entire half a loaf (today's blog is brought to you by the word "oxymoron") was green and fuzzy. And, as I sadly transferred the plastic bag of formerly-edible-bread from the bread box to the trash in an unceremonious dumping sort of way, I was surprised that more than anything else, I felt betrayed. Betrayed by my bread that was not there when I wanted it most. I mean, what's the point of being a food staple if you're going to turn on someone like that? I blame Thanksgiving, where, for a week I had food provided for me through the family dinner, the leftovers, the going out with friends, and the having time to prepare real food - there was just no time to think of sandwiches, nor room for them in my stomach. So anyway, I was betrayed. That was the point.

The other thing I wanted to mention is that the wind is whistling around the eaves while I sit here typing this, but it doesn't sound like wind, it sounds exactly like pigeons cooing. And when I get too absorbed in typing and forget where and when I am for a moment, I hear it and wonder at the birds sitting outside my window. This has happened at least three times in the last fifteen minutes or so. So there's that too.

This whole post has been written in the dark, since I really only stopped by the computer to check tomorrow's weather report before bed, but I can never just 'stop by' the computer. So now I'm sitting, but I never managed to make it to the light switch, so it's still dark, and I'm realizing that there are certain computer keys that I still don't know automatically, like the question mark key. I must glance down to find it unconsciously, because I didn't realize this was an issue until it took me four tries to find it by touch back up there when I was talking about bread.

I think it's important to be aware of these things that we usually do unconsciously whenever we can be. Noticing things in general is useful, and much easier for me to do again now that my semester of grad school has ended and I have time to do things like think and breath and write for fun. My next post should be about my recently developed, new-and-improved 5 year plan. But saying it out loud might jinx it. How does academia look upon people who are ardently superstitious? I hope the answer is "favorably."