GRAND BLANC, MI-

Lately, I feel like a Student Mover with “Sisyphus” on my label, only I’m not rolling a rock up a mountain but building a mountain…for Student Movers. What shit I buy when bored; only my taste in books bears well the poor judgment of my shopping sprees. A few of the DVDs reveal true mental disturbances: Candide, the Musical? I’ve never even opened it. And then there’s the appliances, like the juicer; it juices, all right: me. It’s a tube-free enema.

But I’m not so much feeling a semi-Christian sense of shame over my “consumerism.” I’ve yet to meet an anti-consumerist without an outrageously-sized collection of some kind. No, it’s more the realization of the landfill within myself, my pigeon-like brain cells swooping and swooning, hungry for anything, preferably cardboard and plastic. What makes them so hungry?

Luckily, my personal EPA is back in business and just sued for cleanup. What hasn’t been boxed is going to charity; I’ve no access to my media. Honestly, the lack of choice is a relief. Why must I have so many choices? How much music can I really listen to in a day? If I played every CD I own once per week, I’d never hear them all. I’d certainly never hear anything new in the music. Scarcity is the mother of new perceptions.

Even scanning my books, I realize I must look at them to remember I’ve read a good portion of the titles. How much did I really learn from a book I’ve forgotten I’ve read unless I glance its presence on a shelf? Often, I multi-read; you know, three titles at once and failing to enjoy any of them because it’s about as easy to maintain as a triple affair in which you’re married to none of the three, and none of the three wants to marry you, and yet that doesn’t prevent the sense of obligation you feel even as you ignore your conscience.

When I finally reach Florida from Michigan — if, that is, my nicely-fueled jet from Detroit doesn’t have its flight interrupted by the Sears Tower (don’t take that site’s advice!)– I’m changing my ways. I tell myself, “I’m going the minimalist route this time, with my own twist.” But I’ve tried that before. My designs never look barren on purpose; rather, they look like this. Once a bachelor, always a bachelor, as any wife will attest.

And so, new products will accumulate. How refreshing to know that I can at least support a more subtle form of slavery — I mean, the new flat earth — and save money? Still, I do intend to practice self-discipline. That means no more “time-saving” devices. Whenever I have the thought, “Maybe I can use this,” I’m going to put the item down and tell myself the truth: “I will never, ever use this.”

One last confession: I’m a mail junky. I simply enjoy receiving and opening boxes. So, I suggest someone start a service for those like myself who depend upon mail carriers for uplifting daily surprises: boxes filled with letters from soldiers, risking their lives for oil we can’t even manage to exploit in a war with plenty of blood but no treasure (not even enough for a trip to a bankruptcy attorney who can no longer obtain bankruptcy protection, thanks to Citibank Congress). We can write back, even send packages of our own. I, for one, might mail a copy of Waiting for Godot, which, in my interpretation, means waiting for one person to develop a cancerous polyp and the other to experience an exploding artery.

Of course, I will then require a large-screen television, for I will live far from Washington, D.C. and simply must enjoy the funerals as if present. Since we must consume ourselves to death in order to “maintain the economy,” let’s do so at the pleasure of others’ beating us to the finish line. Sooner or later, we, too, shall be consumed like corpses in the Walmart of nature’s earth. Above, the vultures will circle, hungry for the candy wrappers of debt we left our offspring in the parking lots of our lives.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 23rd, 2007 at 1:08 am and is filed under Addiction, Money, Moving. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.