I was expressing a little frustration to my sister the other day regarding Mr. Gadget’s ideas of happiness, which seem to be centered around the accumulation of material things. He seems to be always wanting something, and it’s usually expensive. I think he’s remembering snippets of fun that he had during childhood that he’d like to resurrect and make part of his adult lifestyle. That, and overcompensating for the years of being poor. He was dirt poor when he was married before, and here I am, Sugar Mama. It seems far too easy to let the burden of responsibility fall on my shoulders. It seems like what I make is for the family, and what he makes is for himself. I want him to understand the principal of the matter, in my eyes, is that family obligations come first, before self. He’ll bring up the child support card, which is fine. He needs to support his other child. Absolutely. I think he should do more to support our child as well. It doesn’t make sense to him, somehow. Because I make bucketfuls in comparison to him, the onus should be on me I am where I am because I got an education and went to work, have worked hard and made sacrifices, my entire life. He is where he is because he didn’t. Those years drift by quickly, and if you don’t dig in and commit to change your path, nothing will change, and another decade will go by and you will not be anywhere different. It’s just the way it is.
After that long-winded vent, my sister pointed out that it’s human nature to seek one’s bliss, and he’s just very good at finding his own bliss. She told me that I should try to find my own bliss.
But I feel guilty, I said. I feel guilty buying something, because then it would seem like he should get to buy something, too, and that puts me right back to where I was, wanting him to be more focused on investing in our family rather than himself. So I feel tied down by that. I don’t want him to spend on himself, so I can’t spend on myself.
Such a fine, communicative marriage.
Guilt, she said, is all on me. Something I need to work out. He’s not doing it to me. I’m doing it to myself. So here I go. Looking for my bliss. My guilt free bliss.
I’ve reached a stage in life where I’m much less drawn to material things and the accumulation thereof. I’m wanting more to cleanse and purify. Simplify. All that said, I have to admit that I’ve just discovered bliss in 500 threadcount sheets. Goodness gracious! I’ve been missing out. They are divine! So cool and smooth to the touch. Fabulous! It was a Costco splurge, prompted in part by my recent diagnosis of dust mite allergy. I never knew I had this particular allergy, and I was quite surprised at how sensitive I am. I had a prick test on my arms and the dust mite test swelled and stayed raised for two days. Countermeasures include ridding the home and especially the sleeping environment of dust. The doctor even said I shouldn’t vacuum! Honey Oh Mr. Gadget You will have to be vacuuming twice a week now. For my health.
I can imagine how well that one will fly.
Now that I have confirmed this sensitivity, I am dreaming of hardwoods and Zen decor. Oh how I’d love to rip out the carpeting and replace with wood. I’m not prepared for the cash outlay though. If only I had a magic wand! (A working one, that is.)
Did I say something about being less materialistic in my ripened age I think I’ve only replaced my youthful insatiable hunger for clothes, trinkets, and chotchkies (how on earth is that word spelled ) with a mid-life yearning for tranquility in the home. Tranquility that is acquired through hardwoods, furniture with clean lines, crisp linens, stone countertops. I would very much like an apron sink in my kitchen. No good reason. I just like them. I had no idea they were so expensive. Do I drop money into this house, and if I do, will I ever recover it Or do I dream and wait I think I’ll try a little of both.
I think I know my bliss (besides my Boo boy). My bliss is my home.
