enjoying your booty

My fingers are losing circulation and I am very uncomfortable. Do I complain? No. Because the pain means that I am carrying home a very large take. Every store adds more pain to already swollen and blue hands. One bag becomes five, which becomes ten. My ability to carry six large bags per hand is amazing and I am stunned at my ability to do so, each time I am forced to put the bags down and regrip them. Some of the early bags are beginning to give way under their own weight, so some of the latter store clerks offer new bags, but I have this down to a science and don't want to screw it up. I want to get all of this shopping done and make it to the car without changing my grip or losing any of my booty.

It feels like I have twelve tons of goods in my hands. With each new purchase my excitement to get home and roll around in them grows more intense. There must be six thousand items in my hands. I might have to build a whole new addition to my house to store all these delicious treats. I will have to give away everything I own to make room for this new stuff. I cannot wait to get home.

The doors open to my room and the twelve tons of goods hit the floor. To showcase my impatience, I empty the bags in a frenzy, by turning them upside down and dumping them on the ground. With each bag, a new item falls out and builds the excitement level as they are added to the pile. When the last bag is emptied, I can see that the pile of goods isn't twelve tons. It's not six thousand items. It's no where near the amount that I thought it was going to be. I am still excited, but it seems to be fading with each passing moment. Wasn't there more? Is this is it? Isn't there more somewhere? Did I lose a bag?

I guess I don't need to build an addition to the house.

I am actually in a bad mood now. I am sitting here looking at all of this new stuff, and I am upset that it isn't as much as I thought it was going to be. I have somehow turned a good day of shopping into a form of selfish depression.

This isn't the first time I have felt this way, but it's an odd feeling each time it has happened to me: I thought I took more photos, but it turned out that I barely took ten. I thought I walked farther, but it turned out to be barely a mile. I thought I wrote the equivelent of a novel only to find out that it's barely one page in MS word. Each time these things happen to me, I find myself disappointed. I am never sure if I am disappointed in the actual results or if I am upset at myself for making it feel and look bigger than it actually is. I don't seem to have a problem with the quantity of a haul when I know it's measure. But when it's measure is unknown and I am allowed time to think about it and make it sound better than it truly is, that's when I come away with some bitter feelings. I was allowed too much time and I made it into something it wasn't.

I want to see the other side of shopping that so many people get that I deny myself. I want to be like the other shoppers that go out, shop, enjoy it, come home, still enjoying it and continue on with life without every giving it a second thought. Maybe there isn't another side and everyone feels like shit after a large shopping day. Maybe everyone gets their loot home, dumps it out and they too, are suddenly overwhelmed with a great sadness. I could be normal, but I think that most people actually enjoy their take.

I think the only universal feeling that comes with shopping, no matter who you are, how long you were out, or what you bought, is the nasty, "grand total-itis". The feeling that comes when you add all the receipts together and see that a simple day of shopping turned into more money than you spend on rent or your mortgage, in three months. Grand total-itis hits us a little bit when we are shopping but it's easily chased away with all the bliss that you are feeling. With twelve tons of goods slowing depriving your fingers of blood and your body sensing pain, it sends endorphins into the blood stream which creates a blissful sensation to cover the anguish. It also erases any thoughts you might have about how much the grand total might be, because that is a nasty thought and endorphins are all about joy. It isn't until your fingers have had some time to heal, and the body had dropped the levels of endorphins, that your mind can actually tabulate the damage and your imagination can start to show you images of you, living on the street, wearing your newly purchased garments to keep warm.

I want to be rich, just for a while, so I can learn how to enjoy a large haul without ever taking into consideration the price. I guess if you have ever known poverty, that you will never be totally free of the burden of fearing the total. I'm sure if I were rich and went shopping, I would still suffer from grand total- itis, but not to the level that I see it now. I may still see my imagination sending me images of me on the streets, but those images would quickly disappear when my mind reminds my imagination that I'm rich and I can buy the street.

I think I have to take back half this shit. That feeling is actually not too bad. You walk away with your money and you feel pretty smart. Sure, you had to give back something, but you still got to enjoy the fact that you owned it for a little while. Which is the only time you really love something anyway. How many people still love the clothes they bought in a shopping spree from four years ago? How many of you own anything from four years ago?