So, the rule that I had made for myself was that I was not to buy any more books unless they were like Sale Of The Century / One Time Only Offer / Blink And You'll Miss It Get In Now / Fuck It Nick, I Fink I'll Keep It until I had read the five most recently purchased that were in a pile by the bed. Then I decided to read one that wasn't in the pile, and then another, and then yesterday, when I was halfway through the first of the pile-books, I was on my way home from the supermarket, walking briskly as I had a bag full of groceries and had promised my patient that I would be straight home, and then, as I passed the temporary Whitcoulls sale store, I distinctly heard my name - not even my full name, but the shortened version. (This is an outright lie, and also that sentence reminds me of an essay I wrote once where my tutor's comments were mostly about my sentence length rather than the actual content. Imbecile. I was giving him/her credit, and if you use punctuation correctly, you can write a sentence as long as you bloody well like.) I heeded the call, and walked out with three books (one of which was for the patient, and all of which were down from up to $40 to $5! Yes I am fully aware that the former price was determined by Whitcoulls themselves). But I don't regret it. Books are one of the best things in life, and to me they are objects of beauty that I like to have around me; neatly bound ornaments that are filled with promise, and wonder, and WORDS.
Anyway, buying these was also supposed to stop me from becoming resentful about the fact that we are too poor to buy anything consequential (like a TV), or inconsequential (like clothes) (no I don't really mean it and I can't pretend I do - clothes are of consequence to me); cheap books happily falling outside these categories. And I am happy to have my books, and I know I don't really need things, and I know that I am actually very content with what I have that is material, and that is not. So these shoes (which I found on Stuart & Wright via she who always finds beautiful things aka Miss Moss) are not making me feel resentful. They are making me feel like yeah, I'd like to own them, and the clogs would look really good with my green tartan shorts, and hmm the clogs are also made in the US (unless they are 'Hand' made in Usa, ala Liz Lemon's amazing jeans), and what do you know, the remaining size is mine. But then I also feel like I chose this life for a reason, and it's worth more to me than a house let alone a pair of shoes. Sometimes my life intersects with the life I might have had if I had stuck with journalism and not switched to philosophy, and when that happens, it's cool. But I didn't want that life - don't want that life - so really, I shouldn't want the things that life would include. Consistency... Self-improvement is a life-long commitment.