Ever since my Dooce binge the day before yesterday, I can't shake some feeling in the pit of my stomach that I think is (gasp) jealousy.
At first blush, who wouldn't be jealous? She's semi-famous! And she has Chuck.
But I'm not prone to coveting after other people's lives. No really. Don't ask me why not, I SHOULD be considering the mess mine is in, but I just don't.
Not my city-dwelling artist friends. Sure, the thought crossed my mind, "that would be a cool life", but it was pushed out by the realization that I would HATE living in the city and hanging out with artistes. I don't like noise and I'm kind of allergic to pretentiousness.
Not the hippies who hang out in the local cafes sporting dreadlocks and patchwork clothing. They seem carefree enough and I admire their mobile communities, their ideals, and their commitment. But no, I like to comb my hair and have no interest in raising hula-hooping to a fine art.
Not the cookie-cutter upper middle-class families who surround me on every side. They've got SUVs and pure-bred large dogs and housecleaners and memberships to the gym. Their kids all have braces when they need them, tutors when they need them, after school sports and fridges full of Whole Foods. They have r o u t i n e. What I feel for their lives is not jealousy because just the IDEA of living like that makes me break out in a cold sweat and instinctively reach for the nearest vessel I can hurl into in case the room doesn't stop swimming. But the wish for wanting, that makes me ache. A deep, deep ache that if only the Universe had used the same cookie-cutter to create me, my kids would be much better off right now.
Not the super-wealthy. I've seen their eyes, and that's no place I want to go.
But Dooce? She's living my dream. To be quirky and creative and just a little fucked up enough to need meds, but still get the house, the dogs, the adoring soul-mate, the beautiful kids, a close-knit family, all topped off with the opportunity to create on a daily basis. That's like, my utopia.
Yes, I know what you're going to say. "I'm sure things aren't perfect over there," and I KNOW that. I'm not imagining she's got a perfect life, just the kind I want.
Except Utah. She can have Utah.
At first blush, who wouldn't be jealous? She's semi-famous! And she has Chuck.
But I'm not prone to coveting after other people's lives. No really. Don't ask me why not, I SHOULD be considering the mess mine is in, but I just don't.
Not my city-dwelling artist friends. Sure, the thought crossed my mind, "that would be a cool life", but it was pushed out by the realization that I would HATE living in the city and hanging out with artistes. I don't like noise and I'm kind of allergic to pretentiousness.
Not the hippies who hang out in the local cafes sporting dreadlocks and patchwork clothing. They seem carefree enough and I admire their mobile communities, their ideals, and their commitment. But no, I like to comb my hair and have no interest in raising hula-hooping to a fine art.
Not the cookie-cutter upper middle-class families who surround me on every side. They've got SUVs and pure-bred large dogs and housecleaners and memberships to the gym. Their kids all have braces when they need them, tutors when they need them, after school sports and fridges full of Whole Foods. They have r o u t i n e. What I feel for their lives is not jealousy because just the IDEA of living like that makes me break out in a cold sweat and instinctively reach for the nearest vessel I can hurl into in case the room doesn't stop swimming. But the wish for wanting, that makes me ache. A deep, deep ache that if only the Universe had used the same cookie-cutter to create me, my kids would be much better off right now.
Not the super-wealthy. I've seen their eyes, and that's no place I want to go.
But Dooce? She's living my dream. To be quirky and creative and just a little fucked up enough to need meds, but still get the house, the dogs, the adoring soul-mate, the beautiful kids, a close-knit family, all topped off with the opportunity to create on a daily basis. That's like, my utopia.
Yes, I know what you're going to say. "I'm sure things aren't perfect over there," and I KNOW that. I'm not imagining she's got a perfect life, just the kind I want.
Except Utah. She can have Utah.
Ain't it the truth. Not sure I envy her Coco either, though.
ReplyDeleteI would take Coco, just for the entertainment value. ;)
ReplyDelete