Aw, hey you! Before I get into the nitty gritty of this post, I want to take a sec to express my tremendous gratitude for all of the emails, comments and warm, fuzzy welcome vibes you’ve been sending my way. I’m just pleased as rum punch that you’re here and do I hope you’ll stick around.
Good. Now that we’re chummy, I’m ‘bout to get real with you: I love excess. Perhaps “love” isn’t the best choice of words – I love excess like Joan Rivers loves botox, like this lady loves smug (but beautiful) self portraits, like Octomom loves pregnancy hormones… like Sid loved Nancy, and also heroine. I’m a junkie for extravagance, no matter the source. Presently, I am alone in my tiny, darling apartment (which is perpetually poppin’ at the seams with girly accoutrements) and I am positively sopping in contrary strands of costume jewelry. My hair is so tall that it may have hair… I have no way of knowing…and it’s striated with varying degrees of peroxide-edness. My falsely advertised no-chip manicured digits are twitching because of all the Intelligentsia “Lakeview Blend” surging through my system and I’m still reeling from doing this damage:
I love myself, I really do. But I think pink tressed Gwen Stefani said it best in 2000… I need to simplify. Every so often – mostly when I check my bank account and/or I start having nightmares about all of my tchotchkes banding together and eating me alive – I have a little freakout regarding just how many unnecessary components go into being me. How do you bare faced, clean souled, radiant yogis do it?! How do I let go of some of this stuff?
Note I didn’t say all this stuff. Over the top-ness is sort of my jam… I just want to be able to manage it, you know what I mean? I want to be able to stick to a budget with ease. I want my self maintenance rituals to be minimal. I want, I want, I want… but so far I haven’t done anything about it. This weekend’s plan:
- If I don’t use it; sell it, toss it or give it away.
- If I could make an equally vibrant, nourishing meal with ingredients I already have, don’t buy it. (Does anyone else sprint to the grocery store to satisfy every whim? No?)
- And this one’s fairly straightforward: dear Lawd, help me quit my nightly baking habit (most of that hazelnut butter ended up in some almost blog-worth Nutella brownies… which would be forgiveable if I hadn’t eaten them all)! Vegan, gluten free and mostly wholesome or not… I live alone for goodness sake!
Anyone have any fly tips to add to my simplicity gospel? I’m not giving up my collection of vintage prom dresses or any of my food processors (three?), so don’t gimme none of that.