(no subject)
My theory about Martha Stewart is that people like and accept her because she seems unhappy. Anyone who exerts that much energy controlling her space cannot be fun to hang with. She radiates a tightness, a grim resolve, an in-your-face I-will-get-shit-done that I like. I like that she's smart. I like that she's successful. And I like that she's built an empire out of sewing tips, good recipes, and how to wrap wire around your very own Christmas wreathes. I am that person who kind of wants to wrap wire around my Christmas wreath, but A) it's all such an expensive tedious effort and B) history has shown that I suck at it. So there's Martha, doing it with gusto so I don't have to. And I can feel okay about not doing it because she's unhappy. Or, I can try it because she does it, and she's no wimp. It's a win all the way around.
I peeked at one of her get-your-shit-in-order mags at the grocery store today. It was the January issue, so all about clearing clutter, making resolves ... incredibly tempting, and for me in my vulnerable state, maybe a good idea? I thumbed through the pages. I stood there for a long time, poised on the brink. I had a bottle of raspberry jam under my arm because earlier I had a wild notion to make raspberry squares. I wanted the enlightenment that Martha's crisp white pages promise. I wanted it. But I did not get it.
I don't know. I cannot home-organize my way into feeling good. Those Martha-is-secretly-unhappy vibes took over. If I am to feel useful, if I am to feel alive again, it will be because I create something or contribute somehow. Go home, do some work. Save the five bucks. I'm not sure Martha really gets my problems anyway.
I peeked at one of her get-your-shit-in-order mags at the grocery store today. It was the January issue, so all about clearing clutter, making resolves ... incredibly tempting, and for me in my vulnerable state, maybe a good idea? I thumbed through the pages. I stood there for a long time, poised on the brink. I had a bottle of raspberry jam under my arm because earlier I had a wild notion to make raspberry squares. I wanted the enlightenment that Martha's crisp white pages promise. I wanted it. But I did not get it.
I don't know. I cannot home-organize my way into feeling good. Those Martha-is-secretly-unhappy vibes took over. If I am to feel useful, if I am to feel alive again, it will be because I create something or contribute somehow. Go home, do some work. Save the five bucks. I'm not sure Martha really gets my problems anyway.