The other day I went grocery shopping. Usually when I go grocery shopping, I have a list, I walk fast, I get what I need, and I get the hell out of the crowds and florescents. But this day, I was in a browsing mood. I think it’s because I’d just spent an hour going up and down every single aisle of this awesome Japanese shop (Daiso) that has the widest range of everything, priced at roughly nothing. (It’s a dollar store, basically.) So for whatever reason, when I made it to the grocery story, I was meandering the aisles.
And then I saw it. A blender on sale for 119 dirham. Which is, like, the cost of three beers at a bar. And since I prudently hadn’t gone out that weekend (due to my ridiculously lingering bronchitis/sinusitis,) I could totally justify it as a reward to myself, even if I only used it once. I could make smoothies! I could make soups! I could become a master chef!
I stared at that blender for a good fifteen minutes. But in the end, I didn’t buy it.
I wish I could properly explain my hesitation. It’s not a big deal to buy a blender, I know that logically. But somewhere in the back of my head is this nagging notion that I don’t want to own anything here. The only furniture I “own” is a bookshelf and a tv, and they were both hand-me-downs. (Our apartments come fully furnished, before you imagine me sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor.) When I leave, whenever that may be, I don’t want to have to deal with any unnecessary stuff. Like a blender.
If you’ve ever moved, you know what a pain in the ass it is. I’ve moved three times in the past three years. Twice, the move was not my choice and involved packing up my life in a few short days. When I left Brooklyn, I had been very settled and had accumulated a good amount of furniture and books and general stuff. All of it had to be hastily packed up, with no time to sort or sell or donate, and it has now been sitting in a storage space that I pay way too much money for, being of absolutely no use to anyone, for three years. This summer I am going to force myself to go through the arduous task of selling off the furniture and donating or moving the “stuff” to someplace free. The task is so absurdly daunting. How the hell do you sell furniture from a storage unit? Is that even legal? I don’t even know what’s in the damn storage unit anymore!
Thankfully, I do know that I never bought a blender when I lived in Brooklyn.