Things

My growing capacity to fall into a deep sleep anywhere is becoming quite alarming. Today, I loafed out for my entire bus ride to work, and woke up to find myself sprawled across two seats in a weird, fetal/crash combo position. Fortunately no one saw, and the gent behind me was snoring like a rhino, so all attention was drawn away from me.

***

Sometimes, while driving my car, I break away from the comforting ease of modern auto technology and recall that I am barrelling forward at top speed in a machine made of tons of steel, alongside dozens of other people and machines who are doing the same. When this happens, I feel a quick wave of panic and often need to pull over for a moment to forget.

***

I never buy material things for myself. Ever. Sure, I splurge on take-out coffee and the occasional meal, but I otherwise treat myself like I'm the recipient of a weekly wheel of government cheddar: spend nothing, save everything.

In 2006, I spent 5 months and many vivid sleepless nights agonizing over the decision to upgrade my iPod. The drama and sheer insanity that I created for myself over this $300 purchase- another indication that I am an undiagnosed O.C.D. case - was akin to life-and-death choices like kidney donation or pulling the plug on a loved one. This thought process is also the reason why my wardrobe is beginning to resemble Oliver Twist's; I can talk myself out of buying anything with just a few days of self-induced panic.

This past Fall, I got the crazy notion to invest in a laptop. With my wife working from home, solid computer time was becoming a bit more scarce, plus my work calls for some real, full-time connectivity, so it seemed like a good idea. So I popped on over to Dell.com, and thus began the Jedi mind trickery.

This Dell Inspiron looks pretty nifty!
So does a well-stocked fridge.

I love the slim design and easy portability!
Nathan can eat the box it came in, I guess.

And they're having a free shipping special!
Will the homeless shelter let us bring our dog?

And so it went well into the holidays, where I eventually lost sight of my desire to upgrade my household technology and gave in to my own fear tactics. Then, two weeks ago, I followed a spam email to Apple.com and fucked everything to hell.

I fell in love with the Macbook. And fell hard. Hard enough to drive to my local Apple Store twice to ask a litany of inane questions, and manhandle the demo Macbook in ways that probably suggested something more than a desire to own top-of-the-line computer. I even fell for the Apple Store employees, who kept my commerce demons at bay by complimenting my bold decision to convert to a Mac. I was sold, but that was the easy part. Now I actually had to buy this thing.

Eight times I sat down at my computer and filled out the order form, and eight times I deleted it. Fear of poverty and famine blindsided me, along with visions of clothing made from curtains, Nathan playing with squirrel bones, and my family eating my dog for nourishment. I couldn't make the leap. Days later, in a fit of optimism, fresh off a strong sale at work, I just did it. Filled out the form, hit send, and become the owner of a bright, white Macbook. It arrived this week, and all I can do is stare at the box on my table. I'm almost a afraid to open it now.

But it's there. And it's mine. And although I know my family won't starve once I tear it open, I will be checking the closet for extra curtains first.