I was talking with my roommate and boyfriend last night about wanting, not wanting, finding the balance, money... you know, small issues and thoughts. Erin and I have three million thoughts (and with those thoughts, words) on the subject while the boy in the room throws out a lesser, but possibly more thoughtful, amount of words. Why do boys do that? This boy can keep up pretty good, but I think I only know one that has as many words as me, if not more. And he actually got a throat disease so that he can't talk. I'm not joking. He can speak without pain about one hour a day. This clearly means something. Women's throats must naturally produce more saliva for all the words. It's a theory worth considering, I'd say. Most women could spend the entire day looking at each others faces, just talking, from my twenty-three years of experience. Sure, we do things while we're talking, we can do so many things while talking. Though I must admit I am not the multi-tasker some women can be. If I am trying to tell a really good story, I tend to stop everything, and can only concentrate on the sole task of communicating the all-important, life changing message I am conveying. Also, texting while walking. Can't do it.
When talking of things we want, with anyone, I seem to be on the noble side of not wanting much. This cannot be completely true, I must want things, I know I do. Material things, not so much. Whether it has been through self-denial, or questioning my own motives, I just can't let myself spend money on excessive amounts of material things. If I ever have a lot of money, I wonder if I will suddenly find all kinds of things to spend it on. It certainly might be. The reality of money is just that, real. Working hard and paying bills has always been my situation, or living without it. But what if you do want more? Even something like kids... money is obviously necessary. Whether my kid will be sleeping in a drawer or not is still up in the air, but whether my kid will be wearing diapers and eating is quite another. Caring for things is my middle name, and I know I'll want to give everything to something that is so, well, mine.
Tattoos. I love tattoos. I want tattoos. If they didn't cost so much money, I'm sure I would have them. It is probably a good thing they do cost money. I have so many good ideas for tattoos and where they should go my mother would not be pleased. They are all so unique and meaningful and I'm sure I wouldn't regret a single one (sarcasm). I said I wanted La Grand Jatte tattooed on my back and my mom said get a tshirt. This could be the best advice I've ever gotten.
I like to knit, and I spend money on knitting. Because it's making something cozy and warm, and boy do I like cozy, warm things, and knitting is just one of three crafty things that I like to do. I don't know what the other two are, but I imagine I have two more crafty things I do. I don't like crafts though. No gluesticks, glitter, or pinterest crafting will be happening in my future. Just knitting. Sometimes when I have babysat for new kids I've said I liked to do crafts with kids when the parents ask, but really, I don't. I like telling the kids to sit and craft, while I enjoy the fruits of their crafting labor without actually crafting myself. Except for playdoh, I do fancy sculpting tiny playdoh animals.
Yesterday I thought, if I could only be really, really good at making pies I'd be satisfied in life. Pie-making, to be that girl who makes the most amazing, delicious, homemade pies from scratch. All kinds of pies. Pies I give away to my neighbors and friends. Pies I bring to every event. My pies. I don't want to make cakes, or cupcakes, or strudels or brownies or muffins or scones or macaroons. I want to be the pie lady. Someday, someday, this is what I want. Oh, the places I'll go.