Writing a list of my personal material desires should be easy. Lately being materialistic has provided a certain amount of comfort; where hearts and bodies fail, objects remain. Collecting, organizing, using, and admiring my possessions all create a life where the other kinds of living have become impossible.
But a Christmas list is the particular and peculiar task of asking for things from other people. Trusting them to choose the color and flavor and texture wisely. Guessing the amount of money they’re willing to spend on you and choosing a gift that’s in their price range. Preventing relatives from opposite sides of the family tree from buying you the same gift.
The easiest thing of all should be asking for things that you want. What do I want? To wiggle my way out from under this mountain of debt. To stop living from paycheck to paycheck. To establish enough financial stability to become self employed. To marry someone with great health insurance.
I’m no stranger to crafting a Christmas List around practical needs rather than superfluous desires. College taught me the art of asking for non-perishable food and appreciating your grandmother’s habit of buying you socks. But even then I knew how to add a few items to give the list some personality. Now I am so strictly set to my priorities that anything other than food and medication is bought at a lower quality for a paltry sum at thrift stores. Thrift store shopping is my one hobby, my one pleasurable activity, and even that serves the double purpose of acquiring household necessities.
I tried the usual trick of requesting gift certificates. Where from you ask? Pharmacies and grocery stores. If hospitals gave out gift certificates I’d ask for those. My one eureka moment came when I thought to ask for stamps and a memory foam pillow. And then I even managed to ask for a perfume which seduced me from the sample page of a Vogue magazine. But if anyone actually gives it to me, I’ll feel guilty they had to spend that kind of money in a recession. Even the memory foam pillow seems indulgent.
I put money on the list, like I always do. I’m aware it’s tacky, but I actually pray to god to win the lottery. If I’m going to have the gall to ask the divine presence in the universe to fatten my wallet, I might as well ask my relatives too.
The bottom line is, I have a lot of crap. I have enough crap. I don’t need more crap. Sure I’d like a scanner or a better camera but I’m low on rich relatives. Right now my Christmas list looks more like a grocery list. And believe me I’ve been trying. But as easy as it was to ask for stupid plastic crap when I was ten, is as hard as it is now. I have all the crap I want except all the crap I can’t have.
Christmas 2005: All those gifts were for my sister and I.
