Psycho Shopper. Quest que cest.

I have fallen prey to the worst sort of madness.

Namely, I am poor and I have no money. Pitiful, as I am a grown-up. But there it is.

But being poor is not the madness. Amy, Meg, Beth, Jo and Marmie were poor, but all cheery about it. Except when Beth dies, then they are less than cheery. Although still poor.

So unlike Little Women, I am poor and spending money like an insane person. Seriously. I should be locked up in a place for people who have psychotic breaks.

I can’t even list the offenses. It’s too wretched. But Etsy must take some responsibility. And if I’m being truthful, I should also confess to some entirely frivolous spending at The Foxy Lady. Go ahead. Judge me. I know.

Meanwhile, I’d really like to get some new sneakers. And a yoga mat bag. And there are some birthday plan things for next week that I’ll have to fork over some cash for. Right. And then I’ve to pay for cello lessons tonight, those little bastard experiences of my week for which I am forever plagued with guilt, as I do not practice. I do, in fact, pay $40 a lesson for the privilege of that guilt.

How about if I just close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears and just start singing La la la’s? That would help, right?

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