He says that I am wasting time and money on luxuries that need to be slashed in lieu of more important needs. But what is more significant that the ultimate need to feel human, to feel alive, to feel almost "happy"?
And the threat that I may lose my oxygen - the mere thought of that - is enought to send me into a spending frenzy. No, not for 'things', but for 'moments'.
"Cut!" he commands.
So I go scuba diving, take a batik class and head off with the kids to the zoo.
"Stop!" he harrumphs. So I pack the kids on weekend retreats and hop to nearby islands, as far away as I can get from his overbearing whining. But as I stare across the Aegean and breathe in the salty sea air of freedom I hear the faint echo of his sentiments weighing me down. Pulling me into the murkiness from which I am trying to escape.
