According to Jessica: Article 2, "The Issue with Shopping too Much"

 I awake from a sleepy slumber. Just after the obnoxious door bell goes again. Twice in two minutes? After wondering whether there is some sort of attack on my street, or I am just have a really strange dream, I fall back into a deep sleep where I seem to "buy" things from the shop, instead of just taking them. No, I am not some shop lifter, but if I knew I was in a dream I would really just take what I wanted and have the time of my life whilst I was in deep sleep. Hell- I would probably gorge on curry, chocolate and crisps so I would wake up satisfied with no cravings. Soon, I wake up, stretch and reach for the nearest bottle of water I can find.

I ignore the earlier remembrance of the door bell and get on with my day. Reality meets sleep, and it really does not make much sense until a hard working father, who you still happen to live with comes home.


"Good day?", he asks politely;


"Yes thanks!;" knowing you have simply answered phone calls, meaningless, and have done personal chores that do not mean a thing to anyone else living in your house. Job interviews, university confirming places and personal chores only take up so much of your life.

 Reality comes when you are told there is post for you. Post that could simply not fit through your regular "Victorian" like door.


 Strange. You think to yourself. It must be the essential underwear you needed, or the toiletries that get you through life.


Of course it is none of the above. I have to admit to myself, I am a compulsive shopper. Whether I come home after a few glasses of wine and order those ridiculous shoes that the sober me would never wear; or weather I order that size 10 dress that would mean my boobs would pop out in a very indecent way, in fact it would probably never get over my head and hair... I shop. I shop when I am happy. I shop when I am sad. It's me. The "good girl" in me would reason. "Please return, don't be so ridiculous, even after the Cambridge diet for 10 months you will just not look good in that skin tight dress". I agree with her. I love her rationality. I love her to bits, she is reasonable, and she knows the real me.Those 6 inch platforms would cripple me. Whoever I was with would probably end up holding them in their hands whilst I got every bit of glass in the street in my feet.


 But this is me.
  


I am ridiculous. I buy ridiculous things. Only for them to end up on E bay 6 months later for a fraction of the price.

 Of course, we cannot simply forget the items that just "turn up" at my door either. "Lose 10 years in one week?!" hell... I would look 12. Maybe not. I guess if I forget what I do buy I can always say it is a present to oneself. However, it does get a bit embarrassing after a while when your neighbours are threatening to charge you a rate for holding your post, and your sighing parents are getting embarrassed about the whole thing.

 Life is not about "things". I know this, no one can take what the earn in this life to the grave. It is exciting when things come through the door and you forget you ever ordered them. I do wonder to myself... "oh a present? For me? Who could do such thing?!" and as I open the brown paper a stark realization that... it was me. I could do such thing. I just love to treat myself too much, and others I must say.


 I have decided, due to my crap responsibility- I am going to make a change. Michael Jacksons old words. I do NOT need 10 pairs of luminous green knickers, and I do NOT need 20 MAC lipsticks; which in reality will probably just get eaten- only for me to apply the same £12 plus quid lipstick 10 minutes later.


 Please wish me luck on this journey- and gone are the days where I get "presents" in the mail. Oh Jessica Sarah- you are too nice. To oneself. There is much more to life.


 Of course I am going to indulge in essentials now and again, but I really need to be kind to myself and my poor parcel minding neighbours.