I’ve always scoffed at people who redecorate their homes. It seems like such a waste of time and money, not to mention the most bourgeois activity I could imagine.

Now, I’m thinking about redecorating, so I finally understand the motivation: I’m dead inside.

Being dead inside, I’m looking outward at my environment. I hate my curtains. Why do we have to have these ugly curtains that we bought at Target under duress when we moved into this house seven years ago?  And why should I live with corroded hardware in my bathroom sink when I can get vintage replacements from a special bathroom fixtures website? And while I’m at it, why are all the walls white? I used to love colored walls. Which walls should I paint and which colors?

Really, who cares? My house is perfectly fine as is. It’s comfortable and reflects our personalities. Redecorating is just an effort to externalize your loss of identity and self-worth. It’s an act of desperation.

I knew a couple who spend $50,000 to revamp their kitchen. They were wealthy, obviously, and they both wanted to sleep with me. I did sleep with one of them, in the end, but I can’t recall anything about their kitchen. What losers.

I know a divorced guy whose new girlfriend redecorated his entire condo in grey and black, with shit from Macy’s, it looked like. She wanted to erase all signs of his former partner, and eventually she took over every aspect of his life. He appeared to have no opinion on this. When he’s finally dead inside, he might take notice.

But with each passing day, my curtains are an increasing blight on my existence. If only I knew what to replace them with!

I have started following interior design pages on Instagram. I am especially drawn to chinoiserie. Jewel-toned velvet couches are nice too.  I could start hunting in thrift-shops for furniture instead of old cashmere sweaters and Levis!

But I would still be me, this me. This me has no social life and no mental life to speak of. I can’t turn off the TV because the silence will make me anxious. I feel I have already thought about everything there is to think about. I can’t think about the past or I will feel deprived, guilty, and pathetic. I can’t remember how I occupied myself before Covid but I didn’t watch TV all day and night.

People who exercise or go sight-seeing or attend events seem so poignantly deluded. It’s like, Aww, look at them thinking this will change anything! The more fun people appear to be having on boats, at parties, standing on mountains, the more tragic they seem.

The only time I feel at ease is when I go to bed. Being asleep is my idea of living my best life. There is just too much loss to incorporate when I’m conscious, I guess. But meanwhile, I want curtains. There are four big windows in my bedroom and I want complete darkness at night. I want flowing, floor-length velvet curtains or maybe gauzy white curtains. Or maybe white blinds to match the walls. Or maybe custom black-out shades. Something Victorian to match my dresser, or something in keeping with the craftsman style of the house. Or maybe I need to paint the walls a deep cherry red or midnight blue?

The next time someone brings up redecorating, just feel sorry for them. Explain that they are dead inside and I know they will thank you.

Thoughts on my windows, anyone?

So many lives are hanging by a thread because of shoes. I came upon yet another blogger who nearly died of a broken heart when she couldn’t get the ACNE shoes she wanted. Thank god she found another pair of shoes, by Minimarket, which then nearly killed her before it all worked out.

I see a real need for consolation cards, especially now “in this economy.” How much would you give to never hear the words “in this economy” again? Anyway, I am too stupid to grasp photoshop so this card is the best I could do. I would also like to see a sympathy card for the loved ones of someone whose shoe anguish drove them to suicide.

You know, “Sorry for Your Loss, May She Find Those Shoes in Heaven,” that sort of thing.

Now that I’m not supposed to shop, I finally carried out my dream of painting some shoes silver. It worked pretty well, although not as well as I expected. I feel good about it. I’m not a DIY person, so it’s an achievement. I do like to spray-paint shit. Just ask Queen Marie.

These shoes were formerly black and around 15 years old. Now they are new, voila!