I’m not sure I understand. I post these wonderful thoughts and recollections on life in general and no one reads them. I post a rant about how unfair life is and how petty I am and my readership enters the stratosphere. But here is the thing, people, I can’t live my life with the amount of emotion seeing someone I “know” on the NY Times Bestseller list evokes. I just can’t. It makes me angry and I am a kind, gentle creature who braids daisies into my hair when they are in season. I am practically Maria Von Trapp. (They did get married at the end of The Sound of Music, didn’t they? I figure they had too much pressure to ALSO be living in sin with seven kids.)
My husband and I just spent the weekend in Santa Fe (more to follow) and there was a wonderfully ostentatious store there that had signs every two feet saying “Stealing gives bad Karma.” Now I believe that if you are going to steal outrageously designed costume jewelry (I would have bought the ring with the five flowers and the bee but it was $80 and there are only so many places you can wear a ring that fits on one finger but absorbs the space of three. There is actually very little you can do when wearing this ring and my finger started to ache after a few seconds of trying it on. But even though I keep telling myself this, I really wish I bought it… Ho-Hum) you have bigger problems than Karma. Or maybe you don’t. I would think it would be hard to sell a parrot ring made out of faux jewels on the street. You just don’t see guys in trench coats coming up to you to show you giraffe rings as tall as your finger while saying they have a special deal just for you. Oakleys, yes. Louis Vutton purses, maybe. But rings with the constitution written out in cubic zarconia? No. So maybe if you steal costume jewelry that has no resale value, all that really happens to you is that you step on a crack and break your mother’s back.
Besides thinking all of this in a surprisingly short amount of time, I also thought that my evil thoughts toward previous acquaintances may be giving me bad karma. And that the only reason that I am not on the New York Times Best Seller list is that bad karma. It has nothing to do with the fact that instead of finishing my book, I am writing poorly written descriptions of costume jewelry that really must be seen in order to be understood. Or the fact that I am not being published in magazines has nothing to do with the fact that I am not sending any articles to magazines, but that I have bad Karma. So instead of spending all of my energy on writing and querying and selling myself to a publisher to see my name in print, I think I will just sit in my living room, cross my legs, and wish happy thoughts to everyone I know.
Unless they don’t send me a birthday card. (My birthday is this month and I am on a crusade to get as many birthday cards as possible without actually giving out my address.) Then they have created their own bad karma so nothing will happen to me when I imagine them being carried away by a herd of wild buffalo. (Happens all the time in Montana.)
photo from the library of congress