I'm pretty busy. I think that's the topic for every freaking post I write and I'm so bored by the whole thing, wah wah wah. As my mom would say, "I'm flogging a dead horse". Which is an old English saying meaning I should change the subject already (mental note... never use that saying ever again. It's awful).
The long and the short of it is that I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of talking about being tired. And I'm tired of wishing I wasn't tired. So I'm on a quest to simplify my life. And the first step in the revolution of my life is a list. Nothing new there. I don't know whether I've mentioned this before, but I secretly love lists. Not because I like to be organized (I don't). Or because I like to plan (where's the fun in that). Nope, I like lists because I like to cross things off. Tick and move on. I'm an over-achiever, type-A, get-it-done kind of gal, so a list helps me feel like I'm conquering my life. Like I'm moving in the right direction. Hell, like I'm moving in any kind of direction, as long as I'm moving.
So I wrote a list of all the things I hate. The things I'd give my left arm never to add to a list again.
- shave legs
- shave underarms
- straighten/blow dry hair
- iron
- cook
- wear sensible work shoes
- wear business suits
- drive in rush hour traffic
- host dinner parties
- force my kicking/screaming son into clean clothes
- accounts
And I realized that if I became a hippie, I wouldn't have to do any of them. I could drift around the house happliy all day with fuzzy legs and crazy hair. In rumpled clothes and flip flops. In soft hemp outfits and questionable underwear. And I'd never cook again. I'd throw some seeds and an apple on a plate and that would be dinner. I'd be late for everything and forget stuff and drive badly. All the things I already do. Except now I'd have an excuse. I'd be on a quest for higher consciouness and the rejection of the superficiality of the modern world. Who could argue with that? Genius!
I could feed my son granola for every meal. And live in a tent in the summer (how awesome is that?). And forget to enrol him in preschool. And forget my husband's colleague's names. And wear mis-matched socks and get chickens. Ok, on second thoughts, scrap the chickens - they are stinky and early and loud. But we could find friends with chickens. And get an old camper van and make our own wine.
I'm really excited about this. Can you tell?
I'm not sure how I'm going to avoid the accounts issue though. While on one hand it's totally un-hippie to do accounts and visit a bank - yay, let's scatter flower petals from the sky. On the other I have an irrational fear, bordering on phobia some would say, of the IRS. And something tells me they don't look kindly on hippies. How do I stay friends (huggie, smoochy, BFF's) with the IRS, and embrace hippie-dom at the same time? Is it even possible? Can hippies and the IRS ever be "one"? Is there a way to broker peace between the two? I'm on a quest to find out... I'll let you know!
This is what I'm going to look like. All zen and peaceful and young.
Except I'll probably mess it up and end up looking like this. And if I do, I'll blame the IRS!
And in the spirit of changing the world, check out the new video we recently made for our skin care product, Fei'd (pronounced "fade"). Join us and help spread the love. You won't have to shave your legs, I promise!
