Escape

Over the past few weeks it had re-occurred to me that I continue to be a slave to consumerism. I'm quite aware, sometimes anyways, when I've had some sleep, of the manipulation we all face everywhere and everyday. The constant marketing of "stuff" to make us feel complete. To make us feel whole. Retail therapy, and we think it's our idea.

And oh, it feels so good.

But sometimes you have to shake your head and realize that you are addicted. Addicted like a crackhead. You are.

You just can't accept that it's the same thing. Try to give it up forever. You can't.

It's no co-incidence that I buy more unnecessary electronic gadgets when I haven't had enough sleep. It's no co-incidence that you buy shoes to feel better after a break-up.

Nothing is a co-incidence when it comes to marketing. There is no "impulse" shopping. It is merely statistical outcomes from appropriate product placement.

I had broken the chains for a month or two, or so I thought.

Did I buy any unnecessary shirts during those two months? I think I might have.

I am in the throes of the addiction. Every ten minutes I check the web site that gives the latest information on what deals are available to me, and my credit card sits beside me peeking out of my wallet.

I awaken at night, for a glass of water, for a sleeping pill, for a Tylenol TM, for anything, and I check to see what I can buy.

First thing I do in the morning, last thing I do at night. Check to see what I can buy.

We are caged, unsuspecting lab mice, force-fed carcinogens in our cheese.