Sometimes, I want things so badly, I automatically tell myself “NO”—like the wanting, in and of itself, is a sin.  I want chocolate—nope, can’t have it, even if a little won’t be terrible.  I want a glass of chardonnay—no can do, just because you want it THAT much.  There is, no doubt, some pleasure derived from such restraint (as any BDSM-er will testify to), whether it comes in the form of pride or even a misguided sense of productivity.  What productivity inheres in discipline, by itself?  I am too used to getting what I want.  It isn’t hedonism; I do not seek things for the sake of pleasure.  It is more an issue of functionality—dipping wrinkled toes in self-indulgence in order to keep the ocean calm.  I compensate for particularly tough weeks with shoes, lipstick and more shoes.  But nothing is free, not chocolate, not YSL shoes, not even the scratchy satisfaction of asceticism.  

All morning long, I have considered the cost of this:

A cup of tea sitting on my leather couch, a pair of wool socks, a grey sweatshirt with a messy hair bun.  No words.  Just the smells of cherry blossoms tea I'm sipping and feeding my ears with selections of Nocturne.