I love me some Oprah, I totally do. And lordee if you watched her Big Give last night, well the woman should be declared a saint if she has not already. I am already thinking about how I can give my money away once I make it. For reals. I LOVE her.
But I have to admit, I have a bone to pick with her. I have a problem with the Patron Saint of Awesomeness. Yesterday morning I woke up early. Before everyone else. Sophie woke up right after me and she was drawing next to me while I had my morning coffee on the couch. I decided that oh-my-gosh! Look!!! A MOMENT! Of PEACE and QUIET! These are kind of like Big Foot sightings in my house. You think you saw it, you almost got to experience it, then just as fast as it appeared ‘POOF!’ it is gone as quickly as a child can utter the phrase, “Can you help me with my social studies project? It is 30 sections long, needs to be printed front to back, have hand illustrations on every page and oh yeah, it’s due TOMORROW.”
So I got a little giddy. I admit. I went for the gusto. I snuck upstairs and saw that yes, The Dude was snoozing soundly. I quietly shut his door. I went and checked on Boyfriend. He was snoring up a storm and I know that unless he HAS to get up he is likely to sleep in until, oh I don’t know, 2009. So I printed out a whole slew of pages for The Soph to color, got all her art stuff out, got her set up, made her breakfast, fed the dogs, took out the dogs and got a new cup of piping hot love, I mean coffee. I sat down on the couch not quite believing my luck. A MOMENT was here. I pulled out ‘The Magazine’ with reverence. It actually glowed as I picked it up and I could hear that magical heavenly music. I would actually be able to READ the articles, peruse them. Reread passages and THINK about them. Usually I get to skim them, perhaps read a WHOLE paragraph, and yes, normally it is the bathroom – the only alone time to be had. But here I was out in the daylight, coffee in hand, with my behind on a nice comfy COUCH. And not one person – child or adult – NEEDING me. I basked in it. But only for a second. This could end at any time.
But. Then. I read. And I read. And I read. And I realized a lot of things.
• I am not ‘green’ enough.
• I am not fashionable enough.
• I do not wear makeup right.
• I do not cook interesting meals. (ok, I knew this already, but STILL)
• I am not healthy enough.
• I am probably depressed and don’t know it.
• I don’t see my friends enough.
• I don’t have the right underwear.
• I don’t give enough.
• I am not compassionate enough.
• I don’t invest my money enough and chances are I will die in a
hole because of my complete lack of preparedness.
• I don’t volunteer enough.
• I certainly don’t read enough.
• I don’t make near enough money for ANYTHING on the that damn “O List.”
(Dude, $248 for BOOTS, what planet do you think your readers LIVE on
Miss Oprah??? Planet “We ALL make ten gazillion dollars a year??!” Yeah, um try PayLess!)
So while I understand this is pretty much blasphemy, I am going to have to stop reading the “O” magazine. It just makes me realize how far I fall short of Miss O. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love her to death, I admire her like no other, I want to BE like her one day, and hell, if she ever does a show on ‘Women Who Paint Silly and Whimsical Pet Portraits But Don’t Make Them Enough Money to Live on So They Still Have to Work a Day Job,’ I am SO GOING ON THAT SHOW. But right now, she is telling me I have too much work I need to do in my life. And I already tell myself that daily, and I had NO IDEA that I had all those OTHER problems and that apparently I NEED those totally cute and comfy alternative to the cowboy boot, boots for $248. So maybe one day when I am ready to work on ALL my other problems I didn’t realize I even HAD, I will read Miss Oprah’s magazine again. But right now I am cool with all my own insecurities I ALREADY have thankyouverymuch. And honestly, I kind of like myself a lot and I am pretty sure I am a pretty happy person on the whole. So I sure don’t need any magazine adding to a fairly manageable list of insecurities.