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After Perec

Every month I ‘splurge’ approximately 5% of my income. The theory, following Australia’s favourite financial advisor, is that small, regular indulgences lead to fortified discipline. Too few realise that hardcore diets are, for the majority of the population, destined to fail.

Another theory, mine, is that people are either $penders or savers. And in any given relationship it’s probably healthy to have one of each. I happen to be the saver. So when I say that I splurge 5% of my income every month, I mean that I set aside 5% of my income to accumulate until something fanciful, with varying degrees of necessity, takes my eye and I’m reminded that I should indulge.

Meanwhile, my personal wardrobe can be divided into five categories:

  1. A few items I adore and wear relentlessly
  2. Decent decisions well past their lifespan – moth-eaten, shrunken, stained
  3. More poor decisions than I’d like to admit – fit, colour, material
  4. Hand-me-downs, pure function
  5. Ill-suited gifts, rarely worn

On the one hand money accumulating and on the other a relatively undesirable wardrobe. Which gets me to the very banal idea that precipitated this post. What if I attempted to anticipate all the things I might ‘need’ in a year, and assigned my monthly savings accordingly, encouraging spending toward a wardrobe that works? Let’s play this out…

January, work attire
February, underwear and socks
March, summer shoes and swimwear
April, hair cut and colour
May, leisure clothes
June, makeup and perfume
July, work attire
August, hair cut and colour
September, leisure clothes
October, outerwear
November, winter shoes
December, hair cut and colour

Maybe a saver’s dream, or possibly just a poem after Perec.

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Suffering like Sadie

In her essay ‘Suffering Like Mel Gibson’, Zadie Smith more eloquently argues what I was hacking at in ‘What we’ve lost’. In short, she suggests that the acknowledgement of suffering can be seen as an act of self-care. She writes, ‘suffering has an absolute relation to the suffering individual’ and therefore no-one has the right to judge the severity of another’s discomfort. Extracts pieced together here as a summary.

The misery is very precisely designed, and different for each person, and if you didn’t know better you’d say the gods of comedy and tragedy had a hand in it. The single human, in the city apartment thinks: I have never known such loneliness. The married human, in the country place, with partner and children, dreams of isolation within isolation … The widower enters a second widowhood. The pensioner an early twilight. Everybody learns the irrelevance of these matters next to ‘real suffering’…

Early on in the crisis, I read a news story concerning a young woman of only seventeen, who had killed herself three weeks into lockdown, because she couldn’t ‘go out and see her friends’. She was not a nurse, with inadequate PPE and a long commute, arriving at a ward of terrified people, bracing herself for a long day of death. But her suffering, like all suffering, was an absolute in her own mind, and applied itself to her body and mind as if uniquely shaped for her, and she could not overcome it and so she died…

…when the bad day in your week finally arrives – and it comes to all – by which I mean that particular moment when your sufferings, as puny as they may be in the wider scheme of things, direct themselves absolutely and only to you, as if precisely designed to destroy you and only you, at that point it might be worth allowing yourself the admission of the reality of suffering.

Zadie Smith in Intimations, pg 29