leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- panic attack in aisle seven Did I mention my disgracefully wasteful indulgence of a fondness for groceries. I also spend more than I should on shoes and clothes and make up and music and other things I don't need, but at least I'm pretty careful about that. Only allowing occasional luxuries. But I seem incapable of being frugal at the grocery store. If I want something at the grocery I buy it and worry about how to pay other bills later. It's a leftover (no pun intended) from childhood...being very poor sometimes. Groceries had such importance and special things were rare. We weren't starving, but we ate quite a few miracle whip & ketchup sandwhiches or dinners of tomatoes from the garden. When my mom wanted something very bad, she knew she couldn't ask my dad for more money. (There wasn't any more.) So she'd go sell plasma. He would've been angry had he known, so to explain the extra groceries she'd tell him stuff had been on sale. But she'd show my sister and me the bruises on her arms from the needles. My father had hogs. When raising hogs you fatten them up on junk food before selling them to the slaughter houses. My dad had deals with local bakeries and restaurants to pick up the stuff they were throwing away because of expiration dates and being stale. My twin and I had to go with him to make the rounds and then go feed the hogs. I can still remember sitting in the truck huddled against Erin, with the sun coming up, my dad digging through the bed of the truck where all the stuff was dumped and bringing us fruit pies or cupcakes with expiration dates not too far past. They were stale, but they were breakfast. The hogs and the truck are other stories. Anyway, I'm not complaining. I just always feel wasteful but defiant about it when grocery shopping. It's so silly...me standing in the grocery store arguing silently with myself..."But it's expensive. But you don't really need icecream. But you don't really need the fancy bread; it's .75 more." And then my rebellious self saying "It's food. Your allowed to spend the money you make on food." Then getting it off the shelf and standing in line at the checkout. Wondering if the line will take long which will often prompt me to feel guilty and put the item back. Being poor really messes with your head. 2:33 p.m. - August 20, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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