There are masochists and then there are masochists.
That wasn’t clear? Sorry. I’m a bit tired. What I meant to say is that there are masochists in a sexy “fun if you like that sort of thing” way, and then there are masochists like me.
We non-sexy masochists don’t need velvet handcuffs, Ralph Lauren riding crops, and whatever else it is that sexy masochists wield, ply, or attire themselves in. We’re too busy making our lives painful in non-sexy ways.
Mackintosh painted too.
Let’s say, for example, that you’ve decided to go to Britain for a month. (If you’re already in Britain, use your imagination.) And let’s add that, for the nonce, you’re living alone — possibly because you keep using terms like “for the nonce” — so you’ll have to find people to weed the cat, water the bills, and pay the garden.
Let’s further stipulate that in addition to visiting friends in England, you want to explore Bonnie Scotland via a complicated route involving a rental car, multiple B&Bs, several Charles Rennie Mackintosh-related homes, and three islands for which you’ll need fairies.
I mean ferries. Though fairies would perhaps be cheaper.
Not retired yet
Meanwhile, you’re still working, although people younger than you, some of them your friends, are already retired and spend their days reading, watching TV, etc. You’re not bitter about that, though. Because that sounds appealing and you’re a non-sexy masochist.
So you book the B&Bs, the rental car, the ferries. You review your wardrobe — did I mention that you’re a minimalist when it comes to clothes? — and make a list of things you need to buy. Namely, clothes. You buy the clothes. Crikey, clothes cost even more than they did two years ago!
Back online, you read an article about a bright young couple who traveled around Inner and Outer Mongolia for eight weeks with just a small carry-on. All you have to do is find a clever raincoat that doubles as a bathing suit, roll your clothes into tubes, and use baking soda for toothpaste.
You picture yourself swinging onto the train to Glasgow with just a small carry-on and a smile caked with baking soda. But that wouldn’t hurt, so you get out the big black expandable suitcase that your friend Jenny calls “the Behemoth” and start chucking heavy stuff into it.
With your other two hands you continue to document network architecture, answer Instant Messages from colleagues (“How long will you be gone?”), etc.
More challenges please
Damn! It’s still too easy. At the end of the day you have time to cook and eat dinner while watching a couple of episodes of Frasier.
Look around the living room. It’s attractive, but wouldn’t it be improved by a wall-to-wall mantelpiece and built-in bookcases flanking the fireplace? And wouldn’t it be convenient if that work got done while you were gone? No disruption to your busy home-office/Twitter/blogging routine, no paint fumes to breathe, etc.
And that’s how you end up, three days before you leave for a month abroad, packing not just a suitcase but your entire living room.
Well, this has been fun, though I’ve compensated for that by sitting on one foot until the circulation’s cut off. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to limp off to buy more boxes and bubble wrap. Cheers! (she said unhappily).
