Have you ever gotten exactly what you wanted only to find out that it wasn't what you needed? Creating a Twitter account so I could join you turned out to be the easiest route and allowed me to avoid the land mine of Facebook. I spent the better part of two hours pinning images on my board, naming boards things like, If I could redo my bedroom... and My dream family room... I said things to my family like, "I have no idea what's for dinner. Go look in the fridge for something. And feed your sister while you're at it." And here's what I've discovered: you are my porn. And so I'm cutting off this relationship before I get into trouble. I've only broken up with one other person in a letter before and it didn't go well, but that was then and this is now and I just can't do this with you.
Since this is me being real, then let's be really real. I have a problem with contentment. There, I've said it. I spend far too much time, far too much time, clicking through emails to see what's new for spring, checking favorite websites for daily deals, hoping there will be a package on the doorstep when I pull in the driveway. The time Sundance, JCrew, Garnet Hill and Serena and Lily came on the same day, I actually checked the front door to see if Ed McMahon was standing there with a cardboard check. And then I spent a precious evening ignoring my husband so I could play Bing, a game my sister and I invented when we were little. Every time you turn the page you can bing the thing you want most by tapping it with your finger. That thing will then magically appear on your doorstep. This doesn't actually happen, so don't try it. I know this, but I still do it every time. I dream of shopping sprees and gift cards loaded with unlimited amounts of cash. I have a little money coming to me next week for my birthday and I've spent hours spending it in my mind. I have a problem.
So Pinterest, I have nothing against you personally, you just bring out the lustful side of me. Not the one my husband gets all geeked about, but the one that makes me feel shame in all my inside places. Some people can flirt with you and be fine. I'm not one of them. And it's not just you. It's catalogs and websites and Target. So I'm leaving you all. For at least a month I'm going to pretend you don't exist. Because if this world is not where my citizenship is, then this world should hold nothing for me. And I'm going to spend all those hours when I would normally be poring over catalogs and filling up virtual carts with things I don't need and can't afford asking the Holy Spirit to invade my space and make Jesus the only thing I lust after. I'm sorry. I wish it could be otherwise, but you just are not who I thought you were. I wish you the best. Oh, and I'm breaking up with Sugar too; she makes me feel yucky. So, if you're interested in calling her, email me for her number. You two can commiserate, maybe go get pedicures or something.