Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown





And yeah, that would be me. Which is why: I haven't been here lately; I've had two panic attacks in as many weeks; I've spent the better part of this weekend burning my eyes out looking at lighting websites; my back is killing me (okay, Miss Z probably gets some credit for that too); I'm not sleeping well; the house we occupy is even more drunken and disorderly than usual.


Ah, how the mighty have fallen. I was so on a roll with New House. I was making decisions right and left. I was on fire. Then it came time to choose lighting fixtures and I've buckled like a cardboard box in a hurricane.


I think that I am way over thinking this. I was trying to describe it to The Mr. last night (who, bless his heart, tried to look interested and comprehending). It goes something like this: I've been pouring over and clipping photos from shelter magazines for months to ready myself for these decisions. I'm trying to solve for: the house itself and the style that's inherent in the architecture; my preferences as they fit in with said house; The Mr.'s preferences and weird quirks as they relate to the house itself; what we can actually find in the time frame we're working in; and ultimately really, who we are collectively. But what creeps into all of this is something else--some sort of "should" that muddles my thinking. We should be cooler than we are. We should be fancier than we are. It's what leads someone who really like a very ordinary tap to pony up for something much chicer or hipper--and usually more expensive--really to keep up with the imaginary Joneses in their heads (disclaimer--we know two lovely Jones families IRL and I'm not talking about them). It sounds stupid, but it's there. I think the shelter magazines--for all their ideas and inspiration--are partly to blame. It's a bit like a teenage girl looking at Vogue. She's a perfectly wonderful teenage girl who looks fresh and great and cute. But then she looks at Vogue and starts the "I'm not thin enough, chic enough, blah blah blah enough and I should do something about it" (anorexia, shopping, plastic surgery).

So perhaps the above rant is the punchline to "when is a lighting fixture not just a lighting fixture?"