Candle
For those times demanding an immediate escape, I look no further than reality television. Snuggling up on my reasonably priced couch with some chips and store brand seltzer, I jump on the opportunity to peek behind the curtain of the lives of the rich and variably famous. I find a peculiar comfort in setting aside my immediate problems, only to entertain from afar the trivial troubles of affluent women.
The only thing more absurd than the producer-contrived drama is the extent to which I am infatuated with it.
As they move from personal training sessions, to late lunches, to cocktail parties, I find myself haphazardly executing mental gymnastics in attempts to solve the economic formulas at play. How much are these girls making? How can they afford such a big house? How can they be so angry with each other when all they have is time and money?
What is wealth if you can’t enjoy it in complete silence?
I flip the channel. A pool party consisting of gorgeous twenty year olds at one of their dad’s infinity pools reminds me that I will never have a body worth seeing on MTV primetime. I have the urge to finally start going to the gym. During a commercial break I take a glance at my body in the bathroom mirror. I am fine for now.
Another channel change, and I fall deeper into the rabbit hole. I inevitably settle on an hourlong documentary program detailing the trials and tribulations of people plagued by one of a variety of addictions, from hoarding, to food, to online romances. Exploitation is suddenly a fuzzy line. I probably shouldn’t be watching this sort of stuff, but look, it’s right here.
I suppose it’s easy to feel like you’re making progress when you witness another person who is clearly not. It’s akin to the sensation that your train is moving faster simply because you’re passing one plummeting in the other direction.
A tea light burns quietly in its glass holder on my affordable coffee table. An incoherent screaming match ensues in a housewife’s grand living room, tempers blazing amongst her set of cream couches.
She may have a gorgeous fireplace, but I am happy with my candle.