Day 17: Funereal Thoughts, Oh Boy!

"Pink Rules, Boys Drool (No Offense Boys)" is today's ensemble. I actually would have bought these shoes from Nine West, but they only had a size ten left. It's funny, because in debating the footwear choices for today, I narrowed it down to two pairs. This one was $48, and the other one was $380 (and that was half price...eek), and they served the same purpose. The point is that you can find good substitutes for expensive items--to a point. If the materials are good, and the brand's construction is reputable enough (which Nine West's is), then I really don't get what big bucks get you, if not just a designer name and crocodile skin (neither of which I deem necessary). If you have to buy a unique pair for its intricate detailing, then by all means don't let me stand in your way. But unless you have thousands of dollars at your disposal for luxury shoes, rest assured that no one is likely to notice your shoe's designer, especially when the name is hidden away inside of the shoe.

"You know what my version of hell is? Wearing two-toned shoes." Mr. Big, at a bowling alley

Yes, funerals. That's the cheery subject of today's episode. Actually, that's a bit of an overstatement. But it does all start with a funeral. The gals go to the graveside service of a well-known fashion designer. There, Charlotte meets a man who has recently lost his wife and is distraught with grief. Charlotte, sensitive and marriage-obsessed, decides to revive him and push him toward wanting to commit again. But, alas, she finds out he has been simultaneously milking the sympathies of five other women, sleeping with all of them, of course. Samantha dies a small social death by messing with a wealthy, married man, but she regains her status by networking. Miranda suffers a panic attack that stems from a fear of dying alone and being eaten by her cats. She recovers when Carrie revives her faith in Mr. Right being out there (something Carrie doesn't even know if she herself believes). Inspired by the feeling to live while you can, Carrie calls Big and sets up a date, then doubts the healthfulness of this. They go out, sparks fly, and the relationship rekindles.

It's strange how the thought of death makes us embrace life. From that perspective, it's a good thing we know we will die at some point. Otherwise, we may just go through life not really experiencing anything.

I always thought my parents, being doctors, were immune to death and therefore quite morbid. My mom would talk of a friend's health condition by saying things like, "Well, she won't be around much longer. You had better visit her." This was when the person had years left to live. I always thought it was insensitive. Shouldn't you wait to talk about a person's death until they've actually died or only have a few weeks left? But her comments always got me to visit or call. In that way, she was onto something. She realized, perhaps better than anyone else because of her profession, that we were all here for such a short time. And time doesn't wait for any of us.

As is evidenced by my previous post, I've been wondering lately about my priorities in life. With my ten-year high school reunion rapidly approaching, I've been thinking about what I've done with my life, what I'm doing, and what I want to do. The other day I realized two very scary things. One, I'm nearly 28 and have no career. To me, that's a lot freakier than having no man. You can meet the right man in a day. You can work years for the right career. And I'm running out of years. Two, I want kids, preferably lots of them, adopted and biological. Now, maybe you're seeing my dilemma. If you don't, I'll just tell you to be glad you don't have doctors for parents who remind you yearly that your fertility is plummeting.

But it's true that I need to start sooner rather than later. My mom started having kids at 30, and she was considered old. Not only that, but she knew she only wanted three, all two years apart, so that she would be done by age 34, the age when your eggs really start going downhill, or so I'm told. I think I want four or five. While I want to adopt, I don't want to have to adopt. I want to have the option of taking our time.

But that's the thing. None of us has time. I know that some women have healthy babies at 40. I think that's great. I wish it was the norm. I feel like I'm only now maturing enough to bring a semi-emotionally healthy child into this world. It would be wonderful to have ten years to focus on forming a career that I love and then be stable enough (financially, etc) to have a big family. But, alas, ten free years are not being inserted into my life. So, I'm faced with plan B, which is dealing with the life I have, not a day more.

This is particularly pressing now, because I'm thinking of going back to school for fashion design. I'm scared to death. It's three years of studying, a shit load of money, and even more years of forging my way in the fashion career world. Thing is, I don't know if I'm up for it. I would never have said that before this year. But we're looking at at least four or five years to be in a position to get a good job and start paying off my debt. That would make me 32, a little late to start having those five kids. And when I start having them, will I even have much time for the career I worked so hard to get? I want to be there for my kids, and I have a feeling that that will become more important to me than anything. After all, I've already decided I will never choose my career over my family and friends....

But I also know there may not be another time to follow my passions. It's shit or get off the pot time for me. Or rather, pick a career or don't time. I don't have forever. Neither do any of us. That reality sure adds a hell of a lot of urgency to the whole deal. My mom's solution is that Hank and I just start having babies, and I throw away the whole idea of an important career all together. I guess if a big career was my goal in life, I would have pursued it by now. But the idea of never having one to call my own and to be really good at makes me cringe, despite my feelings about family.

So those are my thoughts. I don't know what I'll do. I keep waiting for an answer that I know will come only when I decide something. Decisions aren't hard; it's the preparing for them that's the bitch.

Hope you'll be back. I will.