At long last a LiveJournal by Jeri Smith-Ready

(Another quasi-personal post exclusive to the LJ community of like-ish minds--i.e., not cross-posted to my other blogs.  Which is another way of saying I don't want my mom to read this.)

Just now, for the first time in years, I drank a cup of French Roast coffee. French Roast is my favorite, but I haven't bought it lately because at my local Giant, the organic fair trade brand doesn't offer that variety. But for several months they've sold Newman's Own French Roast one shelf over. Newman's Own--fair trade, organic, profits go to charities, etc. You'd think I'd grab it with glee.

No. It costs fifty cents more. I was "saving" it for a time when I really deserved it.

But for some reason last week I'd had enough. I bought the Newman's Own. This morning I took a sip of the first cup and thought, hmm, I made it too weak. But as I kept drinking I realized it wasn't too weak, it was just smooth. Sweet. It didn't burn the back of my tongue with bitterness. It didn't make my stomach roil and rebel and crave the Pepcid AC.

It got me thinking: what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I such a masochist? Why do I habitually deny myself the things that would make my life a little brighter? What did I do to deserve such self-loathing? (Don't answer that.) Or am I just a modern-day Puritan?

For instance, the books I most want to read, the ones that would make me happy (such as Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job and a handful of funny contemporary romances) aren't even in my TBR pile. They're on my bookshelf, the place for books that will be read someday but right now don't even qualify for the on-deck circle. Because I don't deserve them until I've slogged forty-nine more dreary, "edgy" novels where tortured souls try to stop the Apocalypse of the Week. (Right, like there's a lot of suspense there. Gee, I wonder if the world will end? Please please please let it happen and put these characters out of my their misery.) 

Fuck that. Life's too short. From now on I'm going to read books that make me laugh and coffee that makes me go "Yum!" I'm going to reward myself for reaching milestones, instead of just telling myself I should've reached them sooner.

But I don't know how.  How do you reward yourself?  Can you teach me?  Can joy even be taught? 

What about you other workaholics?  Do you punish yourself for not living up to your own impossibly high goals?  Or am I the only one half-soaked in this ever-present puddle of dread?