Josephina With a Sinus Infection

Magazine PileThe stack on the dining room table is getting a little lower than I’m comfortable with.  It’s cause of this cold – I plowed through 16 magazines yesterday alone and this sinus infection is still totally plugging my whole face, so looks like it’s going to be another sick day tomorrow.  God – I haven’t gotten to the bottom of my magazine pile since I started secretly subscribing to my grandma’s address in sixth grade.  Back then it was Tigerbeat, Bop and Jane, now I don’t even know if I could list all the mags I get without going through credit card receipts.  That’s when the problem really got out of hand – nonstop renewals.  I never parsed my credit card receipts too seriously to begin with and I was definitely able to gloss over the $12/once a year charges for most of these guys.  I mean, really, $12 a year for a slick, glossy magazine delivered right to your house?  It’s a crime not to take that deal.  So I kept adding, never subtracting, diversifying my titles to learn about different things – my Sports Illustrateds hobnob with Popular Mechanics, who like to be near the Wired and GQs, who schmooze with the Glamours and Conde Nast Travelers.  Although I live in Baltimore, I subscribe to New York, LA and Chicago Magazine.  I don’t know how to swim yet I read Coastal Living avidly the second it arrives in my mailbox, packed with sailboat votives and 100 ways to incorporate lobster cages into your entryway.  Ironically Real Simple, a magazine about simplifying your life, holds very little interest for me and goes right into the pile.

I’d say at its height, when I was dating Marshall and he made me watch TV shows on DVD rather than reading 800 word articles, the pile had over 200 magazines in it.  But then Marshall got that job in Austin and didn’t ask me to move with him and we did long distance for three weeks then called it quits, and the pile started to seem like the only thing that could help me find who I was again.  It looks like there’s only about 30 or 40 zines in there right now – mostly Real Simples from a few years ago and some alumni magazines stuffed with news of successful people I vaguely remember who apparently cure cancer and go into space.  If I finish the pile – maybe tomorrow, maybe over the weekend – I should write into that alumni magazine and let them know about it.  It might not be the cure for AIDS, but getting through the pile would sure rank as a big accomplishment in my life – one definitely worth reading about.

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