King Midas Is A Consumer

Before I buy something, I anticipate the acquisition and imagine having it and using it. In my imagination, it is perfect and pristine, and stays that way. In reality, it becomes tainted in my mind the moment it becomes mine. This even precedes the possibility of harm coming to the thing, or even the eventuality of my use bringing about ordinary wear and tear that marks the things as no longer absolutely brand new. It doesn't matter whether the thing is a car or a candy bar: they all precipitate in me the stages of grief. The only distinction is the length of time it takes to pass through them all.

The most recent new thing of note that I've acquired would be my current cell phone. It has, regrettably, passed into that flawed phase. It's not damaged in any way, and yet still has become forever lesser-than in my mind. It has become so in a trivial, minute way imperceptible to anyone but myself, but so it is nonetheless. Happily, this phase is always succeeded by one in which the pain fades and the imagined degradation is all but forgotten. That ultimate stage of progression becomes so acceptable that the stress and anxiety can only be renewed by the prospect of replacing the phone. At that time, I will undoubtedly hold on to it at all costs, fearful of stepping once more into the breach of retail sales (the real and ultimate foe). It's a curious cycle.