On hedonism

As my few days in Melbourne have been spent engaging in activities that my mother would enjoy (ie. no museums, art galleries or such like), the most pleasurable thing I have been doing is eating.

I love eating. Love it. I love listening to music. I love looking at beautiful things. Talking with my friends. Sleeping. And having sex.

And I realised, those are the only things I really love doing. I enjoy fixing things. Growing vegetables is fun. My job gives me something to do and an ego-boost. If I didn't have food/sex/music/friends, I can honestly say that my life wouldn't be worth living. I'm the first person to criticise the Paris Hiltons of the world, those who make a life out of conspicuous consumption. But what is my life but less-conspicuous consumption? OK, I do my job pretty well, but really, who cares if air traffic controllers get their email? Paris Hilton provides entertainment (of a sort) to millions; I provide email to 3500 people. Whoopdedo.

So, where is the gap in my life, that I will sit here and say my only function in life is to consume? Oh, and to provide some company and fun for my loved ones (because, you know, I really love them). It's simple. I don't create. ALL of my friends are creative. All of them. They write, photograph, make music, do crafts. I do none of the above. I can sketch a reasonable picture if the object is in front of me. I used to be able to play a few wind instruments if I had the music there. I'm a decent editor, but I can't think of a plot to save my life.

I've had a conversation about this to my friends, who all chorus, "But you ARE creative!", but who, on being asked, can't actually think of anything that I create. Heh. Intelligence and interest and (some) wit does not add up to creativity, alas. I'm not even particularly creative in the sack (which probably explains why BDSM isn't quite moi), even tho' I assume I'm reasonably competent there.

I used to think that my ability to do lots of things reasonably well, but not fantastically well, explained this gap. But no, I simply don't have that creative juice. Being a moderately good sketcher would be fine if I felt impelled to actually sketch something occasionally.

Thus the hedonism. My mission in life, I have decided, is in fact to consume. And appreciate. The ultimate abstract thing I love is being my friends' built-in audience. I know enough of what they all do to be able to talk intelligently on it, or at least aspects of it. I don't need to compete with them. I take perfect delight in applauding what they do. It's like the poly concept of compersion, where if your lover is happy with someone else, you're happy too. I seem to have the knack of that particular emotion, and I also seem to have the happy knack of enjoying creativity without an agenda (other than the simple one of "does it work for me or not?"). Since my friends have the good taste to do cool stuff that I love, it makes appreciation so much easier.

So, as long as my friends (or anyone I have access to) create beautiful things, and enjoy having me for an audience, I have a reason to exist. And a damn good excuse to eat, drink and be merry...

As I was saying...

I was going to rave here about my new toy ($150 off, woo hoo!), but I saw a BIG omission with my list of things I love doing.

Reading. For god's sake.

Would I rather read than have sex? Generally not. But reading is bloody crucial to my daily life. Not having a book makes me go seriously buggy.

Still, it doesn't mitigate the fact that my preferred activities involve consumption and not creation. But, man, I so value the creativity that gives me the things I love.

[And I can't yet rave about the other toy (not exactly work-safe, although nannyware probably won't react) I bought in Melbourne, since I haven't had an opportunity to try it out on someone yet. And they'd sold out of these (not worksafe either), the buggers! It's my g/f's birthday in a week, what am I supposed to do?]