I’ve been slowly poring over boxes and baskets and trash bags full of my belongings for the past week in an effort to smartly pack. I have the luxury of time on my side for the only instance in my history of many-a-move, so it would be a disservice not to organize now. The conclusion I’ve come to: I have so much clothing, it’s ridiculous. In fact, as David Cross would say, it’s so ridiculous, it’s ridonkulous.
I’m also doing several loads of laundry and have THREE unpictured dressers. I clearly have a problem.
I’ve slowly managed to stack a mountain of boxes and bags that are destined for Goodwill, but there are still far too many “to keep” piles for my taste. I tie weird sentimental value to some items of clothes, as if the clothing will some how hold the memory, but that’s bullshit. I hold the memory in my head, so I’ve just gotta start letting stuff go.
Enter a new program I’m implementing on myself. Those stragglers I never wear but have somehow made it through multiple moves are finally gonna get the boot… after I wear them one last time. I figure if I dress up the shabby digs, snap an Instagram, and give each of them one last adventure, I can let ’em go without a hitch. I’m gonna minimize my wardrobe, one day at a time. Oh, and you get to see it all. Word.