Closet Purging, Part 1

Time to make good on that heart-to-heart with my closet. Grief has stages and so does closet purging.

Stage One: Nervous anticipation

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday:  I want to start now. Why can’t work just happen without me? What if I change my mind before Sunday? I wish I had time to just do this now.

Stage Two: Sudden consternation

Saturday: There’s so much stuff. Where should I begin? Do I really want to do this? It’s so much effort. Do I actually have time for this right now? It’s. so. much.

I hope I don’t freeze, box stuff, and just binge watch Madam Secretary again. What if I only think I’m ready and I’m not? What if I pull everything out, get overwhelmed, weed out like 3 things, and put the rest back?

Stage Three: Panicked distress

Saturday continued: OMG I need a plan or this is never going to happen and I’ll wake up Monday morning with the same amount of crap in my closet—maybe more (this shit seems to multiply when I’m not looking)—and it will be staring me in the face screaming “There’s no room for you! Ha ha ha. And no, you don’t have a thing to wear! Mwa ha ha ha ha!”

[Insert maniacal internet surfing on closet organizing and wardrobe curating here.]

Stage Four: Procrastination sleep

So easy to just blame the hour-long nap in-bed social media-zone-out on Sunday Brunch, but who am I kidding?

Stage Five: Focused effort

Right! I remember all my why’s now. Ten jumping jacks later, with encouraging TEDTalks playing in the background, it’s time to get medieval on my wardrobe.

Stage Six: Sad relief

I’m exhausted. That took all day and I’m down to a fifth of what I had. Yes, I’m proud and relieved, but feeling a bit pretty damn weepy. I may not be actually crying (at the moment), but despite my (current) content exterior, there’s a lot that goes on internally when items infused with memories make the purge mound.

Stay tuned for Part 2. Today I just focused on clothes, tomorrow I’ll be weeding out the random trinkets and doodads. And then there’s the pain in the ass, of course, of getting the enormous pile out of my home. It’s a 3-foot by 5-foot mound that’ll take several trips to load.

Phew! I’m not this tired after my Pilates class!






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