Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Okay, so. I decided I need to really, REALLY clean out my closet. Again. I don't understand how I end up using all my extra hangers, breaking open new packs of hangers, and still have a pile of clean laundry on the chair by my bed. How does this happen? How? Either my hangers are committing suicide or my clothes are gettin' freaky with each other and multiplying. Or both.

Maybe this weekend I will really go through my stuff and try and tear things away from my heart. Darien called me a hoarder last night. A HOARDER. Because we were at my favorite antique pop up shop and I bought more distressed frames and forced him to buy a chair that matches my piano chair. Like! We have no chairs in our house! We only have four dining room chairs! And my piano chair! And this other weird antique chair that is currently holding my laundry! And an old stool! We don't even have a desk chair! I'm not a hoarder! I just like nice things! Nice things that have been painted and distressed and reupholstered that cost a little bit of money! A HOARDER. DARIEN. YOU ARE A HOARDER OF ANGER. ANGER AND JEALOUSY. Hoarder. Puh!

Anyone who really really knows me knows that giving away my wardrobe* is probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time/ever**.

*I will be saving anything vintage, expensive, sentimental, or irreplaceable. Not because I am a hoarder, but because I value clothing. I do. I value it more than my nutrition.

**Wait, no. It hurt more when a boyfriend dumped me on my flip phone at 1:20 in the afternoon on the Saturday before finals.