I suck at writing lately. I’ve been reading a lot – finding new blogs to read, more crap on Reddit than probably humanly safe – books, political write-ups, and then school work. I’m so tired of school. Yet, despite all the reading, I’m still blanking at anything to write on. I’ll think of something, then scribble it down, then think “naaaaah.” I feel like this is the exact same way I started my “fly, thoughts, fly” post.
Then, it came to me. Like a freight train into my forehead.
Last weekend, while tidying up my apartment I made a discovery. Between the dishes, scrubbing, sweeping, vacuuming and mopping, trying to not kill my kitten as he just loves to walk right under my feet, I had started a load of laundry. I was doing each load in between the other chores.
My discovery is that I have way too many clothes. Between the button up collar shirts, the pants, the skirts, the non-button up work shirts, the sweaters, the dresses, the random crap – it’s ridiculous. Wasn’t there a Princess who had over 500 pairs of shoes and her country was starving? I felt greedy.
I started thinking about all the materialistic things in life that I have and how ridiculous they all are. Do I really need, and I say this honestly, 16 pairs of work pants? Granted, for my own benefit, I have that many because I went from a size 8/10 to a size 4/6 (being on the lower side of that fraction each time) and have had to compensate by purchasing new clothes. My doctor that I work for was continuously making fun of me by noting how ridiculously baggy my pants were. He threw a sandwich at me once. Told me to eat something. For the record, I wore a pair the other day from my “Old days” — I can get them on and off without buttoning, and I can stick both hands in in either side of my hips, make a fist, and they still fit.
So, I moved a load of laundry from the wash to the dryer, started a new load, and went to the kitchen to grab a trash bag. I came back with a mission – donating clothes. I’m getting rid of clothes that I’ve not worn in years, or that just don’t fit me anymore. There is no reason for anyone to have this many articles of clothing. They could go to people who need them – people who would wear them. They are good clothes, too. If anyone who is reading this wants New York and Co. pants size 8’s or 10’s, hit me up.
I started in the t-shirt section. Immediately, I realized that I’m completely clueless as to why I still have any of these shirts: Georgia Tech t-shirts that I only wore because of the ex, t-shirts from years worth of the Atlanta Ultimate 12 Days of Christmas hat tournaments, and a few from the Savannah Memorial Day Hat tournament (those that weren’t destroyed with scissors) and I thought to myself – – – WHY, SAMANTHA? Why…and half of the t-shirts I had no idea where they even came from. Into the bag they went.
I started shoving all of these neatly folded, hardly worn, still smelling like fabric softener t-shirts into a bag. I shoved. And shoved. . . and shoved. Before I knew it, my entire bag was full. I tied it up, put it outside my closet when the dryer went off.
I opened up the dryer and then realized I hadn’t been attacked by the Ollie kitten in a while. Where was my Oliver? Then it terrified me — I had left the patio door open, and despite being on the 2nd story, there was a chance that he decided to be super man kitty and jump. So I got up, ran to the patio, and he wasn’t there.
In the midst of my cleansing, shall I say, I had completely lost my kitten. Once I determined that if he had jumped down, he was likely wandering about unharmed, and I only have a few minutes to find him before he was gone for good. I came back in, shut the sliding glass door and called for him again. I heard a little squeak from inside the closet. I came into the closet, called for him again, and heard him meow from inside the dryer. I guess he was in the closet with me the whole time and decided to take a hop inside the warm dryer when I went out thinking that he had turned into super-man-kitten.
My panic was over.
..but my mission still remained.
I have one bag, full of clothes, and more to come. I’m going to downsize, downgrade, whatever you want to call it. There is no reason for this, and if anything, it’ll make laundry much easier!
If you want clothes, hit me up.