You know how some things just.... compost.... pile up, nag the back of your brain, weigh you down? The things that just constantly whisper in your ear that you SHOULD address, but don't because it's overwhelming, and so you just end up feeling like a slug of a human being? You know. The
things. THAT thing. In my life, the thing was my bedroom closet. There may be other similar areas of neglect in my life (I'm lookin' at YOU robin's egg blue bathroom from 1965 that we use as a craft closet/catch all/appliance closet/barber shop), but it's hard to avoid the place where you need to go dress every single day. The light bulb in my closet had burned out a few months ago, and I never replaced it, because I just didn't want to see it. I didn't want to acknowledge the dog hair (closet is also puppy's bedroom), the mounds and mounds of unmatched socks, the shoes {
oh the SHOES}, the tangled hangars only minimally supporting masses of clothes that don't fit or are stained or are from 1995 and just need to die already. The five pair of the very exact same army green pants. And the dresses that are reminders that I am no longer the same size I was when I went on my honeymoon sixteen years ago. It was horrific. The closet of my nightmares.
And then Renata came over. Innocently, she thought, to borrow a dress for a baptism. HA. At first I tried to pull the dresses out of the closet (a feat in and of itself. Where WAS that purple dress I bought and never wore???) and just have her try them on in my bedroom (like
that is a pinnacle of neatness and organization) so that she wouldn't see my deep dark secret. But we are a home under construction, which means we have one serviceable bathroom - the bathroom in my bedroom that houses my closet. My closet without a door. If anyone had to pee, there was no way to hide the offending closet from our guests. DANG. I suggested that anyone needing to go
number 1 just use the woods outside, but it was raining, and apparently everyone was opposed to that plan. Sheesh.
Renata mentioned at one point, when trying on dress after dress, that she's never disrobed so readily and often in front of another person before.
I told her that I had never willingly let anyone into my deep dark closet before. So we were even. And then
she said (as the heaven's opened wide and angels began to sing) that she would LOVE TO HELP ME CLEAN MY CLOSET.
Seriously? No. Seriously?!? Really, really,
really???? I think, after a long, stunned pause, that I said something like "I don't know what kind of mental illness you have that you think cleaning my closet sounds like fun, but I'm going to take advantage of that before you change your mind." Or some such grateful response. She was going to help me tackle the oozing, nagging wound of my psyche. No. Way. And then she says, with a completely straight face, the most beautiful words I have ever heard in my life:
"Why don't I start finding the matches to all your unmatched socks?" ((I may have blacked out for a second or two at this point, I'm not sure. It all played out like some kind of surreal dream sequence)).
You think I'm exaggerating about the horrible-ness of the closet? I'm not. Prepare your eyeballs for this....
Now go flush your eyes out in the sink, and come back. Go ahead, I'll wait.......
So we got to work. She matched my entire laundry-basket-and-then-some collection of mismatched socks (you know, because it's easier to just go out and buy more socks then spend the time to find the matches) and I began the purge process.
I have to admit. Purging was at times painful, and at times freeing. Those button up blouses that were bought when I was several cup-sizes smaller and now make me feel like Dolly Parton in doll clothes? Toss 'em. The fleece I wore on my first date with Rob? Uhhhhhh.... but..... the memories! Yes, it's too small. No, I'll never wear it again. But.... Rob! Me! First date! (sigh). Tossed. Someone at Good Will better love that fleece and treat it well, because it brought me some good karma. Renata allowed me exactly four pieces of "sentimental clothing" that was either ridiculously too large (ahem, 90's era highschool wear) or now tragically too small (REI vest from my first camping trip with my hubby). SIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHH. Let it GO, let it GO, don't hold me back any more.....
Nine, yes nine, garbage bags and a few hours later, we found the floor. Carpet is blue in there. Who knew?
And now? I have a zen closet. A "go in there when life feels frazzled all over" closet. I go and just be in my closet now. It is awesome.
THANK YOU, Renata.
And now about that Robin's Egg Blue Bathroom.....
