I am striving to improve myself. I must make a confession. I am a hoarder.
I am not a hoarder in the sense of that popular television show. Passing judgement, that is just plain nasty. In fact, I would like to think that most people do not suspect I hoard anything. This is because my belongings are precisely organized and put away. Nonetheless as I sit in this bedroom, facing my madness, it is daunting and embarrassing.
Memories, photographs, books, and shoes are some of my favorite possessions to hoard. I am not confirming it, but it is rumored that Imelda Marcos may have been envious of my shoe collection. However, that is not where my madness lies.
I enjoy clothing as any other woman does, but I do not think you understand. I really love clothing. On the Hunting for Houses television shows when the female inevitable makes the joke, "The Master bedroom closet has enough room for my stuff, where is yours going?" that is me. Seriously, it is me. I am shaking my head yes so you believe me more thoroughly. I need and use two, full-sized, master bedroom closets and I still have clothing folded and tightly jammed in dressers and bureaus. I probably have various items in the way-back of my car. I even have some clothes at J2's house.
I know! I am a sick bitch!
I cannot adequately explain my appreciation for clothing. Every item I own has a story associated with it. Like the time I wore my Gap button-fly, Long and Lean khakis and was on a date with Grande Juan. He and I were in the living room of my friend's apartment at three am doing gymnastics. No really, we were doing front handsprings, round offs into toe touches, and back walkovers when my pants split right on the seam of the button fly. The pants have been mended, but I have not worn them since that night.
In addition to their stories, I love their colors, cuts, and styles. I appreciate the differences in every item I own. Yet, everything looks the same. Solid colored, button-up sweaters, a-line skirts in every imaginable pattern, a rainbowed array of boot cut pants, and dresses with empire waists galore all leave me looking like a cartoon character who wears the same outfit in every episode. Then, when I add in my fluctuating weight issue everything ranges in sizes 10 to 20. To make matters worse I have not been on the lower side of the size scale in a decade. So, I am obviously hoarding pounds too.
By posting this, I am holding myself accountable. In six months from today, the eighth of August, I will purge my closets. This means, if I have not worn it, cannot fit into it, or believe it is unstylish and unflattering, except for sentimental items like my prom dress, I will donate it to charity. I know, that is totally like giving the food bank the dusty cans of peas and carrots from the back of the pantry during a food drive. Who knows, by then my velour miniskirts or denim, overall shorts may be fashionable again and you never know when you will need a slutty, leopard print dress.
I have already started removing clothing tonight. The pearl button sweater sets from Lazurus department store I wore multiple times out dancing to The Drop Shop, 20th Street, and The Stoned Monkey in 1997 are gone. Also gone is the 'ballerina' shirt I wore while dancing with my girlfriend's on their balcony during Spring Fraternity Rush which was also the 2004 Block Party. At least I have started somewhere with something and they are in the Goodwill pile, for now.
Until the eighth of August I will be reviewing with adoration, delightfully reminiscing, and possibly finding the photographs from my scrapbooks that coincide with the stories held within my closets.
