The Boy is 6,000 miles away right now, and he’s spent every conversation we’ve had mentioning that I should clean out our bedroom closet while he’s away. He feels it will give me a sense of completion. He has it in his head that I’m bothered by having to go into the spare room each morning to find my clothes. Personally I don’t care. Perhaps this is what those in therapy call projection?
In any case… I cleaned out the stupid, frackin’ closet today. Let me preface this by saying that I believe projects like cleaning out the closets in this house is my punishment for living in sin. Had The Boy and I moved into the house together, at the same time, I would have had a starting point. But since he was well established, albeit disorganized, I sorta’ melded around his existing set up. In an effort to make this our house, I have been given full rein to do whatever I want.
I love him. I hate his closets.
So I begin with a cheerful heart and a lot of caffeine coursing through my body. The Boy likes to have his t-shirts hung up. I don’t understand it. But in truth, he gives me any and everything I could possibly want, so I can let the man have his t-shirts on a hanger. Relationships are all about give and take, after all.
Within twenty minutes, I had realized two things:
1. We didn’t need to buy the 3 packs of hangers….we have plenty.
2. This guy has a lot of freaking t-shirts!
Within forty minutes, my cheerful heart had faded and I was feeling dizzy from the coffee. I became frustrated. His t-shirts were too long to put on the bottom rung, which was the most convinent place for them and 45% of this closet is too high for me to reach.
Became too annoyed to continue.
So obviously, I decided to quit and eat Skittles.
Okay, so I took a break, watched some Julie and Julia before deciding that I could continue on. Mainly the idea of having all these clothes surrounding me was too much for me to handle. So after a while, I was able to get a handle on everything. I moved stuff from my spare room closet into the new one and even got rid of a fair amount of clothes that I can only dream to wear again. Is it me or do clothes magically shrink over the years in a closet? I just can’t explain the physics of it all.
While I was on a roll, I hit a cog in my wheel.
In one’s closet…where does the traditional African outfit go? I don’t feel it fits with The Boy’s t-shirts…. though I’m not sure it really counts as his work clothes either.
I had a similiar issue with his ice skates and snow goggles. Have I mentioned that we live in TEXAS? I feel like perhaps we could put those up in storage for a while… if only I could reach the attic. (Or was allowed to go up there. The Boy is concerned I will fall through the ceiling. I would take offense to it, but history serves us well. I should stay on the ground and out of the attic.)
So, long story short…it took me a couple hours, but I got our closets converted into our closet. We have unity. We are one. Or some crap like that. It feels good to get rid of clothes. I wonder if The Boy will notice that some of his are missing too
So consider this closet finished! Now don’t think that The Boy’s encouragement to clean it out is just a coincidence. It’s a darn shame he’s 6,000 miles away and can’t help. Hmm.
Oh, I also want to mention one more important person in my life. The pup. You’ve heard about her obedience training earlier. She was eager for us to get up and get working on the house.
So the first picture is the pup before I cleaned the closet. The second is the pup when I finished.
How could I feel lonely with a companion like that?