Yesterday I spent more than a small amount of time packing...well, to be specific, I spent a lot of time going through my main closet, the hall closet and two chests of drawers...and four linen closet spaces to sort out my clothes. Each space began with a cursory editing, followed by a more forceful and yet apathetic review. I found it difficult to give up some of my most beloved articles - a pair of old saddle boots, dress shirts from my first out of college job and even my studded camo dance-club pants. In the end, twelve bags full of clothes were loaded into my car and taken to the Lincoln People's City Mission drop-off site. I have to admit that while thinking of others helped me unearth my collected piles of clothes, I felt a shameful regret as I left my last bag in the warehouse entry. I was leaving my things, MY THINGS, pieces of me to fend for themselves in a loud and scary place. I felt very much like you do as a child, when someone else takes your toy - it’s YOUR thing and it feels unjust that it’s not with you.
Deep down I was really hoping that someone there would applaud me - they would reassure me that the things I was leaving behind were DESPERATELY needed and would go to good use. I imagined even a name coming into play, "Oh, Sara and Sondra need these jeans so badly so they can go to the school dance. Its such a good thing that you gave up those low-rise Levi’s with the embellished pockets.” No such luck. Only two of the three guys there loading a moving truck spoke English, and only one didn’t seem like a serial killer. I told them to take care and quickly hopped back into my car, and backed out of the dark alley.
My clothes are so difficult to sort because my weight has run up and down – and who knows where it will be tomorrow? How do I know what kind of clothes I’ll need in Denver? Will the high-altitude shrink me or will I balloon like a beach ball? These questions plagued me – I felt good about ridding myself of extra material things I don’t need but I also felt a kind of donator’s remorse. So I went home and ate a brownie.
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Dannielle is a world-wandering, avoider of responsibility and writer. While searching for the world's best bourbon, she's currently producing a travel companion blog launching in 2011.
8 comments:
Kudos, Danni! I would've eaten the whole pan of brownies and then huffed and puffed my way back down to the mission to steal back a pair of jeans the next size up...and maybe one shirt!
can i have a bite?
Secret no holds bar "recipe": 1 box Betty Crocker Fudge brownie mix; half-bag hershey's raspberry chocolate chips, half bag hershey's milk chocolate chips. Stir in and make as box says. mmmmoi! its like chocolate Zanax.
We're going through the house and getting rid of the... um... stuff... that we've accrued over the years. Alright, to be honest, most of it's my stuff.
We're donating several boxes of books to our church's book sale, the tagged Beanie Babies are going to one of the local kid homes, I tossed a lot of the cheap hockey cards... It's amazing how much stuff I've hoarded over the years.
I totally agree with the brownies as a Xanax substitute... they're cheaper too, and you don't need a prescription...
Actually, Xanax (pardon my prior spelling misstake) has a generic and is v. cheap now. :) I gave lots of my books to my friend who is a middle level teacher (new words for junior high). hopefully someone will enjoy them, also I'm hoping she keeps the muder thriller hard backs to herself.
Tom, you give me hope. I know that by the time I actually get all done with my move I'll have almost nothing left but my most-beloved things.
where do you get raspberry chocolate chips? i have never seen them here in the land of gracious living.
We have them here at our local ghetto Russ' market so I would imagine you could find them at your regular grocery store. They're in the baking aisle w/the regular Hershey's choco chips.
mandy, me too!! LOL xx
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