It's not just the fireworks that send me into a frenzy:
For this year's Independence holiday, I dedicated my day-and-a-half off of work to "spring cleaning" the house. Yes, I am aware that the season upon us is summer and not spring... but dammit, I was sick of not being able to set foot in two of the five closets in our house. It has also been bugging me that though Rhonda and I moved into our house a year ago, our bedroom still looks like we just moved in --- bare walls, no decor, old comforter that doesn't match anything in the room... It has been driving my obsessive compulsive self into insanity. Banging my head against the wall, willing Queer Eye for the lazy lesbians to call and inform us that we have been chosen for free stuff from Pottery Barn and a color coordinated cleaning crew was causing a migraine and not really helpful toward getting anything accomplished.
So Monday morning I dropped a couple hits of acid in my French roast, plugged into my iPod and dove into the monster taking up residence in our (once for about twenty-minutes, the day we moved in) walk-in closet.
For some reason, I have this little habit in which I refuse to get rid of any clothes. I have owned clothing through a number of fashion loops and even the stuff that you probably couldn't pay me to wear in public, I keep because "What if someone has a costume party and I have to show up as a sheep herder or a 1980's hooker or a lumber jack or disco duck??!" I cannot even joke about getting rid of my spandex mini dress that I wore once to a live showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in 1998. I mean seriously... with the right pair of go-go boots I could wear that dress again as one of the fanta girls! In the end, I took the plunge (it was probably the acid talking) and donated about three boxes worth of clothes, belts and shoes to the women's shelter. They need my faux suede, ruffled, Bo Peep halter top more than I do. I think I did a pretty good job of letting go, regardless of the lime green, polyester, button up shirt I can never seem to get rid of. I bought it at a thrift store in Austin when I was twelve. And every time I look at it I am reminded of the first time I ever stepped foot in a resale shop; and how cool and trendy I felt after buying the most hideous shirt in the store. I'll never be able to say goodbye to that hideous shirt...
Now finally, two days later, BOTH of our upstairs closets are clear of all fire hazards and will not regurgitate last season's Christmas wrapping at your feet upon opening the door. I also did some organizing in the kitchen, vacuumed and swiffered all of our floors, hung up some artwork and added some decor to our bedroom. I am certainly not done yet, but a vast improvement has been made and I can put the OCDs to rest for a while.