The Purge

Once again, Chrissy has called me on my shit with her post about possessions and emotions. While she almost certainly wrote the post about and for herself, the nature of addiction is that I can make such a post be all about me, so here we are. Thank you, Chrissy, for being such an inspiration to me this morning, I needed it and I love you for it.

In spite of the fact that I have made 3 trips to the donation drop-off and trashed a lot of unnecessary paperwork and other garbage, I still haven’t gotten totally honest and ragingly brutal with some areas of my home. Like clothes, shoes, accessories, and craft supplies. After reading Chrissy’s post, I put on my big girl panties and waded into the closet. There were a number of casualties.

5 tops. All of them are things I won’t wear, yet I refused to get rid of them because of the name on the label. Who cares if it’s a Cavalli or Tory Burch if I’m not fucking wearing it? Like, seriously, what’s the point in that?

2 pairs of pants. White pants. Because what the fuck was I even thinking bringing white pants into my world? Do we really think I can keep white pants white for more than .25 nanoseconds?

An olive green linen knit blazer. That wouldn’t button. Did I mention that it’s green? I won’t wear green near my face, because it does my complexion no favors.

A black leather mid-thigh length jacket. Buttery soft. When I get honest with myself, I have to admit that I won’t wear it. This is Texas, where winter lasts about 5 weeks and wouldn’t even be considered chilly by some folks up north.

One pair of cute point toe boots with a block heel. Do I really need four fucking pairs of brown boots? No. These particular boots made my feet look triple-wide, and kept me from wearing other brown boots that I like much better.

2 pairs of brown mules. Who am I kidding? Mules aggravate my sciatica. I’m not going to wear them.

One pair of black sandals. Comfortable as fuck, but I won’t wear them because I have another pair of black sandals I like better.

I was actually able to get rid of an entire shoe rack and add it to the donate pile. I moved some shoes from the “these are nice shoes” category in my head; those pairs now reside in the “I’m not attached to them, which makes them perfect summer work shoes” category.

I also got rid of some costume jewelry pieces, and moved some clothes from the active section of my closet into the “holding zone”. If I don’t lose enough weight to fit into them within the next year, they have to go.

I can honestly say that I’m a bit ashamed of myself. I can also say that I’m not going to let it eat my lunch. If I get really, totally, brutally honest with myself, well…

Yes. The shoes and clothes are another fix. What can I say? I’m an addict. Addicts fix.

However, I find that there are far less negative consequences of this fix than of my old ones. And I’ve got too much on my plate (medical issues, mental health issues, moving into a construction zone, etcetera) to think I am in the kind of spiritual condition required to eliminate the fix from my life right now. Better to fix on clothes and shoes than to fix on dope.

Many of us have a tendency to weave complex webs of rationalization. Yes, I’m weaving a web right now. I’ll worry about that with my sponsor, because I certainly can’t stop the process by myself.

Final note: yes, Patricia, I still like my money where I can see it😁 These aren’t going anywhere.

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Inspired. Sort of.

A couple days ago, I read this post from Chrissy, about stuff (more specifically, about quantity of stuff). It initially inspired me, because we are moving house; and even though we’re moving into something far larger than the magic bus, I’m still having to pare down the quantity of stuff. So far, I’ve gotten Sunshine to get rid of a few ratty garments, and that’s it. I’ve gotten rid of several garments, several pairs of shoes, and assorted “smalls” (books and random knick-knacks). It isn’t going to be enough. I’m going to have to get brutal.

At the same time, I have to keep in mind what Mr B pointed out to me this week. He reminded me that my usual solution to this problem is to purge my stuff so Sunshine doesn’t have to purge any of his. Mr B is right. I shouldn’t have to shrink myself to occupy less space just because Sunshine gets dickish about having to get rid of any of his stuff, especially when we’re moving into a larger home than we’ve had for the last 8 years.

It’s bad enough that, initially, the storage space I had planned for in the living room will be occupied by Sunshine’s work bench. I probably fucked up when I agreed to that one, because it doesn’t give him any incentive to hurry up and build the addition so he can have a workspace/studio. It leaves me with nowhere to hide my craft stash, and I seriously refuse to fucking purge any of it to accommodate the (hopefully) very temporary arrangement I agreed to in a moment of utter senselessness.

Side note: I feel it’s important to say that at least Sunshine mostly doesn’t have stockpiles of useless shit that serves no purpose. A lot of his shit is for hunting, art-ing, reading, making his own ammunition, and so on and so forth. So he’s not an out-of-control hoarder or anything, he’s just more stubborn in his refusal to get rid of shit because “it’s useful, it’s practical, blah blah blah” than I am. And that has to change, I have to be as persistent/stubborn/immovable as he is, or I have to be the unstoppable force that meets his immovable object; because a whole lot of my shit is practical & useful too.

I have no idea where I’m going with this, I just know it’s something I need to put out there so I can hold myself accountable. So, as I start cleaning so that we are able to move the mattress down there and sleep where it’s cooler at night, I will be doing some serious purging and organizing. With any luck, I’ll actually be able to accomplish that.

Because obviously

I started moving things down to the new house today. We’re not that close to move-in, but I didn’t want to have to pack and unpack all the things in one freaking day like I usually do when I move.

Side note: I know, it doesn’t have to all be done in one day, but I am my mother’s child, and I can’t help myself.

So when I started unpacking the winter clothes I had stuffed into bags as a temporary measure intended to save my sanity because I could not handle any more clothes avalanches, I realized I didn’t have enough shirt hangers.

Now, I could have used some of those screaming pink hangers I bought for pants, but then what was I going to do if I ran out of those too?

Side note: I always make it a point to try and know exactly who and what I am dealing with. In this case, I’m dealing with me, and I am a shopaholic.

As I sat there debating whether to use the ones I bought for pants to hang my tops, I realized there was a solution.

I could order more hangers. Because 100 screaming pink hangers isn’t enough, I guess.

Soon I will have 150 screaming pink hangers. I went with the kind you can drape pants over. Because I know exactly who and what I am dealing with here, and they can be used for either shirts or pants.

Now, if it were only that simple to solve the problem of what to do with my shoes.

Because obviously.

Starting the great purge

It starts today. In the living room. Because our entire living room has become a junk drawer.

I started with my end of the coffee table. The drawer was full of random shit.

Like a sandwich baggie with crumbs in it.

And jewelry,

medications,

and other random shit.

Also? Hair. A lot of fucking hair. Mostly mine. I keep a tiny brush in there, so that makes sense. It was the sand dunes that I couldn’t figure out.

Yes, sand dunes. I have no clue.

Sunshine’s shit is even worse than mine.

I better quit blobbing and get back to it before he comes home from work.

Running out of room

I finally realized that I need two distinct and separate wardrobes. One is cheap stuff that I LIKE but won’t cry over when it gets ruined; that stuff is for work. Then there’s the bulk of my wardrobe, which is stuff I love and would cry over if it got destroyed.

In an RV, that kind of wardrobe is just not feasible. There’s no fucking place to keep it without cramming it into every possible nook and cranny and dealing with a clothing avalanche every time I want to wear clothes.

Recently, I got fed up with it all and went to my favorite fashion & style forum. I asked if anybody had any suggestions for how to stay sane for the next few months until we get moved into the house, because I was ready to donate half my closet just to stop the clothes avalanches. The suggestions I got were so obvious they made me say “doh” like Homer Simpson.

I guess I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. After our first summer in this RV, I did a seasonal changeover, bringing out all the warm clothes and putting away the summer clothes. That was some bullshit, and I vowed never to do it again. When the good ladies on that fashion forum suggested I stow the bulkier garments, it was like “why didn’t I think of that?” I bagged up two big-ass black garbage bags worth of sweaters and shit, and I had Sunshine help me haul them down the hill and hide them in the closet. I had to think of it as putting things in a holding zone, because seasonal changeovers are some bullshit.

The rest of the RV is in the same shape. I can’t open a cabinet door without risking getting trapped under a landslide of objects. The house is nearing a point where I can start moving shut in there, but it’s not there yet. There’s still too much dust and shit flying around, and that will continue to be the case until the kitchen cabinets are installed and wrapped with reclaimed wood on the exposed sides.

I’ve had to take most of my yarn stash and bag it up for temporary off-site storage. All of our winter weight blankets and comforters and shit have been bagged up for off-site storage. Some of my shoes are in a pile in the closet of the new house. I’ve moved most of my laundry detergent to the house because I mostly use my own washing machine these days. I’ve moved some of my hoard of body lotion & body wash down there

All that, and I’m still running out of fucking room in the magic bus.

I’ve enjoyed the last several years of self discovery that living in an RV has given me. I’ve learned what’s important, and what’s just “stuff”. I’ve been able to strip away some of the extraneous in my life (like TVs for every room), and add things that enhance my contentment (like my yarn crafts). The challenges of living this small have been interesting, but it is directly conflicting with the intentional, simple life we want to live. Canning, hunting, gardening, crafting, Sunshine’s art; these activities require a lot of gack, and we are running out of room.

Final note: gack–all that stuff on a live event production that is not otherwise classified. Microphones, speakers, props, wardrobe; these are all examples of classified items. Gaffers tape, sharpie markers, a stash of granola bars, dry socks; that’s gack.

Tool time!

I am acquiring enough tools that I’m going to need a she-shed pretty soon.

I have hand tools, many of them given to me by Rude Ass.

I have more hand tools hiding under this pile of junk.

I have jeweler’s tools.

I have a chainsaw of my very own.

And now I have my very own lawn tools. When I discovered that cordless weedeaters were a thing, I knew I had to have one. Weedeating has been a consistent problem out here from day 1. I actually attacked it with an Amish weedeater my first summer here.

I now have nobody to blame but myself if the grass around my RV, my house, or my container garden gets out of control.

Sunshine and I were at one of the big box building supply stores this week, and he fucked around and took me to the gardening section so he could get some oil of some kind. It happened to be located near the weedeater aisle. So of course I had to check their prices on cordless weedeaters.

The weedeater was priced at $70, which wasn’t bad. However, right next to the box with the weedeater was a kit that included the weedeater, a blower, a battery, and a charger for $68.

Of course I made him buy it for me. It was kind of a no brainer.

It was fairly easy to assemble them; just a few screws to hold the string guard in place, everything else snapped together.

Which sounds cheap, until you factor in the 180 rotation that the weedeater head is designed for, to make it also functional as an edger. As for blowers, they all have snap together tunnels for the air to come out of.

Now, I just had to clean out the rubbermaid storage shed that I intend to claim as my she-shed so I can lock up my tools to keep them from getting stolen. Because tools around here have a habit of going missing because someone borrowed them and left them wherever they got done with them.

Once the shed was cleaned out, Sunshine helped me move it to a spot closer to the new house

and I started putting my big tools in it.

If only I could find the motivation to actually move all my shit into one pile in my she-shed, I’d feel like I was accomplishing something. Until then, I’ll leave you with some pictures of the village idiot on Christmas morning me checking out my new tools.

What’s in your wallet?

A fashion forum I belong to has a thread going around about “what’s in your bag?”

I decided I needed to share it with you guys because I can’t figure out why on earth my bag is so freaking heavy. Hopefully, you will have some insight for me.
I’ve been afraid to look deeply in my bag for a couple of weeks now. My bag has gotten heavier and heavier, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. So, I’m diving in while there’s a community of friends to send search & rescue if I don’t resurface soon.
* several pounds of keys. I don’t know how it came to this.


* my wallet

* Revo shades and my eyeglasses for driving at night

* two ink pens, a folding hair brush, a cleaning cloth for glasses, and what I thought was a lollipop stick turned out to be 1/3 of an ink pen


* inhaler

* travel bottle of biotene mouth rinse because my b.p. meds are good at giving me cottonmouth


* vertigo meds. I learned the hard way not to leave home without them


* a cigarette lighter. Since I don’t smoke, I can only assume that this is there in case I ever get stranded on a deserted island & need to start a signal fire

* eyeglass repair tool


* leftover medicine from cold & flu season. I’m guessing these were left here in case I wind up on a deserted island

* my sobriety medallion given to me by my meeting group last year


* enough hair elastics for an entire squad of cheerleaders

* not one


* not two


* but three tubes of hand lotion. I guess I’m expecting that entire squad of cheerleaders to be stranded on that deserted island with me

* a band aid


* a band aid large enough to treat a gunshot wound. Because there’s sure to be a gunshot wound on the deserted island.

* a little snack for the deserted island. Apparently, I only need something to hold me over while I cook all those cheerleaders over that signal fire I started.