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So, sometime in the past two, maybe three weeks while lost in our fevered, plague-ridden and sickly stupors, my fiancé and I decided that now (Now? Yes, NOW) would be a good time to clean. To clean, and de-clutter. Simple words, yes? Ha! I laugh again, HA HA! The reason for this particular outpouring insanity, you ask?

My youngest is going to be turning 18 soon and for all intents and purposes has already left the house. And between Bear and I and all of our various years and moves hither and yon? (ok, lets be serious, I have had considerably more years of hither and yon than he does/did but STILL). We have way too much STUFF packed in to too small an apartment.

WAY TOO MUCH STUFF PEOPLE.

So we decided, oh yay, to simplify our lives. Simplify as in – we went through the cupboards and noticed how many dishes we’ve collected over time. We aren’t those fancy ‘china sets for 16’ type of people, oh no. We are the ‘hey could you use an extra few plates/bowls/dozen or so more coffee cups? Oh yes we can!’ type of folks.

So first thing? Going through and packing all the extra, unmatched plates/bowls and are packing away all of the unused dishes; leaving ourselves only a set of three to be left out and used on daily basis. Why three? Well, youngest beloved mutant kiddo does still live with us, ya know. And to be perfectly honest? Both Bear and I HATE doing dishes, and as we are losing our teenage, walking, talking, i-pod wearing, mopey, grumpy, sometimes doing the job right dishwasher? Three is easy to clean and be done with. And no, we still aren’t done packing.

We are planning on having three sets of dishes, saucers, plates, bowls. And the next thing we looked at? Was cups. Oh yes, we have cups. Lots of cups. Lots and lots of cups, we can’t seem to get rid of them. But we are. All the plastic ones, going. All the jelly jars that were made into cups? Gotta go. (I might, MIGHT save the 'X-Men Origins Gambit Slurpee' cup we got from 7-11. It might end up somewhere in my room for a while until it is safe for a plastic cup to make it's way back into our kitchen. What can I say, Gambit was cute!)

And then there are the coffee cups, a different breed of cup entirely. Coffee cups of all shapes and sizes; from the Harley Davidson motorcycle mugs, to the handmade, individually glazed ones, to the skull mug we picked up in Sarasota Florida on our trip to see my Mom get married. Those are an entirely different animal, and shall be hung on hooks all nice and neat to give us more room in the cupboards for um, something. Something that isn't plastic cups or jelly jars.

(And as a matter of fact, yes; we already matched the plastic 'tupperwear' type containers to their lids and threw out the non-matching ones. Again. How does this stuff keep multiplying anyhow? Are plastic containers related to dust bunnies, that when you turn your head there are suddenly more? Or is it the sock monster in the dryer that takes left socks and leaves a container or a lid upstairs in your cupboards to thank you? Hmm, I wonder.

Add to that whole mess? A half dozen each of matching forks, salad forks, butter knives. Spoons we’ll keep at an even dozen, because we use them for stirring coffee, chocolate milk, et. Spoons seem much more versatile and I argued successfully for us to be able to keep more of them. The rest of them are going into a plastic bag and being packed away with the rest of the plate sets we want to keep, you know, in case we ever get company. And the rest of them will be given to Goodwill, dishes, clothes, you name it.

Now remember, we cultivated this plan, and are in the midst of now carrying it out during and after one of the more intense bouts of plague that our house has been through in quite a while. So we aren’t moving all too fast here folks! And of course this is just after the Christmas season, so guess what else has to come down? You got it, all the tree decorations, the bright colored lights, the balls and hanging thingies that have found their way into and around our domicile as well. And we decided NOW was the good time to do this. Temporary insanity brought on by high fever? COULD BE.

In addition, we are currently going through our rooms in effort to get the multi-colored rug off our floor and into bags where those clothes belong. Himself was very graceful in his victory after telling me that ‘There is only one bag of my clothes to two bags of yours, and one bag of ours. See? I told you I can’t find my pants for a reason.” To which I only growled and threatened to withhold my fiance-type conjugal privileges until he stopped gloating and finished helping me find my uniform shirt.

The one bag of ours, by the way, is all of the sheets, pillow cases, towels, etc; that got folded and placed on the bed, only to be kicked off as we dragged our barely-able-to-see selves into bed after a long night of work. And there they stayed until covered by more sheets, or towels, or clothes of some sort. As is exactly what happened to most of those clothes that were lying on the floor. Which then would get pawed through in bleary-eyed wakening attempt to find something to wear to get up and go-go-get the hell out and do something stage. Do you see the pattern here folks?

Add to that the fact that we have clothes for EVERYTHING, yo! Clothes for the goth/industrial nights at Resurrections (normally consisting of something black) our business casual clothes, our casual clothes, our work uniforms, our medieval society garb, our ‘see the parents and look decently respectable but NOT business-like’ garb, our fancy dinner suits and outfits… and please, I haven’t even gotten to my shoes yet. (or my Saree collection; SHHHH WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT THAT HERE!!)

So yes, we have spent very little time in front of our computers, as pouring vitamins down each other throat (and tea, lots of tea, hot tea with HONEY) and trying to get healthy again has taken precedence; that and working our ways into, out of, above-around-and THROUGH this growing pile of stuff that we are sorting through in attempt to simplify our lives. I find it one of those mysteries of the universe that things must become messy to become clean, but there you have it.

Which leaves me at a quandary, actually. I have personally decided that I will throw out anything that doesn’t fit me any more (whimpers) which has thus far included MY FAVORITE button down chamois shirt (it’s soft and yum and my favorite color and EVERYTHING!) Because it no longer fits in the arms and the sleeves end half-way to my elbows. I suppose I could resurrect it as a sleeveless but... I’m really trying to change here and not to simply make excuses. A bunch of tank tops, some sweat shirts that are way too big but comfy because I have others that are the same color but fit better, and every single bra that needs an ‘extender’ to fit me. Hell yea.

And on that note? I am no longer a twenty-two year old military, in-shape, soldier type. I am a forty-two year old mother of two beloved mutant brats and it shows. What do I really, REALLY need all these pieces of elastic and dental floss undies for? Seriously, they are just owie in uniform, something that I SHOULD have realized way back then and somehow missed. But, ok, fine. I kept a couple pairs… *g* But only a couple! And only because they matched the bras that FIT ME.

I would love to say that this was exciting, liberating, and all that. But it’s not. It’s rather traumatic in ways, and is almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. My long time favorite shirt? Gotta go. My black velvety camisole-type shirt from J.Jills? Also gone. My beloved (had it forever!) grey silk blazer with the turned up cuffs that is slowly ripping apart at the shoulders? You guessed it. But I will not, even now, let go of my ECW (Extreme Champion Wrestling) t-shirt. It’s worn and faded, it’s ripped, it’s battered and holey and bruised and it is just like the one Tommy Dreamer wore the night I saw him kick some serious ass in Connecticut twelve, maybe fourteen years ago. And I will not, absolutely not give that thing up.

Ever.

And don’t even get me started on my shoe collection.


*edited* I took my chamois shirt out of the Goodwill bag and cut the sleeves off so I can wear it a little longer. I am weak I know, but I just couldn't help it! *puts shirt on and shuts off computer*

Date: 2010-01-12 10:22 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile] gcyogi.livejournal.com
Everyone is allowed a SANE number of comfort clothes. One battered Tshirt and a chamois shirt that you've given new life too seems like a good number. I have at least 5 tshirts that hide in my closet and will likely never be worn again... but I'm a pack rat. Also I now am in need of tea and honey... I might make some for my sick fiance also. We need to plan to see each other, or bear or Don, so that I can get you your fudge. Mmmmm Cinnamon Fudge!!! Tastes like coffee rolls!

Date: 2010-01-13 03:35 am (UTC)From: [identity profile] snicks-chan.livejournal.com
WHAT IS THE DEAL with jelly-jars-turned-glasses? Mason jars are not actually meant for drinking from any more than tupperware is, and yet...for crying out loud, I DON'T EVEN LIKE JAM and I have a bunch of them!

The Spazz and I did a similar mucking-out after Christmas. Back in high school, despite the fact that he is twiglike, he went through a phase of buying extra-large shirts. Having broken him of this habit, we had a whole trashbag full of tentlike shirts to ship to Goodwill (and I, on the urgent advice of a friend, got rid of all the cheap Payless plasticy shoes that look cute but cause abominable blisters). It's nice to actually be able to see the far wall of the closet.

Date: 2010-01-13 02:16 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile] mistressnaoko.livejournal.com
Urgh. I can understand the pain. I haven't worked through my desk mess yet (funny how I seem to clear it up every year BUT it still gets messy with accumulated junk in 2 months) and I'm terrified to do so. XD

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