Separation Anxiety

Apparently, I would rather do pretty much anything rather than finish my current novel, Stealing Amy. Now, those of you who’ve never been a couple hours away from typing THE END to a 400-page book may not relate (Brooke and John—you guys don’t count) but the rest of you, trust me on this. I’d rather (eek) clean out my closet. Don’t believe me? Come look.

Yes, I got up this morning and decided spending the day writing was too self-indulgent; I needed to do something more constructive. (Plus, I couldn’t find both slippers in my closet, so it was really an act of final desperation.)

Oh my God, the humanity.

The end result: 3 bags for the Goodwill, two days worth of laundry, and an aching back. And, I’m still only sorta finished. (Hmm. Do we see pattern here of not being able to complete tasks?)

Men, do you suffer the same kind of separation anxiety when you clean out your closets?

Here’s a list of what got tossed in order of the degree of pain it took to toss it:

Hand-me-down clothes I never wore anyway

Things people bought me that I never liked and never wore

Things I bought that seemed like a good idea at the time but probably only wore once

Things I probably shouldn’t have worn even when I was young and they fit

Memory inducers (e.g. the shoes I bought in Buenos Aires)

Any item purchased in the company of a boyfriend

Things I paid way too much money for and only wore once (formal wear is exempt and stays in the closet)

Things that didn’t make the cut last time but that I still haven’t lost enough weight to wear again

Things that didn’t make the cut last time, that I was indeed able to wear again, but can’t now

Clothes that are still cute and still fit but are worn out

Things that still fit, are still cute, but out-of-style and not likely to come back in

Any pair of size six pants


Actually, this experience has been inspirational. Think I’ll go yank that minidress from 1980 back out of the bag.