I have a dirty secret – I too have a monster in my closet. Well… not a closet, really. 2 drawers, tucked into the monstrous wooden bed that I’ve had since seventh grade. That’s where I’ve kept most of my clothes for the 6 years that Lora and I have lived together. I have a tiny sliver of closet space, but most of it fits into my two drawers. Barely fits, I should say. And that’s the problem.
I don’t have a lot of clothes, but what I do have is a complete mess. I barely even know what I have, actually. Those drawers are bursting with 5-year-old t-shirts, mismatched balls of socks, unspeakable underthings. I just never throw anything away. It’s so hard to close that I just leave it open most of the time.
Big problem, though – we’re getting rid of the bed. Part of our debt-reduction plan involves moving into a smaller, cheaper apartment (more on that later), and the behemoth converted waterbed has gotta go. I haven’t really had to confront the problem up to this point. Lora’s been doing so much minimizing that I’ve kinda been able to… look past the issue. But now? The drawers have to be opened. I look over at her neatly organized racks of essentials and start to feel a little bad about my dresser. It’s unbelievable – she’s actually starting to make me look bad. No more, though. The old bed (and the drawers) is sitting in the donation pile.
So here’s my plan – I’m gonna throw a bunch of shit away. One step. It’s not that hard for me – for all their overstuffed glory, the clothes that I actually wear will easily fit into a very small space. I own one pair of jeans at the moment, a few pairs of work pants, maybe 6 collared shirts, the same number of t-shirts. I guess you could say I’ve been a minimalist from the beginning. Take that, Lora!
Or maybe I’m just a slob.