Once in a Very Blue Moon

  The face of one who has lost the magic of tidying up. 

I blame Marie Kondo for this. 

Two months ago, in a rare case of insomnia I lay awake staring at the ceiling. After reading all the instructions manuals in the apartment I finally was going through the books under my bed (small apartment, big book collection one must be creative) when I spotted the small little book shoved by the winter muumuu sweaters. The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing: by Marie Kondo. Well why not I thought my life may be a mess but there’s no reason for my dreams not to be.

Fast forward to last month when I had all my personal possessions in a big huge pile in my living room holding everything up and going does this bring me joy? At first I said it all quiet like I was scared that someone was going to hear me. After going through my dishes, and the seven (SEVEN! Sets of pot holders) I was tossing things and yelling YES this brings me JOY or AH hells no with abandon.

Then came the hard part.

The closet.

Holding up my favorite tee-shirts and shirts no problem. Then we got to pants. When I held up the big fat elastic style waist pants I had to ask myself do these bring me joy? I suddenly broke down.

Cause they did not bring me joy. In these jeans defense, they are made out of very sturdy Kirkland Signature reinforced denim. However, they are in a size (redacted) and my biggest shame. 

Cause every time I slid them on I could hear them go “Oh Look! The fat kid needs us again! He thought he was better than us but look at him sneaking us on like we don’t know he was eating HAAGAN DAAZ with a container of sprinkles! UM HMM GURL I told you he’d be coming back asking for forgiveness”. For being a pair of reinforced denim, they sure packed a lot of judgement in their polyester cotton blend.

Did they bring me joy? No. Not one bit. In an defiance of Kondo’s rules I called out to Saintly Bonnie*(not her real name) who normally listens to me moan, make the appropriate oh honey sounds and then proceeds to make me see the world in a better light. However, when I called her and started the same script she was not having it. Not one bit. You just stop it right there (as I was a boo-hooing something awful) and look at those jeans as things that held you up when you felt no one else could. Think of the good you did in them too. You let your story get away from you again. Stop letting the pants write the story. You write it. You hear me.

Loud and clear Saintly Bonnie *(not her real name) loud and clear. I held them up again and asked do these bring me joy.

No, they do not.

So, they are on their way to Deseret Industries.

And I slept great that evening.