?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

whining

You know, I had this awesome plan for today, it was gonna work out great.

I cleaned my apartment last week, which went well except in my bedroom, where I gathered all of my clothes, ever, and jammed them into baskets and giant purple laundrybags from back when I had to take stuff to a laundromat, and filled the bottom of my too-small closet with everything. I have these hanging organizer things that I use for tops and pants, and jammies go on these shelves on the side, and the rest of my nonsense goes on hangers, with a whole ikea chest of drawers thing for socks underpants and bras... I have a system, okay?

Except, that system is flawed. Desperately flawed, because today, I had to do laundry. I had no pants! Not even any *pajama pants* (which I wear more than real pants cuz, duh) so I couldn't even leave the apartment to take out trash or nothin. So anyway, laundry. I took all of the baskets and the bags and all the crap that was of questionable cleanliness and dumped it all on my floor, which had undergone a nearly unprecedented week of being unencumbered with all this crap I had just poured back on top of it. I knew that among the jackets that don't fit anymore and the questionable college thrift store purchases and weird tops that shrunk up but not in, that there was a good strata of proper clothes that I currently wear, including the previously mentioned pants.

Looking at this pile, I realized why things had come to the stage of "stuff that in the closet until the door closes, then invite people over." The cubic square footage of the pile appeared to be more than the footage of my closet, despite my closet *currently* being full of a lot of things anyway. And this was mostly stuff that I have been like "oh, I'll deal with that later."

Clearly my system needed rejiggering. So today, I was thinking I'd do a lot of laundry, and while things were whizzing around in my fabulously close to my bedroom washer and dryer, I'd sit comfortably on the couch and read the book and a half, that I have to create a world-specific terminology glossary for, for work. I had fantasies of sipping herbal tea, and eating this cheese I bought last week that I have yet to crack open. It's a whiskey-infused cheddar. Whiskey! Cheddar! And I have this chocolate that's 60% dark with hazelnuts and currants! I was going to eat cheese and chocolate and drink tea and take notes while a machine did all the work for me. But then my stupid closet proved not to be Bigger on the Inside. :(

I've spent all day doing different loads of laundry. Towels & Dishrags, Delicates, Jammies & Jeans & other heavy cottons, cool colors and warm colors. I've gone through all the "clean" stuff and reorganized where my hanging cubby things are hanging. I've refolded sheets and blankets, I've sorted out which towels had migrated from Ian over to me. I've gone through my multitudes of coats and jackets and determined which ones I can wash and which I can't. I've cordoned off a costume subsection of my closet. I've got things on hangers that weren't and taken things on hangers and folded them. I've gutted and meticulously sorted and paired my approximately fifty different pairs of socks, according to weather. I've assigned a hanging bag for belts and allowed myself two pairs of pants that I am too fat for (but maybe one day I'll fit into them!) and studiously tossed everything else that I'll honestly never use again into a bag to be given away. I've peeled apart my hulking coat rack by the front door, unearthing layers like an onion, reassigning hooks in a logical fashion and keeping umbrellas secure. I've located a place for gloves and hats. Somewhere in there I cleaned the kitchen, too.

I have two and a half loads of laundry left to fold, the one and a half load being in the dryer at the moment. My back hurts. It's 2:30am and I think I'll be able to fit almost everything into my closet, and now I really do know almost all of the clothes that I still have, but I barely even cracked open my book, and the cheese is sitting, as room temperature, sadly unwrapped.

None of this matters to anybody but me, but you know me. I need to bitch. And writing it out makes me feel slightly accomplished, instead of looking at my life and my choices and going "who needs pants? YOU HAVE A GLOSSARY TO COMPLETE BY TOMORROW!"

It's only ~300 pages of high fantasy to plow through, after all. :/

This entry was originally posted at http://mizufae.dreamwidth.org/672264.html. Please comment there using OpenID.