Thursday, May 5, 2011

Pitching crap

"I really should be doing something right now. But I just don't want to."

My motto this morning, thus far. Perhaps it's the dreary weather outside; the light sprinkle that will potentially give way to humidity as high as the anxiety my father will feel on July 30. Or the fact that I have THREE WEEKS left before I pack up for the *god willing* second to last time move of my life. As always happens when I move (or clean the house), I pitch half of my belongings, because I have no need for various things. That will probably end up happening with me by the end of this month. Many friends have already benefited from the fruits of my pitching (for example: clothes and shoes). Mom always calls it "pitching", so the namesake has stuck with me. Aaron and my mother can testify to the fact that when I "clean", I throw half the shit away. Anyone who has seen my parents house, can also testify to the fact that my mother is a pack rat. Dear, Lord. It's frustrating and annoying. Probably because I know that at some point, someone will have to clean and deal with all that shit. Those people will be my sisters and myself, obviously. Why not start the cleaning out process now? Ahem.

It's amazing the crap some people hold on to. I used to be horrid at holding on to tops, pants, dress trousers, shoes, etc. Just with the thought "Some day, I'll need this. Some day, I may gain 10 pounds back and will want bigger pants." Well, hell. If I ever gain 10 pounds back, someone can shoot me between the eyes on Main Street in Holly, Colorado. Kidding on that, I really don't give a flying fuck if I gain 10 pounds. Point is, I've adopted a trend to throw shit away if I haven't worn it within 2-3 months. When I say "throw away", I don't really mean that, of course. I first try to give it away. If that doesn't work, then I "try" to donate to SAV. Does that always happen? No, duh. I'm human and sometimes I find it tempting and easier to throw the crap in the dumpster. So, I do.

This may be a fun and easy transition to how certain members of my family dumpster dive at local Casey's stores when they know the sweets are being thrown out. Nah. I'll allow your imaginations run free.

Back to the hypothetical grind. THREE WEEKS until my last DAY! One week+day= graduation. THREE WEEKS TWO DAYS until we move. That numerical time line is screwed. Whateva.