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Just as we feel compelled to clean up our homes before the cleaning lady comes, I had to spend a lot of time preparing for the arrival of Heaven's Best, the people scheduled to clean my carpets yesterday - and who, by the way, did an absolutely spectacular job. As a semi-artist, I like to have my materials in sight and ready at hand. Add in a long-felt compulsion to buy baskets (I just like them; I don't know why), and you have a scenario of clutter and chaos. My condo was not as bad as some studios I've seen, but there's no question that organizing and clearing up the floors took hours of work.

In addition to my floors, I was hopeful that I could convince them to run their equipment into my bedroom's walk-in closet. There was a large dog-grease stain on the floor where Sunny likes to sleep. Of course, that zone was a disaster unto itself, my philosophy being that "closets are not full until the door pops back open when you force them shut." I cleaned and organized, and surveyed the clothing I had on hand.

The gentlemen came and left. I went to vote, then walked back home feeling optimistic. Looked at my carpets again in wonder, and moved the stuff temporarily stored in my dining area back into their respective rooms. I did it thoughtfully; consolidating baskets and placing things in different locations than where they had been removed in order to increase spaciousness and organization. Also with Vennie's impending visit in mind. I don't want her to trip and fall in the middle of the night because of my *crap*.

Successful in this venture, I surveyed my closet again. It really looked good. But there was one unassailable fact. There was an awful lot of clothing in there. An AWFUL lot.

Although I've struggled with a small-to-moderate weight gain (under 10 pounds) since last year, the fact is that most of the clothing I purchased in the last two years still fits. I'm also not that interested in clothing and shopping , and my wardrobe, while it could be improved, is adequate. The current stuff was not the problem. The issue was in the past.

I had a section of my closet designated for holding business suits and skirts and even a couple of dressy dresses that I used to wear for work. Actually, I wore them over 15 years ago as my size was immense in the last five years of employment and they wouldn't get on. I hadn't gotten rid of said business clothing when I donated the rest because of my ongoing hope of having my medical conditions managed to a degree that I could return to work.

But there was an awful lot of clothing in that closet, unworn for years and years and years. I've been on disability for close to five of them.

Culling the clothing was an impulse decision, but one that really had to be made. It signified an increased acceptance that I probably will never be well enough to go back to a traditional job. That business attire, in my life, was likely obsolete. It was a hard thing to accept; a decision that - for me - could not be thought out, but must be made impromptu and on-the-spot. If I took the time to consider the act, I would never let go. So I immediately started pulling pieces of clothing out of my closet and piling them on my bed, noting the sizes of said pieces as I went along. The vast majority of them were 16's. Too big for me anyway.

My inner voice started screaming "but you might still go back to work; you could have them altered." Then my brain took over saying that "a lot of these items are high quality, classics, in phenomenal condition, and could do somebody service here and now. They're too big anyway, and even if you were ever healthy enough to go back to work, wouldn't it be nice to start a new life with a new wardrobe rather than relics from the past? Assuming the best, who says you will have the kind of job that requires this kind of clothing anyway? The fact of the matter is that business clothes are so close to casual clothes these days that what I have been holding on to is likely too dressy. Especially in Entertainment."

The bottom line is that clothes and shoes are now located in large garbage bags by the front door. I feel a tinge of regret in letting them go, but will load them into the trunk of my car later this morning and drop them off at Goodwill on the way over to Mom's house. I need to get them out of my life before I have a chance to change my mind.

Many of the foods that I consume wantonly are only eaten if they are around; if I consciously make sure my cupboards are full of healthy options, I don't binge stupidly. I'm looking at these clothes in the same light. They are not necessary for health, happiness, or day-to-day living. Yes, their presence in my closet provided some comfort (as does junk food), one of the last vestiges of the denial that my life has irrevocably changed in a way that I barely anticipated and didn't necessarily want.

But with their departure, I can cast aside that ostrich-like thought pattern and move forward. For there is one thing that I have learned over the past several years. Dealing with reality instead of the "I wants" may be incredibly hard, but the only way to grow is to understand what is possible, what is likely not going to be, and accepting the difference.

I believe in reality. I believe in living in the light. And damn, my closet looks good!

Baa Baa black sheep,
Have you any wool (clothing to discard)?
Yes sir, yes sir,
Three bags full!

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Who's reading this blog? On Saturday, I was taken aback when Becky said in a response to my announcement that I was going for the 30 in 30:

It saddens me to think you would think no one is interested in your life or that your life is not interesting....SO wrong.

Well, I guess that somebody is interested. I installed a blog hit counter on this site a while ago and have over 11,000 hits. That's more than can be accounted for by me going in and out, and besides, in my travels, people are starting to know about me. What I am doing. What I am thinking. And when I seem surprised, they say that they read my blog!

So I thought, I wonder if there's a way to know who's reading? Other than the odd comment, that is. And wouldn't you know it, Blogspot came up with the answer. The blog follower, located in the top of the left hand column in this site, will enable you to be notified when I make a post. You can sign up in full view, or anonymously, and I will have a better idea who's visiting. Or at least how many of you are coming by.

Come on. You know you want to! And if you don't, I'll worry that nobody likes me. Kind of like Sally Field at the Oscars.

Follow me. Please!

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 6.