I’m thinking about where I was last New Year’s Eve, mentally and physically, and… son of a bitch, that IS real, tangible progress. I suddenly have a li’l extra swagger this evening — 2016 is gonna be the year of Dat Ass.
Happy almost new year, my lovelies. My bourbon cider and I salute you. Have fun, be safe, and thank you for reading my silliness this year.
Cheers and hugs,
Smug
I’ve stopped calling it decluttering at this point. I’m a writer, goddammit — these are “life revisions.” I’m deleting the parts of my story that don’t work, expanding and carefully editing the parts that do.
Remember when I was Slut Singleton? My email and cell phone no longer do. (OK, yeah, my brain totally still does, but I’m working on it.)
Sad Singleton apartment? I won’t let the door hit me.
Couch of Horrible Life Choices (AKA the whorecouch)? Out by the dumpster.
Lingerie I wore when making said bad life choices? Let’s call it what it was: Trash. Not the good lingerie, don’t be silly. Bad decisions got made in $12 Target shit…and also a $6 super-clearance dress from JCPenney. (Don’t judge.) I threw that out, too.
I’d throw out the mattress, but I think that was just ONE bad decision, and I can’t afford to buy a couch AND a mattress. I’m clearing my brain, not my bank account. Though I did order new sheets and a new mattress pad. That should cover the bad bed juju.
Oh…and I guess I should replace that bathmat. (Ahem… Shut up.)
P.S. I just have one more post about clutter/moving after this, and then I’m done, I promise.
In response to my last post, three friends asked if I was OK. One called the person who hurt me “syphilitic and vacant.” One offered to bring me ice cream. And when I apologized to a third for being weak and an asshole, she said, “You’re not weak, or an asshole. You’re human. Life is hard, and painful. Pushing through is what makes us strong.”
My friends are pretty much better than everyone. Onward.
Smug Singleton 