Witness to my life
I think it was Virginia Woolfe who said something to the effect that marriage was necessary because everyone needs a witness to their life. Why I quote, or misquote Woolfe, at 7 a, m. on a Sunday after zero hours of sleep...I don't know. Or actually, I do.
It's this picture right there. That's one of the three wardrobes I set to arranging last night. That's probably one-fifth of the clothes I own. Clothes...managing them...is posing to be bit of a situation.
I have given away clothes copiously to people...the help mainly, sometimes for relief activities, and at times to kind friends who have liked a certain top or a skirt and haven't minded a hand-me-down.
I still don't understand how the pile seemsto grow so much. I think they procreate inside the wardrobe once its shut. Often, I have this sinking feeling that the situation is uncontrollable. Just getting a shelf in order proves chaotic. But all of last night, I spent making spicy oats and chai and clearing this wardrobe.
Got it to behave itself somewhat.
Hurriedly clicked this picture because even the semblance of control needs to be recorded as evidence.
Two more to go.
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