The Purge

If my weekend was named after a movie, that would be its title – The Purge.

But unlike The Purge horror movie, the weekend did not consist of mayhem and murder – not that kind of purge.

Saturday was a complete bust. Because I woke up at 3:30 a.m., I didn’t feel rested. In fact, I felt drugged, kept falling asleep on the couch and didn’t really get up and start my day until 4:00 in the afternoon.

Sunday was the complete opposite. Waking just before 7:00, I was bursting with energy, and used that energy to purge the unit of stuff.

I just did an extensive declutter back in May. I haven’t brought in much of anything new, so I think what was still feeling like too much stuff is what I couldn’t let go of before.

At any rate, this time I purged and reorganized the hall utility closet, put up a new shower curtain liner, then set about tackling the bedroom closet.

As simply as I dress – tank tops, leggings, waist hoodie, Birkenstocks and athletic shoes in hot weather; long sleeve tops, leggings, waist hoodie, athletic shoes and boots in cold weather, it didn’t make sense to continue to clutter the closet with tops I’ve not worn in ages, blazers in every color, two animal print skirts, and a suit.

It makes sense to keep the skirts, the suit, the blazers in case I have to dress up for a special occasion. However, inasmuch as those special occasions only come around once every two or three or more years, the items don’t need to be hanging in the closet. In fact, the suit was purchased in 2009 and was worn just one time -- to the event for which it was purchased.

Would you believe the event was a Republican event … a Christmas Republican breakfast event with my Republican daughter?

I don’t like politics. Doesn’t matter what affiliation, I just have never liked politics. But I went because daughter needed my support so as to not be the only Black person in the room – which at that time was a frequent occurrence in the circles she travelled as Administrative Aide representing a well-known local Republican politician. She’d indicated that, at times, the other attendees not knowing who she was, why she was there, she was made to feel uncomfortable – sometimes unsafe.

Daughter made the right call inviting me to this Christmas event because, but for myself and daughter’s BFF, she would have once again been the only person of color.

I don’t remember any of the speeches … maybe because breakfast was an open bar with platters of crispy bacon. I didn’t have a serious gut problem back then, so I distracted myself from the speeches by stuffing my face with bacon and bagels, had a good time, and felt not out-of-place because, as they say, “Bacon makes everything better”.

At any rate, I so loved the suit upon first sight at Nordstrom’s that I didn’t think twice about paying what amounted to a small fortune for it. Of course, I expected to get my money’s worth in wear. It never ever occurred to me I’d not have another occasion that called for its wearing. Still, I’m not ready to give it up.

I can, at long last however, take it out of the closet, store in a container -- along with the skirts and blazers, to be brought out, sent to the cleaners, if ever needed again. Tops are heading to the Salvation Army.

Funny it is how one can form an emotional attachment to an article of clothing.

Safely tucked away in one of the containers is a pair of Jordache Jeans I wore back in the late 60's / early 70’s. Knowing I’d never be that thin again I at one time gave to my skinny granddaughter. However, feeling their absence, knowing she could never appreciate the significance a pair of  Jordache's had at that time in history when I'd worn them, I took them back.

It’s a process. Letting go is not only hard to do; sometimes, impossible to do.

Busy with sleeping on Saturday, purging on Sunday, I came in contact with no residents over the weekend, so no word on how The Baker is doing. I'm sure she's on the mend, however. Otherwise, I'd have gotten a call.