Junk in My Trunk

On Tuesday evening, Tim asked if I could show him where my clothes go so when he does laundry and I'm not home, he could put them away rather than leaving piles on the bed for me to deal with. As nice as this request was, it made me feel...frustrated? angry? lazy? selfish? I'm not really sure what particular emotion the request brought up exactly, but it was bad.

Identify the Problem

I have listened to Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project on my iPod so many times while commuting or mowing the yard that her commandment "Identify the problem" floated through my sub-conscious. Since high school, I've never lived anywhere for more than three years. In all of those places, I never settled on a good storage solution for my clothes because it didn't seem to be worth the time or money to come up with a solution that might not work in my next home. To further clutter the issue (and the closet), when I moved into Tim's house a little over four years ago, I willingly jettisoned my estate sale chest of drawers at a garage sale because it wouldn't fit anywhere. No matter how many Rubbermaid boxes I bought or how many items of clothing I decluttered, I couldn't answer the question of where my clothes belonged because I never took the time to create a permanent storage system that worked. 

Finding a Solution

Unlike Rubin, my solution for closet clutter clearing was not simply trash bags. My first step probably should have been to take inventory and pare down, but I've done this so many times that it is becoming difficult to figure out what to let go of. 

I did think about my storage needs for a hot second. Emotionally, however, I needed to take action. I logged onto target.com and opened in a new page any item that struck me as a plausible solution. Once I had opened 173 new pages, I began to narrow down my choices. 

Criteria

1. Size matters. Obviously, if the item wouldn't fit in my closet under my hanging clothes, it had to go. Even if it was capable of folding and putting away the clothes itself, I wouldn't be able to make it work.

2. Caviar taste on a hot dog budget. I have fifty dollars from my side gig burning a hole in my pocket and I decided that my storage solution had to be something I could purchase with that amount. Goodbye beautiful and probably not very functional bathroom cabinets. That cut out about half my open pages.

3. Form follows function.

3A. Fitting into my sloppy clothes-putting-away style. I know from experience that I'm most successful at staying organized with hangers and drawers. I already have the hangers covered but I said "sayonara" to my drawers about four years ago and my clothing storage has suffered ever since. I also knew I wanted several drawers, one for each category of clothing.

3B. No snags allowed. As I was browsing, I started to consider function over form. Although some of the wicker-type drawers were attractive, I thought about the increased potential for my tights getting snagged and nixed all the pretty but prickly options.

I was left with three pages open in my browser. Of those three, price became my main motivator. The option I chose was on clearance, so I got two three-drawer storage bins for less than the cost of one of the other options. And free shipping and a 5% discount by using my Target card--what's better than that? Unfortunately, when I checked today to grab a link and screen shot to the drawers I ordered, I couldn't find them again, so I guess they are all sold out.

The only bad thing about this experience so far--except for the bad feelings at the beginning of the story--is that I didn't have the instant gratification of carrying my new storage solution out of the store when we went last night for our regular shopping trip. So now my thoughts are consumed with daydreams of an organized closet every time I open the closet door or lean over to get my underwear out of the under-the-bed Rubbermaid. (An everyday occurrence--maybe now you can sympathize with my frustration.) The good news is that my order has shipped so I should be able to dig into my mess and tell my husband where my clothes go soon!

It's Called Managing Expectations

The day was going so well, right up until 10:30, the time my boss usually shows up for work. 

One of the first things he did was give me a lecture about "dreaming big." Here's what happened. I told him I was nominating a project for an award. He asked if we had a chance. I said maybe we could get an honorable mention but probably not the big prize and began to describe the type of institution that usually wins. He cut me off (per usual) and told me I needed to dream bigger. At which point I punched him in the face* and pointed out that he's the one who asked about our chances and that I was--after all--doing the work of nominating. Then he asked me if we were going to apply for an award from *this* organization. He had to rifle through a stack of papers to show me which organization he was talking about because he doesn't actually know the name of it. I said that their awards don't happen until Fall, but, of course it was on my radar. Then I escaped with only one name having been dropped.**

Later this day, (yes, all of this before noon) he gave me a compli-plaint (a compliment coupled with a sneaky criticism or complaint; different than a back-handed compliment) and then he reminded me with annoying meddling why I don't tell him about the things I'm working on.

*Punching did not actually occur.

** I think my new way of marking the length of our conversations will be counting the number of names he drops.