Well, put out on the porch, really. I'll load them into the truck tomorrow. I don't care how many trips to the dump are about to happen.
- three old pairs of converse hi-tops with holes.
INCLUDING my red and black plaid ones. I don't know if I can recover from that one. I mean, they may have holes but they look so cool and I'll never, ever find another pair. I feel deep pangs of regret - Two broken black suitcases on wheels that I have been using though they have been broken for years.
- the aforementioned three broken ink-jet printers
- A bag of useless clothes for donation. Note to self, quit buying sexy trashy sleazy clothes for private wearing as housedresses. You have ENOUGH. There is no need for more. No black lacy shirts, no little plaid miniskirts, no more skin tight velvet tanktops, no weird pink see through bedjackets discarded long ago at garage sales by dead or dying old ladies who wore them in the 40s. No more hot pants for wearing under miniskirts for the 5 times a year I wear a miniskirt. Just stop it, Badger U. Hemulen. Until the existing lingerie has been torn off my body by brutal pirates, space alien slavers, and my own struggling victims, I shall not buy more.
- Many socks with holes. Boxers with holes.
- Shoebox full of pens, pencils and colored pencils for donation. No, I do not possess the strength of will to throw them away.
- jeans with giant holes in them.
- Three half-empty large plastic boxes of generic diaper wipes from over a year ago.
- Random bits of paper.
- I don't even know what-all. A lot.
Things that I can't bear to part with:
- Black ginger-rogersy danskin high heeled strappy tap shoes, with taps, that fit me perfectly. Acquired for 2 bucks at garage sale. Never worn except to admire myself in them, grinning foolishly and vainly at my feet while doing totally fake, unbelievably klutzy tap dancing in secret.
- a bunch of business cards of people I am not even sure who the heck they are anymore but maybe they were once important. (WTF?)
- The nicer pens and pencils.
- the size 14 and 16 jeans that I might once again be fat enough for.
- A very large amount of cool t-shirts that I don't really wear, but like.
Maybe I should set myself some goal of amount of trash bags filled and disposed of, and then I get to buy myself these or these. Converse, why do you know so well how to fill me with vague yearnings?
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