Every decorative element in my house is haphazardly placed and ultimately irritatingly in the way/precariously-positioned/unnecessary/disgusting.

This:

Hey guys, isn’t it funny and just a touch cheeky that this painting is not only a clown but a sad clown? This was purchased at Saver’s in Providence sometime during 2006, and lovingly placed on a piece of plywood clinging to the wall for dear life. Next to it, an Ikea Christmas candle (unused, unremoved from its packaging) from Holiday Season 2008, choked with dust. I fucking hate candles. I’m allergic to artificial fragrances. What led me to purchase this (albeit cheap) source of light and faux-Swedish wonder, I don’t remember. In addition: tiny Morroccan box, courtesy of beloved Cousin Deano, and a tiny black cupid, flat on his face. These last two will be kept until further notice.

Q: Should I throw away this jacket? Or is it possible to repair ripped fur without enormous expense?

I got kicked out of a bar on the Lower East Side for wearing this little white rabbit bomber.

Bouncer: Is that real fur?

Me: Duh.

Bouncer: GET THE FUCK OUTTA THIS BAR!

Me: Suck it AIDSFACE! I’ll go to a bar that appreciates killing!

Moreover, it prompted my favorite English professor in college to tell me he loved everything about my fashion sense when I was discussing Old Norse with him on a dismal February afternoon.

BUT, I lifted my arms too fast and it ripped along the upper arm, toward the shoulder. I tried to get a picture, but my camera phone is beyond suckage. I keep convincing myself that it’s okay to throw things away. I have three other fur coats: one longer fox, a gray rabbit, and a tawny rabbit (mid-length, with segments of sweater). But white! White rabbit bomber’s fit is unparalleled, its elbow pads make me piss myself with joy.

A deluge of dresses. And unwrapped lampshades. And dusty defunct lamps I just HAD TO HAVE. And empty Haribo rattlesnake packets.* And multiple lint rollers. And goggles. And one small precious special kitten, if you can find her.

One two three ORGANIZATIONAL SKILLS. And the building (or whittling) of a better, more functional wardrobe. Fashion plus logic plus writing equals ideal, unwasted, savored time well spent.

Like the Celtics or Steelers (or Stealers? Like Stealing a Basketball?) or [Insert Infamous Sports Team Here], I’ll reverse this curse imparted upon me by my hoarding ancestors and immediate predecessors.

I will record each piece, in blurry photographs and literary nuggets, getting rid of what I need to and holding onto the things I truly adore.

Wish me luck!  Any and all advice, criticism, and pure meanness appreciated.

*Indubitably necessary, but so is appropriate trash can employment.